Why was I late? Short answer: I'm short.
Long Answer? Ya' sure you want to hear about my morning? OK THEN!
For some reason, the cat box was extra disgusting last night,
which made me have to scrub it out instead of just dumping it,
and meant I had to go outside in the rain to find the hose,
which was un-hooked so I had to use the spout next to the house,
causing a river of cat pee run under the fence and into the driveway,
which was waiting for me this morning by my car when my pants hem came loose,
then making the bottoms of my pants get soaked in cat pee,
which made my entire ride to work almost unbearable,
forcing me find a stupid Walmart since they're the only ones open before 8am,
to then fetch a pair of pants, knee highs and shoes for $60,
which I put on in a disgusting Walmart Bathroom and rushed to my car,
only to notice the pants were WAY, way too long (or I too short) and looked ridiculous,
which caused me to rush back into Walmart into the disgusting ladies room,
to then wash the bottoms of my pants in the sink,
which caused strange looks from WALMART shoppers at ME for a change,
while using the hand dryer as a clothes dryer,
which dried my pants,
that now smelled clean,
that held the receipt
to a pair of ill-fitting pants
that I had no time to return,
and THAT……
is why I was late this morning.
18.11.10
Holy Squeeze
In 1983 I was 10 years old. We had recently moved to Bumfuq, Ohio - a small town out in the middle of a few corn fields and tobacco fields. Our parents, down to three kids from seven, decided they needed a change and picked the exact opposite of everything Connecticut when choosing a place to move to. Dirt roads, one gas station. Real hillbillies sittin' on broken down porches with their dogs. Pretty much every character from Deliverance, all right there - rebel flags 'a wavin'.
In Connecticut, just before we'd moved, I'd recently been promoted to the newly formed Talented and Gifted Education Program. They focused resources towards my artistic talents, stressing the importance of "The Arts" to my parents and how I would be offered special programs inwhich I could grow and devlope my gift. However, Ohio's school system had their own idea of T.A.G. My new "school" had 2 classrooms per grade and each room had their own PADDLE. I said paddle. Long piece of wood with a handle. I am not joking around here folks. Ever see a ten year old boy get pulled out into the hall by a former Vietnam Vet now History teacher who's pissed off about a rubber band flying past his head? "Grab your ankles boy!" still rings in my ears. His paddle had signatures of all the little boys he made cry. Nothin' a little chew at recess didn't cure.
I don't know if it was the isolation from society or her having entered her Fourties, but that year our Mom's baptist beliefs went a little deeper than the usual conversations with God she had a'loud throughout the day; "Jesus H. Christ Almighty! Who left this mess in the bathroom?", or "Jesus Christ where is my purse?".
We knew she believed in God, she just wasn't exactly a "practicing" Christian. She'd made it a point to baptize every baby in her own kitchen sink, and she did send my sisters off to Sunday school when they were small - even if it was just to get an hour of peace and quiet, but she really did try in her own way. She taught us about Heaven and Hell, and she'd told us not to listen to those crazy Jahovah's Witnesses. Catholics were wacky too, with all their voo-doo smoke and chanting and those confessional booths. She'd say, "I don't need an operator to God - I dial direct!" There was always a giant bible in the house, given to her by her Grandmother, that she cherished. There were a few paintings of Jesus here and there that she truly loved. Christmas she'd display a little manger scene - complete with plastic baby Jesus and a couple of broken donkeys.
Maybe it wasn't her mid-life crisis, or the solitide of the country that did it. Maybe it was just the fact that only 3 channels came in on the television. Whatever the reason, Mother had soon made a friend in Jesus via TV Celebrity Jimmy Swagart. He had the Holy Ghostest with the Mostest that year. He'd been on every magazine cover, interviews on 20/20 with Babwa Wawa and such. She'd say, "You know - his cousin is Jerry Lee Lewis!" I'm pretty sure she had the hots for him. His weekly sermon via the boob-tube had given her new spirit. She'd turn him up as loud as that old tv box would go and clean the house while she listened to him. Every now and then you'd hear her "MmmHmmm", like the black women did in those tent revivals behind our house out past the corn field. And oh how she loved to hear him sing! The dog's howling summed up everyone elses' opinion. How she liked watching his sweaty head singing and crying through that TV, I don't know why, but she sure did.
It was around this time she saw in the newspaper a Bishop of some kind was coming to the area. Normally, she could care less about a Catholic Priest of any kind - but this one was said to be a "healer". She was really excited about his visit and said we were going to go see him so that he could heal my eyes.
I'd had Amplyopia, or "lazy eye", since I was 4. The condition itself had never really been a problem, it was mostly just the teasing from other kids that bothered me. Kids were mean, that's for sure. But it was who I was - and I'd accepted it. The double-vision didn't affect me really, and I was still a good artist, so it hadn't held me back or anything. I think it actually saved my ass a few times in my new school, not even the Nam guy could hit a cross-eyed kid. Still, I was turning 11 soon, and that's around the time even a tomboy girl throws out the toys and starts to think about her looks and being "pretty". I'd wondered what I would look like if my eyes were straight and "normal".
I don't remember much about the trip or even where it was we drove to. After we parked the car and walked a bit, I remember Mom pulling me by the hand through a HUGE crowd of people! There must have been hundreds, all of them trying to get close to this priest like he was Elvis! He was walking inside the circle of people clockwise, making his way around and shaking hands, etc. I didn't think we'd ever get to even SEE this Healer Priest much less get to talk to him. But Mom was pretty determined. Probably not very Christian-like the way she plowed through those people - but she was going to get to him and that was that. I was pulled through a sea of people until finally she pulled my hand and whipped me out into the open center circle at just the right time - right in front of him.
There he was - this round, pale faced man layered in tons of fabric. Red, white, soft drapes of velvet cloth all over him. Kinda like Santa, without the beard. In my memory of the moment, everything was still and silent. There we were, the two of us in the center of a large mass of people. The light was bright like a spotlight down on us, like a scene from a movie when the heavens part and the light shines down through the clouds. Crazy cool light. Maybe it just seemed like that because my eyeballs were wide open like saucers wondering where the hell I was and what was about to happen.
All of a sudden he grabbed my face by the cheeks, and pulls me into a sort of head lock. I'm pretty sure he was hugging me, but sure felt like a head lock. He was holding my head against his body like a football, one hand over my eye. Clearly, we were having a moment. It seemed like a very long time. My head was halfway inside his robe, half way out. I could see the detailed embroidery of his cape. Nice gold thread. Very nice.
