Season 9 Episode 12-Chicken Cutlets and the Morning After

I have been sifting through my archives looking for something to "Blagh"
I have not really had the time to write any new stuff BUT I am keeping really good notes.
This is a really old episode from when Steve and I first started living together. I figured
it will never make a publishing. I can laugh at it now. But at the time I was lividly beside myself.

Season 9 Episode 12-Chicken Cutlets and the Morning After:

On today's episode I offer what just may be one of my favorite meals in the world. It is basic and we all make them. At least I would like to think we do. It is pretty straight forward. I just use an egg wash that is half milk. Then Bread them up before frying them in about a 1/4 inch of oil. I MUST have mashed potatoes and corn with this meal. Just like a meatloaf...for me it just does not work with out the mashed potatoes and corn.

This is one of the first episodes that takes place no longer being single and living alone. Steve and I have decided it was time for us to live together. It just has gotten to that point. Deep inside I knew the most challenging part of this was going to be when I cooked. Already he keeps coming into the kitchen and disrupting. As excited as I was to serve him one of my favorite meals...it did not seem to be clear to him that he was 'unwelcome' in the kitchen while I was cooking. Either he was curious about the process or the smells...or he was drinking very heavy and had to keep 'refreshing his drink'. I finally explained to him that he would have to either take the bottle of Vodka with him back to the TV or nurse the drink until I was done cooking. He nursed the drink.

When I served dinner we sat down and smiled with glee. It was glorious. I was so happy to serve him such a meal. The one that I treasure. The one that makes my mouth water. So with refreshed drinks and finally seated. Comes this....
"Do we have Ketchup?" Steve asks with an innocent smile. My heart sinks into my feet. "For what?" I ask with a smile. "I should like some ketchup for my chicken cutlets please." he says with s silly smile.
I could feel my blood begin to boil. How could he dare smother these in ketchup? All this work and he is just going to DIP them in ketchup. "Stephen you may not destroy such a work of art with ketchup" I say firmly. "But I want Ketchup!" He replies.
"I am sorry I can not allow you to do that." I demand. "Just try it with out it first, see how it is!"
I offer. He stares at me blank. He lifts his knife. Cuts. Then he attempts to put a piece in his mouth. He puts it back down on the plate. "I really would like ketchup." he says. "FINE God dammit" I get up sternly and storm back to the kitchen. I reach for the bottle. And I just can not grasp it. So I look in the fridge. The best I can offer him is BBQ sauce. And even this kills me.
It killed more to watch him dump it on his plate. And then proceed to DIP his food into it. I was in a sweat. I could not sit still. But he did not notice. He just told me 'how yummy it was'.

We went to bed. It was all I could think about. But I dared not to mention it. I knew this was only the beginning. The start of a long culinary relationship with this new man. We had a new house. New Trucks. A new Dog. And Family on the way to visit. Why should I start off.

The next morning I awoke with a need to make breakfast. I made sure coffee was all set in the living room so that he did not come into the kitchen and interrupt my cooking show. I even called out to make sure he had enough sugar. "Yesso" he replied.

I served on the gifted dinner trays a plate of his favorite bacon and eggs over easy. I was sure to bring the ketchup as I was sure there would be a request. He smiled and said thank you very much. I smiled back.
As I retreated to the kitchen to fetch my own plate he hollers. "Can I have the mustard?" I paused. Took a deep breath. And I thought he must for sure be making a joke from the previous night. Little did I know he was not that clever. "Your fucking kidding me with this right Steve?"
I ask in a fit. "No" he says. So as I storm back with the mustard I slam it on his tray. "What are you going to do with that? Dip your fucking egg yolks in it?" I bark to him with a glare. He looks back up. "Calm down!! I like mustard with my eggs." he says. "Oh come the fuck on...who the fuck puts mustard in their eggs over easy???" I demand...."Don't you put it in your egg salad?" he asks me. "Well... Yes." I get coy. "Well thats where i got the idea!"he barks back.

Texting? Phone Call? My new communication with my parents.