I could also see the crowd - hands up to their mouths, some of them kneeling and praying and others making the sign of the cross. "Jesus, Am I some kind of sacrifice?", I thought. I could feel him squeezing tighter, or maybe I was struggling to get free. Either way about a minute longer and I would pass out for sure. He let go, and handed me a card. Some kind of photo of Mother Mary, very pretty. I gave it to my Mother and stumbled away, back into the crowd. He continued walking and shaking hands.
I didn't feel any different. My eye was still crossed. I chalked it up to an interesting experience I would maybe write about someday, but not the healing holy squeeze I'd thought it might be.
A few weeks later my Mother got a call from our eye doctor. He said he'd like to do an eye surgery on me, mostly cosmetic, but it could help visually as well. Since this would be a "trial" surgery for him - it would be of no charge to my parents. Free. Free surgery that fixed my eyes.
Holy Squeeze!
In Connecticut, just before we'd moved, I'd recently been promoted to the newly formed Talented and Gifted Education Program. They focused resources towards my artistic talents, stressing the importance of "The Arts" to my parents and how I would be offered special programs inwhich I could grow and devlope my gift. However, Ohio's school system had their own idea of T.A.G. My new "school" had 2 classrooms per grade and each room had their own PADDLE. I said paddle. Long piece of wood with a handle. I am not joking around here folks. Ever see a ten year old boy get pulled out into the hall by a former Vietnam Vet now History teacher who's pissed off about a rubber band flying past his head? "Grab your ankles boy!" still rings in my ears. His paddle had signatures of all the little boys he made cry. Nothin' a little chew at recess didn't cure.
I don't know if it was the isolation from society or her having entered her Fourties, but that year our Mom's baptist beliefs went a little deeper than the usual conversations with God she had a'loud throughout the day; "Jesus H. Christ Almighty! Who left this mess in the bathroom?", or "Jesus Christ where is my purse?".
We knew she believed in God, she just wasn't exactly a "practicing" Christian. She'd made it a point to baptize every baby in her own kitchen sink, and she did send my sisters off to Sunday school when they were small - even if it was just to get an hour of peace and quiet, but she really did try in her own way. She taught us about Heaven and Hell, and she'd told us not to listen to those crazy Jahovah's Witnesses. Catholics were wacky too, with all their voo-doo smoke and chanting and those confessional booths. She'd say, "I don't need an operator to God - I dial direct!" There was always a giant bible in the house, given to her by her Grandmother, that she cherished. There were a few paintings of Jesus here and there that she truly loved. Christmas she'd display a little manger scene - complete with plastic baby Jesus and a couple of broken donkeys.
Maybe it wasn't her mid-life crisis, or the solitide of the country that did it. Maybe it was just the fact that only 3 channels came in on the television. Whatever the reason, Mother had soon made a friend in Jesus via TV Celebrity Jimmy Swagart. He had the Holy Ghostest with the Mostest that year. He'd been on every magazine cover, interviews on 20/20 with Babwa Wawa and such. She'd say, "You know - his cousin is Jerry Lee Lewis!" I'm pretty sure she had the hots for him. His weekly sermon via the boob-tube had given her new spirit. She'd turn him up as loud as that old tv box would go and clean the house while she listened to him. Every now and then you'd hear her "MmmHmmm", like the black women did in those tent revivals behind our house out past the corn field. And oh how she loved to hear him sing! The dog's howling summed up everyone elses' opinion. How she liked watching his sweaty head singing and crying through that TV, I don't know why, but she sure did.
It was around this time she saw in the newspaper a Bishop of some kind was coming to the area. Normally, she could care less about a Catholic Priest of any kind - but this one was said to be a "healer". She was really excited about his visit and said we were going to go see him so that he could heal my eyes.
I'd had Amplyopia, or "lazy eye", since I was 4. The condition itself had never really been a problem, it was mostly just the teasing from other kids that bothered me. Kids were mean, that's for sure. But it was who I was - and I'd accepted it. The double-vision didn't affect me really, and I was still a good artist, so it hadn't held me back or anything. I think it actually saved my ass a few times in my new school, not even the Nam guy could hit a cross-eyed kid. Still, I was turning 11 soon, and that's around the time even a tomboy girl throws out the toys and starts to think about her looks and being "pretty". I'd wondered what I would look like if my eyes were straight and "normal".
I don't remember much about the trip or even where it was we drove to. After we parked the car and walked a bit, I remember Mom pulling me by the hand through a HUGE crowd of people! There must have been hundreds, all of them trying to get close to this priest like he was Elvis! He was walking inside the circle of people clockwise, making his way around and shaking hands, etc. I didn't think we'd ever get to even SEE this Healer Priest much less get to talk to him. But Mom was pretty determined. Probably not very Christian-like the way she plowed through those people - but she was going to get to him and that was that. I was pulled through a sea of people until finally she pulled my hand and whipped me out into the open center circle at just the right time - right in front of him.
There he was - this round, pale faced man layered in tons of fabric. Red, white, soft drapes of velvet cloth all over him. Kinda like Santa, without the beard. In my memory of the moment, everything was still and silent. There we were, the two of us in the center of a large mass of people. The light was bright like a spotlight down on us, like a scene from a movie when the heavens part and the light shines down through the clouds. Crazy cool light. Maybe it just seemed like that because my eyeballs were wide open like saucers wondering where the hell I was and what was about to happen.
All of a sudden he grabbed my face by the cheeks, and pulls me into a sort of head lock. I'm pretty sure he was hugging me, but sure felt like a head lock. He was holding my head against his body like a football, one hand over my eye. Clearly, we were having a moment. It seemed like a very long time. My head was halfway inside his robe, half way out. I could see the detailed embroidery of his cape. Nice gold thread. Very nice.
I could also see the crowd - hands up to their mouths, some of them kneeling and praying and others making the sign of the cross. "Jesus, Am I some kind of sacrifice?", I thought. I could feel him squeezing tighter, or maybe I was struggling to get free. Either way about a minute longer and I would pass out for sure. He let go, and handed me a card. Some kind of photo of Mother Mary, very pretty. I gave it to my Mother and stumbled away, back into the crowd. He continued walking and shaking hands.
I didn't feel any different. My eye was still crossed. I chalked it up to an interesting experience I would maybe write about someday, but not the healing holy squeeze I'd thought it might be.
A few weeks later my Mother got a call from our eye doctor. He said he'd like to do an eye surgery on me, mostly cosmetic, but it could help visually as well. Since this would be a "trial" surgery for him - it would be of no charge to my parents. Free. Free surgery that fixed my eyes.
Holy Squeeze!
5.11.10
Heist Job Heidie
Small town New England, everyone pretty much knows everyone. Maybe not personally - but you recognize the same people from the convenience store, the diner, the post office, etc. You can connect faces with cars around town, so-and-so's daughter, whats-his-name's brother. Things are certainly changing, this town has gotten bigger for sure. I suppose going back twenty, thirty years it was different. I was never good with names but for some reason I could tell who was who by the car they were driving. Now that I think of it, I still do that!
I'm going to go off track a little bit, but A) It's somewhat connected to this story about recognizing people by their cars, and B) I need to vent. (The names and places have been changed to protect their privacy and my ass.)
You see, there's this ogre of a woman who works at a coffee shop in Simsbury. She will remain nameless, as the words I am about to type to describe her may or may not be accurate due to my extreme anger and creative imagination. If you know who this is Small Towners, let's just keep it anonymous, shall we? No need to stir up any more drama (no pund intended.) If you know the coffee shop as well, let's keep that between us too. I'm sure it's not the owner's fault they have an ogre working for them - she's probably a princess by day and ogre by night. Common in our area, lots of bridges.
Anyways - One day I ordered a coffee with Splenda, and she dropped the Splenda bag in my coffee cup. Simple mistake. A shake out would have been sufficient, and a new bag. But no, not for this Mel's Diner winner. I was horrified as I watched her stick her whole damn hand in my cup fishin' around for that Splenda bag! Then she acted like nothing had happened and tried to finish making my coffee. Adding insult to injury - I watched in slow motion as she LICKED her fingers and reached for a coffee lid from the stack in front of her. I swear I almost passed out and died. Now I'm no Monk, but I don't even share a soda with my husband much less let some disgusting, germ spreading stranger touch MY lid that MY lips will drink from with HER yucky, filthy hands and saliva! When I expressed my disgust and refused the coffee, she actually got mad at ME! "My hands are clean!", she spewed, with her dirty mouth. (she probably wasn't as dirty as I'm describing, but I was in a semi-coma, things are hazy.) I stormed out in complete disgust.
As you can see, the whole event bothered me a little. So whenever I see her car, I avoid that coffee shop at all cost.
Now... back to my original story;
My sister, Heidie, was shopping at Stop and Shop once and spotted our Mother's car sitting outside the store. She was pulled up along the sidewalk, engine running, occupied with some papers or something. She'd sit in the driveway like that sometimes for an hour looking for something like her keys which were already in the ignition, or her glasses which were on top of her head. Seeing her sit there with the car running was nothing unusual. Heidie was going to run over and ask her if she was just headed in or leaving, maybe she'd like to shop with her? As she got closer, she could see Mom behind the stearing wheel counting a LARGE stack of money. She thought it would be hysterical to play a little prank on her. (Apparently she learned nothing after that whole exploding cigarette trick as a kid!)
While Mom was busy counting the money - Heidie ran up, whipped open the passenger side door and yelled in her scariest voice, "GIMME ALL YOUR MONEY, BITCH!". That was followed by blood curdling screams and money flying everywhere inside the car! Heidie, expecting to be laughing in hysterics, went from an ear-to-ear smile to deer-in-the-headlights shock as she realized the mistake she'd made... THAT was NOT our Mother!
She tried to apologize and explain herself, but the woman was clearly upset. Don't worry, Heidie didn't go to jail. I suppose all of us siblings telling this story over and over for twenty plus years is punishment enough. :-)
I'm going to go off track a little bit, but A) It's somewhat connected to this story about recognizing people by their cars, and B) I need to vent. (The names and places have been changed to protect their privacy and my ass.)
You see, there's this ogre of a woman who works at a coffee shop in Simsbury. She will remain nameless, as the words I am about to type to describe her may or may not be accurate due to my extreme anger and creative imagination. If you know who this is Small Towners, let's just keep it anonymous, shall we? No need to stir up any more drama (no pund intended.) If you know the coffee shop as well, let's keep that between us too. I'm sure it's not the owner's fault they have an ogre working for them - she's probably a princess by day and ogre by night. Common in our area, lots of bridges.
Anyways - One day I ordered a coffee with Splenda, and she dropped the Splenda bag in my coffee cup. Simple mistake. A shake out would have been sufficient, and a new bag. But no, not for this Mel's Diner winner. I was horrified as I watched her stick her whole damn hand in my cup fishin' around for that Splenda bag! Then she acted like nothing had happened and tried to finish making my coffee. Adding insult to injury - I watched in slow motion as she LICKED her fingers and reached for a coffee lid from the stack in front of her. I swear I almost passed out and died. Now I'm no Monk, but I don't even share a soda with my husband much less let some disgusting, germ spreading stranger touch MY lid that MY lips will drink from with HER yucky, filthy hands and saliva! When I expressed my disgust and refused the coffee, she actually got mad at ME! "My hands are clean!", she spewed, with her dirty mouth. (she probably wasn't as dirty as I'm describing, but I was in a semi-coma, things are hazy.) I stormed out in complete disgust.
As you can see, the whole event bothered me a little. So whenever I see her car, I avoid that coffee shop at all cost.
Now... back to my original story;
My sister, Heidie, was shopping at Stop and Shop once and spotted our Mother's car sitting outside the store. She was pulled up along the sidewalk, engine running, occupied with some papers or something. She'd sit in the driveway like that sometimes for an hour looking for something like her keys which were already in the ignition, or her glasses which were on top of her head. Seeing her sit there with the car running was nothing unusual. Heidie was going to run over and ask her if she was just headed in or leaving, maybe she'd like to shop with her? As she got closer, she could see Mom behind the stearing wheel counting a LARGE stack of money. She thought it would be hysterical to play a little prank on her. (Apparently she learned nothing after that whole exploding cigarette trick as a kid!)
While Mom was busy counting the money - Heidie ran up, whipped open the passenger side door and yelled in her scariest voice, "GIMME ALL YOUR MONEY, BITCH!". That was followed by blood curdling screams and money flying everywhere inside the car! Heidie, expecting to be laughing in hysterics, went from an ear-to-ear smile to deer-in-the-headlights shock as she realized the mistake she'd made... THAT was NOT our Mother!
She tried to apologize and explain herself, but the woman was clearly upset. Don't worry, Heidie didn't go to jail. I suppose all of us siblings telling this story over and over for twenty plus years is punishment enough. :-)
12.10.10
POW! Right In The Kisser!
Being the youngest of seven, you learn a lot about what you can and can not do to a frazzled woman with seven children. The oldest kids didn't get away with anything. Mom was still young enough to chase them around the house, and I mean that literally. Round and round and up and down until her hand or foot finally caught up to their behinds. Once Dawn was running away from Mom through the living room, kitchen, dining room - around and around - trying to avoid a spanking. Fearing the inevitable, she grabbed a book off a table and shoved it in the back of her pants - while running. When our Mother finally caught up to her and smacked her behind, her hand hit the book instead and they screeched to a halt as Mom screamed in anger pain. That only made Dawn's face turn pale white as she realized she may have avoided THAT spanking, but NOW she was gonna get one of those spankings that landed a smack on the butt with every syllable; "Don't (smack) You (whack) ever (whack) EVER..."
With her first few teenagers, she was still full of energy. She raided rooms and hunted for evidence of cigarettes or drugs. (She never found Renee's stash of cigarettes in the plastic horse's ass!) She strung strings with empty cans and created a "sound trap" on the cellar stairs to catch teenagers sneaking out at night. (eh hmm Dawn.) She interrogated friends and boyfriends, their parents, their school bus drivers. She bugged telephones, read diaries - relentless detective work. Filthy room? She was far past yelling or grounding. She loaded the entire contents of their room while they were at school and took it to the dump, as promised. "You want to treat it like a dump, a dump it is!".
But, alas, seven kids will eventually catch up with even the liveliest Mother Hen. As the years went by, she became increasingly less ambitious when it came to punishment. By the time the fifth and sixth became teenagers, she was pretty choosy as to which crime required action.
Heidie must have been feeling pretty confident that Mom had been worn down enough the day she decided to pull off a prank.
We'd all piled into the car to head out to Duff's Restaurant - the town's only all you could eat buffet. "Get Stuffed at Duff's!". Heidie, Renee and I jumped in the back seat, Dad drove and Mom was in the passenger's seat. Heidie and Renee were unusually quiet back there. I wondered why they were staring so intently at Mom as she reached into her purse and pulled out her cigarettes. I can still see it in slow motion - seeing Mom in the passenger side mirror slowly put the cigarette in her mouth and light it. Heidie and Renee staring intently, half-smiling and half biting their lips.
Just before my Dad backed out of the driveway - BANG!!! There was a flash, a puff of black smoke, my mother screaming, Dad slamming on the breaks and the roar of laughter from Heidie and Renee. Slowly, Mom turned around with her face all black - the whites of her bulging eyes turning right to the two of them. Heidie had placed an exploding cigarette cap in Mom's cigarettes. Once she realized what had just happened, that big old heavy black purse of hers came flying up over the front seat, swinging furiously at Heidie and Renee, while I - the innocent baby of course, almost peed from laughter. I don't know what was funnier - her black face with a broken cigarette hanging out of it, or my sisters getting whacked with that bag.
With her first few teenagers, she was still full of energy. She raided rooms and hunted for evidence of cigarettes or drugs. (She never found Renee's stash of cigarettes in the plastic horse's ass!) She strung strings with empty cans and created a "sound trap" on the cellar stairs to catch teenagers sneaking out at night. (eh hmm Dawn.) She interrogated friends and boyfriends, their parents, their school bus drivers. She bugged telephones, read diaries - relentless detective work. Filthy room? She was far past yelling or grounding. She loaded the entire contents of their room while they were at school and took it to the dump, as promised. "You want to treat it like a dump, a dump it is!".
But, alas, seven kids will eventually catch up with even the liveliest Mother Hen. As the years went by, she became increasingly less ambitious when it came to punishment. By the time the fifth and sixth became teenagers, she was pretty choosy as to which crime required action.
Heidie must have been feeling pretty confident that Mom had been worn down enough the day she decided to pull off a prank.
We'd all piled into the car to head out to Duff's Restaurant - the town's only all you could eat buffet. "Get Stuffed at Duff's!". Heidie, Renee and I jumped in the back seat, Dad drove and Mom was in the passenger's seat. Heidie and Renee were unusually quiet back there. I wondered why they were staring so intently at Mom as she reached into her purse and pulled out her cigarettes. I can still see it in slow motion - seeing Mom in the passenger side mirror slowly put the cigarette in her mouth and light it. Heidie and Renee staring intently, half-smiling and half biting their lips.
Just before my Dad backed out of the driveway - BANG!!! There was a flash, a puff of black smoke, my mother screaming, Dad slamming on the breaks and the roar of laughter from Heidie and Renee. Slowly, Mom turned around with her face all black - the whites of her bulging eyes turning right to the two of them. Heidie had placed an exploding cigarette cap in Mom's cigarettes. Once she realized what had just happened, that big old heavy black purse of hers came flying up over the front seat, swinging furiously at Heidie and Renee, while I - the innocent baby of course, almost peed from laughter. I don't know what was funnier - her black face with a broken cigarette hanging out of it, or my sisters getting whacked with that bag.
29.9.10
Orphan For A Day
Being the youngest of seven, six of them sisters - I always had one hen or another looking after me. Sometimes they'd pass me off like a football - Mom would ask Jaimie to watch me while she went to the store, but Jaimie being 16 had plans with friends so she'd pass me off to Dawn, who would take me down to the park but meet up with friends and tell Heidie to watch me, who'd meet up with Renee and tell her to bring me home, etc. etc. I usually ended up back at home with the right family by dark, which was the only time I remember our Mother looking for us. Back then that was the norm - children didn't have computers and playstations - You were SUPPOSED to disappear and come home by dark covered in dirt.
When I was about 10 years old there were only 3 out of the 7 kids remaining at home. The rest had grown and started their own crazy families. We'd just moved out of State, living in Ohio for a short period of time. Our Mother had to have surgery on her kidneys, back in CT. Since my parents would be out of town for at least four to six weeks, they asked one of my sister's boyfriend's Mother to keep an eye on us, stop by the house, etc.
Even though my sisters Heidie and Renee were 15 and 16, Mom felt better having an adult watch out for us. Unfortunately the person she had watching us needed watching! As soon as my parents left, the woman took "help yourself to whatever you need" literally. She raided the cupboards, her sons helped themselves to my Dad's garage and they turned our beautiful ranch into a trailer complete with an engine block up on chains and a busted car on cinder blocks. If my father were to come back then and see his dead grass, tools strewn - you would have read all about the Ohio Massacre of 1983. Luckily for them my parents just threatened their lives over the phone and told them to get the hell outta Dodge.
The Babysitter from Hell retaliated by making a phone call of her own.
A few days later, I had just finished feeding the cats outside when I came back into the house with my eyes closed jammin' with my wicked cool Walkman radio on. I was singing to the top of my lungs "Dr. Pepper, Driiiiiiiink Dr. Pepper YEAAHHH", when I bumped into someone in the door way.
I opened my eyes and saw a black suit. A very nice black suit with a very angry looking woman in it. When I'd bumped into her, I still had the cat food can and spoon in my hands and I got it on her sleeve. "Come with me dear, we need to pack a few things, you're going to come with us." I yelled for Heidie and I saw her with another lady, asking her who the hell they thought they were and why were they in our house, all moving very fast towards the front door. My other sister Renee came around the corner with a Police Officer escorting her out (wow they really did their prep work).
"It was reported that you children have been abandoned and you are all going to have to come with us." The ogre who was looking after us was so angry at being fired, she placed a call to the Department of Children and Families and reported us. It all happened very fast and if I were on Dr. Phil I'm sure I'd be sobbing about how tragic the experience was, but honestly it was hysterical watching a cop struggle to put my petite 4'9" sister in the back of a cop car.
When we got to the orphanage - YES - I said ORPHANAGE - as in old, turn of the century, prisonesque, haunted house looking ORPHANAGE - we were brought into the Director's Office. Heidie and I sat in the two big wing-back chairs in front of the Director's desk. Renee asked to use the bathroom, which was located within the office. While Heidie demanded we be allowed to call our Mother, Renee was yelling from the bathroom; "At least our house has f'n TOILET PAPER!". This woman had nooooo idea who she was getting. In my best Tweety Bird Voice I said, "She don't know us vewy well now DOoOOOooo she!"
An assistant came into the office while Heidie was on the phone with our Mother. She whispered to me, "You look hungry child, are you hungry? We have some chili dogs in the kitchen." I was going through a wicked growth spurt at the time and quickly replied with Puss N Boots eyes, "I haven't eaten in days!". She brought me to the kitchen and placed 2 giant chili dogs in front of me, which I devoured as if the whole shpeel about not eating were true. The truth was, I'd eaten cookies for breakfast and whatever else I'd wanted for more than a week, but she didn't have to know the truth just yet. "Would you like another?", she asked. "Yeth pleath", I replied with a full mouth. She whispered to another lady, "Poor thing is starving." I swung my legs under the table and gleefully gulped down my 2nd dinner for the day.
Meanwhile in the office, my Mother's voice could be heard shouting through the phone throughout the entire house. She was contacting her attorney if we were not released to our cousin Claire within the hour.
Apparently they didn't believe that would happen, because they proceeded to show us to our "room". We walked up the long, creaky staircase past a door with an alarm. "THAT", she scowled, "is the BOYS side. DO NOT go through that door." No problem for me, I still believed boys had cooties. The room we were to share had old rusted metal beds and a drinking fountain that was stained with orange and yellow streaks. The whole scene was just like the movies, dark and dreary and scary as hell. "Don't bother showing us any more, we won't be here one night!", shouted Renee.
I wondered how long it would be before my sisters made their escape and if they would leave me there. I knew I'd have to plan an escape as well - but just when I was weighing freedom vs. chili dogs, our Aunt came through the door and we were OUT of there. Not without Renee of course having the last word... "I TOLD YOU we wouldn't be here the night you fat bi&$*#!". Skipping behind my sisters out of the Orphanage front door, I stopped at the sweet lady from the kitchen and asked, "one for the road?".
When I was about 10 years old there were only 3 out of the 7 kids remaining at home. The rest had grown and started their own crazy families. We'd just moved out of State, living in Ohio for a short period of time. Our Mother had to have surgery on her kidneys, back in CT. Since my parents would be out of town for at least four to six weeks, they asked one of my sister's boyfriend's Mother to keep an eye on us, stop by the house, etc.
Even though my sisters Heidie and Renee were 15 and 16, Mom felt better having an adult watch out for us. Unfortunately the person she had watching us needed watching! As soon as my parents left, the woman took "help yourself to whatever you need" literally. She raided the cupboards, her sons helped themselves to my Dad's garage and they turned our beautiful ranch into a trailer complete with an engine block up on chains and a busted car on cinder blocks. If my father were to come back then and see his dead grass, tools strewn - you would have read all about the Ohio Massacre of 1983. Luckily for them my parents just threatened their lives over the phone and told them to get the hell outta Dodge.
The Babysitter from Hell retaliated by making a phone call of her own.
A few days later, I had just finished feeding the cats outside when I came back into the house with my eyes closed jammin' with my wicked cool Walkman radio on. I was singing to the top of my lungs "Dr. Pepper, Driiiiiiiink Dr. Pepper YEAAHHH", when I bumped into someone in the door way.
I opened my eyes and saw a black suit. A very nice black suit with a very angry looking woman in it. When I'd bumped into her, I still had the cat food can and spoon in my hands and I got it on her sleeve. "Come with me dear, we need to pack a few things, you're going to come with us." I yelled for Heidie and I saw her with another lady, asking her who the hell they thought they were and why were they in our house, all moving very fast towards the front door. My other sister Renee came around the corner with a Police Officer escorting her out (wow they really did their prep work).
"It was reported that you children have been abandoned and you are all going to have to come with us." The ogre who was looking after us was so angry at being fired, she placed a call to the Department of Children and Families and reported us. It all happened very fast and if I were on Dr. Phil I'm sure I'd be sobbing about how tragic the experience was, but honestly it was hysterical watching a cop struggle to put my petite 4'9" sister in the back of a cop car.
When we got to the orphanage - YES - I said ORPHANAGE - as in old, turn of the century, prisonesque, haunted house looking ORPHANAGE - we were brought into the Director's Office. Heidie and I sat in the two big wing-back chairs in front of the Director's desk. Renee asked to use the bathroom, which was located within the office. While Heidie demanded we be allowed to call our Mother, Renee was yelling from the bathroom; "At least our house has f'n TOILET PAPER!". This woman had nooooo idea who she was getting. In my best Tweety Bird Voice I said, "She don't know us vewy well now DOoOOOooo she!"
An assistant came into the office while Heidie was on the phone with our Mother. She whispered to me, "You look hungry child, are you hungry? We have some chili dogs in the kitchen." I was going through a wicked growth spurt at the time and quickly replied with Puss N Boots eyes, "I haven't eaten in days!". She brought me to the kitchen and placed 2 giant chili dogs in front of me, which I devoured as if the whole shpeel about not eating were true. The truth was, I'd eaten cookies for breakfast and whatever else I'd wanted for more than a week, but she didn't have to know the truth just yet. "Would you like another?", she asked. "Yeth pleath", I replied with a full mouth. She whispered to another lady, "Poor thing is starving." I swung my legs under the table and gleefully gulped down my 2nd dinner for the day.
Meanwhile in the office, my Mother's voice could be heard shouting through the phone throughout the entire house. She was contacting her attorney if we were not released to our cousin Claire within the hour.
Apparently they didn't believe that would happen, because they proceeded to show us to our "room". We walked up the long, creaky staircase past a door with an alarm. "THAT", she scowled, "is the BOYS side. DO NOT go through that door." No problem for me, I still believed boys had cooties. The room we were to share had old rusted metal beds and a drinking fountain that was stained with orange and yellow streaks. The whole scene was just like the movies, dark and dreary and scary as hell. "Don't bother showing us any more, we won't be here one night!", shouted Renee.
I wondered how long it would be before my sisters made their escape and if they would leave me there. I knew I'd have to plan an escape as well - but just when I was weighing freedom vs. chili dogs, our Aunt came through the door and we were OUT of there. Not without Renee of course having the last word... "I TOLD YOU we wouldn't be here the night you fat bi&$*#!". Skipping behind my sisters out of the Orphanage front door, I stopped at the sweet lady from the kitchen and asked, "one for the road?".
28.9.10
No Happy Ending
I'd been walking all day through New York City with my friends Lorie and Dave. We'd gone to see the King Tut Exhibit - which was a great experience, minus the bus load of school kids on a field trip at the same time. Part of the exhibition included a 15 minute movie. I couldn't concentrate on the movie because the whole time I was thinking about the germs the sick kid behind me was spewing in my direction. He was sniffling, oozing, coughing. Really? Who sends their kid to school that sick? At one point, he sneezed so hard my hair literally blew from the back of my head to the front. Lorie and I looked at each other, through our 3D glasses, with equally disgusted faces.
Despite the expected "ick" factor, being in the city is thrilling enough for me to be willing to shove my germaphobia to the back seat and just accept the fact that I will touch railings covered in grime, schlep through sidewalks of occasional muck, splash in puddles of unknown goo, get yelled at by large cockroaches on the subway stairs and endure being crammed next to strangers who may or may not have deodorized in the last several days or weeks. That's why God made hand sanitizer. I can whip it out whenever a germ-induced panic attack comes on and instantly the smell of sweet sanitization calms me down and allows me to enjoy the rest of my journey.
After the exhibit, we went wandering through the city, walking for blocks, stopping at interesting bakeries, looking through racks of hats and cheap sunglasses, through China Town saying "no thank you!" to the thousands of offers for cheap DVD's, Rolex and Coach and over to Ground Zero.
I regained my excitement of being in the city and got back into the hustle and bustle. There's something about the energy there, walking with hundreds of strangers at a fast pace, moving with the masses with those huge buildings looming over you. Everything is busy, exciting, new and interesting. Nothing like it! Just when I got the spring back in my step, a bird shit on my head.
Lorie and Dave found this falling-down funny. I stood in shock for a moment. Staring up, trying to convince myself it was a rogue rain drop. Maybe an old lady tossing mop water from the 10th floor? Leaky pipe? "Anything, please, anything but bird doo!" What was I going to do!? Home was several hours away. There's not exactly any bathrooms handy to "freshen up". I didn't even have a mirror, so I had to "feel" out the situation, which made me queasy. Staring straight ahead, trying to feel the damage, all the while watching Lorie cross her legs and bend over, in an apparent attempt to not wet herself from the uncontrollable laughter. The silent laughter - you know - when someones mouth is open and they're eyes are scrunched and they look like they're in agony but really, they're just dying of laughter. Eventually she was able to breathe, compose herself and come to my aid. She used a napkin to help me get the crap out of my hair. I squeezed hand sanitizer on the whole area. For the rest of the day I looked like "Something About Mary".
Moving along in true New York style, we headed to the South Seaport. Along the way, Lorie and I spotted a sidewalk sign; "10 Minute Massage $12!" I swear there were beams of heavenly light breaking through the clouds and lighting up that sign - with harp music playing in the background. Our backs ached, our feet ached and a quick chair massage was just what we needed to keep movin' and head into Little Italy later for dinner. We dashed up the stairs and through beautiful glass doors. So far so good - didn't look seedy at all. When a petite, well-dressed Chinese Lady greeted us we asked for the $12 special we saw posted on the sidewalk. She walked us into a beautiful, serene, relaxing room that had dim lighting, candles burning, soft music playing and two massage tables just ready for us. We took off our shoes and layed face-down on the table, each exhaling a big sigh of relief. This was going to be wonderful.
Two ladies came in and we said our hellos. They each asked us if we wanted it to be gentle or hard; to which I replied, "A little hard is fine." Mistake #1, Never say HARD to an Oriental Masseuse. The next thing I knew, my masseuse climbed up on my back like a wild animal and started clawing. I let out a laugh - I think I really wanted to cry, but it came out as laughter.
Mistake #2 Never laugh at an Oriental Massage. Each uncontrollable laugh only made her dig into my neck harder. I kept wheezing out "I changed my mind! I changed my mind! Gentle please!", but she either didn't understand English or my weak cries were lost in between the laughing. It hurt so bad! I don't know why I didn't just throw her off my back - but I kept thinking she'd stop and that was just the bad part, it'll get better. It didn't. She was squeezing my neck so hard at some points I saw stars and thought for sure I was going to pass out! All the while I kept hearing Lorie saying things like, "Oh that's wonderful, oh thank you." because her Chinese Lady was an adorable Grandma who probably had the hands of an angel. I'd hear her say to Lorie, "Is that ok? Too hard?", to which Lorie would reply "Oh no, that's heavenly thank you!". For every moan of pleasure from Lorie there was an echo wheeze of me losing my breath as my Chinese Lady's knees dug into my spine and her claws ripped at the base of my neck.
I tried to think of anything, ANYTHING that would make me stop laughing, but the whole experience was like an episode out of Saturday Night Live, and despite the agony, I could not - stop - laughing. Between the hysterical laughing and the pressure of her on my back, it was all I could do not to pee right there on the table.
Ten minutes seemed like eternity. I pictured the ambulance ride to the hospital I was sure to need when this was over - after she induced a clot in the back of my neck or ripped some sort of major vein. I just started to pray "Please God, don't let it end like this with bird shit on my head, peed pants and a Chinese lady on my back in some New York City Massage Parlor!" That would NOT be a happy ending.
Despite the expected "ick" factor, being in the city is thrilling enough for me to be willing to shove my germaphobia to the back seat and just accept the fact that I will touch railings covered in grime, schlep through sidewalks of occasional muck, splash in puddles of unknown goo, get yelled at by large cockroaches on the subway stairs and endure being crammed next to strangers who may or may not have deodorized in the last several days or weeks. That's why God made hand sanitizer. I can whip it out whenever a germ-induced panic attack comes on and instantly the smell of sweet sanitization calms me down and allows me to enjoy the rest of my journey.
After the exhibit, we went wandering through the city, walking for blocks, stopping at interesting bakeries, looking through racks of hats and cheap sunglasses, through China Town saying "no thank you!" to the thousands of offers for cheap DVD's, Rolex and Coach and over to Ground Zero.
I regained my excitement of being in the city and got back into the hustle and bustle. There's something about the energy there, walking with hundreds of strangers at a fast pace, moving with the masses with those huge buildings looming over you. Everything is busy, exciting, new and interesting. Nothing like it! Just when I got the spring back in my step, a bird shit on my head.
Lorie and Dave found this falling-down funny. I stood in shock for a moment. Staring up, trying to convince myself it was a rogue rain drop. Maybe an old lady tossing mop water from the 10th floor? Leaky pipe? "Anything, please, anything but bird doo!" What was I going to do!? Home was several hours away. There's not exactly any bathrooms handy to "freshen up". I didn't even have a mirror, so I had to "feel" out the situation, which made me queasy. Staring straight ahead, trying to feel the damage, all the while watching Lorie cross her legs and bend over, in an apparent attempt to not wet herself from the uncontrollable laughter. The silent laughter - you know - when someones mouth is open and they're eyes are scrunched and they look like they're in agony but really, they're just dying of laughter. Eventually she was able to breathe, compose herself and come to my aid. She used a napkin to help me get the crap out of my hair. I squeezed hand sanitizer on the whole area. For the rest of the day I looked like "Something About Mary".
Moving along in true New York style, we headed to the South Seaport. Along the way, Lorie and I spotted a sidewalk sign; "10 Minute Massage $12!" I swear there were beams of heavenly light breaking through the clouds and lighting up that sign - with harp music playing in the background. Our backs ached, our feet ached and a quick chair massage was just what we needed to keep movin' and head into Little Italy later for dinner. We dashed up the stairs and through beautiful glass doors. So far so good - didn't look seedy at all. When a petite, well-dressed Chinese Lady greeted us we asked for the $12 special we saw posted on the sidewalk. She walked us into a beautiful, serene, relaxing room that had dim lighting, candles burning, soft music playing and two massage tables just ready for us. We took off our shoes and layed face-down on the table, each exhaling a big sigh of relief. This was going to be wonderful.
Two ladies came in and we said our hellos. They each asked us if we wanted it to be gentle or hard; to which I replied, "A little hard is fine." Mistake #1, Never say HARD to an Oriental Masseuse. The next thing I knew, my masseuse climbed up on my back like a wild animal and started clawing. I let out a laugh - I think I really wanted to cry, but it came out as laughter.
Mistake #2 Never laugh at an Oriental Massage. Each uncontrollable laugh only made her dig into my neck harder. I kept wheezing out "I changed my mind! I changed my mind! Gentle please!", but she either didn't understand English or my weak cries were lost in between the laughing. It hurt so bad! I don't know why I didn't just throw her off my back - but I kept thinking she'd stop and that was just the bad part, it'll get better. It didn't. She was squeezing my neck so hard at some points I saw stars and thought for sure I was going to pass out! All the while I kept hearing Lorie saying things like, "Oh that's wonderful, oh thank you." because her Chinese Lady was an adorable Grandma who probably had the hands of an angel. I'd hear her say to Lorie, "Is that ok? Too hard?", to which Lorie would reply "Oh no, that's heavenly thank you!". For every moan of pleasure from Lorie there was an echo wheeze of me losing my breath as my Chinese Lady's knees dug into my spine and her claws ripped at the base of my neck.
I tried to think of anything, ANYTHING that would make me stop laughing, but the whole experience was like an episode out of Saturday Night Live, and despite the agony, I could not - stop - laughing. Between the hysterical laughing and the pressure of her on my back, it was all I could do not to pee right there on the table.
Ten minutes seemed like eternity. I pictured the ambulance ride to the hospital I was sure to need when this was over - after she induced a clot in the back of my neck or ripped some sort of major vein. I just started to pray "Please God, don't let it end like this with bird shit on my head, peed pants and a Chinese lady on my back in some New York City Massage Parlor!" That would NOT be a happy ending.
26.9.10
Stupid Beaches
Something about me seems to annoy Oriental people. Not quite sure what it is. I do have this condition, kind of like Turrets Syndrome but not exactly, where instead of shouting out vulgarities I unconsciously have uncontrollable facial expressions. I've caught myself squinting my eyes and shriveling up my nose when talking to and trying to understand the man at the Chinese Restaurant or the Korean Lady at The Nail Salon. I don't mean to, it just happens, which I can see leads to them thinking I'm picking on them and the whole thing usually ends uncomfortably for me.
When I worked at the local newspaper, my friend Lisa and I would go to lunch at the same little Chinese Buffet almost every day for over two years. Tiny little dive. The owner's son ran the place, and you could tell he wasn't thrilled to be there in the first place. He was an angry little man. A new Chinese restaurant opened across the street. He started hanging discount signs in the windows to try and beat the competition. All hand-written on colored paper. First 20% off lunch buffet, 30% off, 40% and higher each week until eventually all the windows and a sidewalk sign were covered in crazy hand-written "60% OFF LUNCH" signs.
We kept going. The food was cheap and he was hysterical. He got to know us pretty well, and soon felt comfortable to say whatever he wanted. He'd yell at Lisa when she'd try to pay for her $4.00 lunch with a debit card; "WHY YOU NO HAVE PAPER MONEY!?! All da time you never have paper f'n money! Debit card cost me money!", but he'd still take it, angrily. Same thing would happen almost every visit. She'd whip out her debit card for $3.50 worth of fried shrimp and he'd say, "Stupid beaches, why you never have paper money!?!". We'd laugh 'till we cried. One day there was a huge storm coming in, the sky was black and giant clouds were moving in fast. As Lisa and walked in the restaurant, we saw him and said, "Hey looks like a big storm's coming!", to which he replied, "I don't fucking care! It's HOT!". For Christmas he gave each of us a calendar. A calendar with Chinese girls in bikinis leaning on sports cars. Maybe he thought we were lesbians? Or maybe he thought we were just stupid beaches.
When I worked at the local newspaper, my friend Lisa and I would go to lunch at the same little Chinese Buffet almost every day for over two years. Tiny little dive. The owner's son ran the place, and you could tell he wasn't thrilled to be there in the first place. He was an angry little man. A new Chinese restaurant opened across the street. He started hanging discount signs in the windows to try and beat the competition. All hand-written on colored paper. First 20% off lunch buffet, 30% off, 40% and higher each week until eventually all the windows and a sidewalk sign were covered in crazy hand-written "60% OFF LUNCH" signs.
We kept going. The food was cheap and he was hysterical. He got to know us pretty well, and soon felt comfortable to say whatever he wanted. He'd yell at Lisa when she'd try to pay for her $4.00 lunch with a debit card; "WHY YOU NO HAVE PAPER MONEY!?! All da time you never have paper f'n money! Debit card cost me money!", but he'd still take it, angrily. Same thing would happen almost every visit. She'd whip out her debit card for $3.50 worth of fried shrimp and he'd say, "Stupid beaches, why you never have paper money!?!". We'd laugh 'till we cried. One day there was a huge storm coming in, the sky was black and giant clouds were moving in fast. As Lisa and walked in the restaurant, we saw him and said, "Hey looks like a big storm's coming!", to which he replied, "I don't fucking care! It's HOT!". For Christmas he gave each of us a calendar. A calendar with Chinese girls in bikinis leaning on sports cars. Maybe he thought we were lesbians? Or maybe he thought we were just stupid beaches.
25.9.10
Blue
It had been one of those days. Woke up late, with a cramped neck, rushed to get in and out of the shower and all the hot water was gone. Reached for a towel and there wasn't one. Went to get dressed and realized I'd left what I wanted to wear in the washer and it never made it to the dryer. Dug through the piles of clothes I had yet to put away to try and find something else to wear, but everything I picked was either too small (not that I'd gained weight, heh heh) or I'd finally find something that fit, but it was covered in friggin cat hair. I was supposed to be to work in 15 minutes!
Just before I had a meltdown, I remembered I had a bag from JC Penney with a new pair of jeans that I was planning on returning in it. (because once again their sizes were all wrong of course.) I tore open the bag and threw on the jeans, threw on a blouse, used some duck tape to get some of the cat fur off, grabbed my keys and ran out the door. I wish I could say the day got easier after that, but it pretty much remained to be "one of those days," The copier jammed, the servers crashed, the traffic sucked and my neck was still cramped.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted. We had plans to go out to dinner with friends that night as well. I shlepped (that's my favorite Jewish expression, even though I'm Irish, I pronounce it quite well) to the bathroom to "refresh" myself. Sitting on the pot, with my pants around my ankles, and my hands on my forehead, I noticed my legs looked a little blue. Hmm. That's strange. I know the waist was a little tight, but it couldn't have cut my circulation off THAT much. Hell when I was a teenager I wore skin tight jeans all the time - never cut my circulation off before. And I had to lay on the bed to zip those suckers up!
This was wierd. Were my legs tingly? I thought so - maybe a little tingly. Maybe I should stretch them out. I went out to the living room and showed my husband my legs. "Hey hun....hey check out my legs - I think I cut off my circulation or something?". He came out and agreed, that was strange. He said to walk around a little, get the blood flowing. Then he said, "Hey, your neck and forehead look a little blue too!"
I ran to the mirror. The last thing a hypocondriach needs is affirmation something is wrong with them. Sure enough, I had blue streaks on my neck and on my forehead! Was I losing oxygen? I jumped online to look it up and the internet said I definately had a lack of oxygen. Heart attack, stroke, blockage, a million reasons I was dying. Suddenly I did feel like I couldn't breathe very well. And my arms and legs felt so tingly. Was I having a heart attack? A blockage? OMG! I'm blue! I'm dying! I started to hyperventalite!
My husband said "C'mon, I'm taking you to the hospital!" I felt like I was going to faint. Seriously weak, Oh my God, this was it. I said "Ok Ok, let me just get some pants on, I can't go to the ER in my underwear!" and I hobbled my way to the bathroom for my pants. The new pants. That's when it hit me. The brand new, dark, navy blue jeans. That had not been washed. That I put on with wet skin that morning....That must have.... and I rubbed my sore neck.... and my stressed out forehead... and it.... made me blue.
Just before I had a meltdown, I remembered I had a bag from JC Penney with a new pair of jeans that I was planning on returning in it. (because once again their sizes were all wrong of course.) I tore open the bag and threw on the jeans, threw on a blouse, used some duck tape to get some of the cat fur off, grabbed my keys and ran out the door. I wish I could say the day got easier after that, but it pretty much remained to be "one of those days," The copier jammed, the servers crashed, the traffic sucked and my neck was still cramped.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted. We had plans to go out to dinner with friends that night as well. I shlepped (that's my favorite Jewish expression, even though I'm Irish, I pronounce it quite well) to the bathroom to "refresh" myself. Sitting on the pot, with my pants around my ankles, and my hands on my forehead, I noticed my legs looked a little blue. Hmm. That's strange. I know the waist was a little tight, but it couldn't have cut my circulation off THAT much. Hell when I was a teenager I wore skin tight jeans all the time - never cut my circulation off before. And I had to lay on the bed to zip those suckers up!
This was wierd. Were my legs tingly? I thought so - maybe a little tingly. Maybe I should stretch them out. I went out to the living room and showed my husband my legs. "Hey hun....hey check out my legs - I think I cut off my circulation or something?". He came out and agreed, that was strange. He said to walk around a little, get the blood flowing. Then he said, "Hey, your neck and forehead look a little blue too!"
I ran to the mirror. The last thing a hypocondriach needs is affirmation something is wrong with them. Sure enough, I had blue streaks on my neck and on my forehead! Was I losing oxygen? I jumped online to look it up and the internet said I definately had a lack of oxygen. Heart attack, stroke, blockage, a million reasons I was dying. Suddenly I did feel like I couldn't breathe very well. And my arms and legs felt so tingly. Was I having a heart attack? A blockage? OMG! I'm blue! I'm dying! I started to hyperventalite!
My husband said "C'mon, I'm taking you to the hospital!" I felt like I was going to faint. Seriously weak, Oh my God, this was it. I said "Ok Ok, let me just get some pants on, I can't go to the ER in my underwear!" and I hobbled my way to the bathroom for my pants. The new pants. That's when it hit me. The brand new, dark, navy blue jeans. That had not been washed. That I put on with wet skin that morning....That must have.... and I rubbed my sore neck.... and my stressed out forehead... and it.... made me blue.
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