When text messaging first came around I was not amused. It was tedious and tried my patience. I did play around with it though. Then when the 'auto complete' came along I was tickled pink!! I was with Steve at the time...and I started using it all the time while he was at work. And this aggravated him. Because he couldn't figure it out. He would call me..."Jowal will you stop 'texting' me at work? I find it very distracting! He would demand to me. But as you can imagine this was his mistake. And I 'texted' him all the time from my office. Until finally he figured it out. Then my hell began. Text after Text after Text. It drove me out of my mind. I remember one incident I was standing in the bank and I got one. It read something like...'I love you snookawookum...hope you drove safely to the bank.' That was the final straw for me. Steve was a transportation manager. And every other fucking word out of his "TEXT" would include something to do with safety. Once out of the bank and in my truck I called him at once. "Listen you son of a bitch! Stop with the fucking 'texting' or I am going to call and have your phone shut off!!" I said. "Ohhhhhh" he said.
"How you like me now?" He so crassly spoke. Payback is a bitch.

Lately though, text messaging has become a very good way for me to communicate with my parents. Although Steve ruined it for me and I went on for many years refusing to text with anyone. I have come to appreciate it's cheap, short and sweet manner. So with that. I use it regularly. Even to my parents.

Now my dad is new to a cell phone in general. I think he may have been steady with his current one for about 3 years or so. And I recall when I home this past winter how excited he got when it rang or made any sort of noise. He was promptly there to check it out and see what was happening. He even...had his own customized voice mail greeting. This impressed me. So this year. Because he and y mother where on vacation at the time. I sent him a Happy Father's Day Text. And being as clever as I am! I even did it ahead of time and then scheduled the delivery @ 6am on Fathers Day. A week Early. And it was not a clerical error on my behalf. I was astounded at the end of the day that I had not gotten a text back from him. He usually texts me right back.
So I called him by the end of the day. He was chuckling at me. "What is so funny?" I ask feeling a complex coming on. "Son, father's day is not until next week" he said laughing his ass off. OK I get it! HA HA...So I repeated the process for the following week...and alas...I got my thank you return text.

My mother on the other hand is no stranger to a mobile phone. She has had one since the old brick models of the mid 90's. And since then has had some pretty flashy ones. Some really nice phone's. So recently I get this text. About a week ago.

>from mom< 'I upsEt oh i ugh an i an few nonmom' Sent:July 20, 2009 05:45:25pm
This naturally alarmed me. I thought something was very wrong. And the images going through my head as to why she would have such a message to send was maddening. I call straight away.
She is laughing her ass off. My dad is laughing in the back round. I am not amused. "What the fuck is going on?" I ask. "I just can't figure out how to text" she said..."it just makes up it's own words"
After that was cleared up...fast forward to yesterday. I send her a text following up to our earlier phone conversation about my shoe shopping.
>to mom< ' I got a pair of overpriced George shoes...they should be good till first snowfall' Sent: July 24, 2009 06:45:52pm

This is what I get back....
>from mom< 'Shot II jon what jon pig pig are' Sent: July 24, 2009 03:49:55pm

This sends me in to a fit of laughter as I am standing at an intersection. So much so that I had to collect my self on a telephone pole. Not because it was all that funny or even the fact that she actually saw what it said and still hit send! BUT! Or the fact I now knew her phone was locked in 'auto complete' mode and she could not figure out how to get out of it. The funny part was. because of my auto complete experience. I was able to translate it. 'Should I know what George Shoes are?' is what she meant to ask!

MVOCS- Season 16 Episode 247- How to Completely Fuck Up Haddock ChoWda

On today's episode I would like to show you how I completely fucked up what could have been a perfectly rich Haddock ChoWda. It could not be any easier. But of course. I will also have a fix.

Let's get started with your shopping list.

2 pounds of haddock fillets (unless you are cooking for a fucking fishing crew get more)
1 can or 2 of the small cans of UNSWEETENED condensed milk!!
1 quart of whole milk
2 pounds of fish heads or better yet shrimp heads...any thing with the brains still in them...or just buy some pre-made fish stock.
1 stick of butter
1/2 pound of slab bacon DICED (it is easy to get now...if you can't get it just get the thickest you can find dice it up...just make sure knife is sharp as shit)
1-2 Sweet Onions...I always try to use Vadalia...if they are in season. If they are not I use a red onion to make it pretty!
Some Fresh Corn as much as you like to add...I prefer a bit more rather then less....
A bag of those cute little baby Yukon potatoes.

I think that is every thing. For now. The basics you should already have in your pantry.

ChoWda is indeed something I enjoy making on rainy days...especially if I had to be wet as
a result of it. You know, one of those days when you walk in the door and you are drenched.
How about a fucking choWda!

First...I know not everyone has direct access to fish heads like I do. But if you can get them...get them...the boiled brains make a very rich stock. And that is how you want to get it started. I usually throw the heads in with a cup of brandy...or water if no brandy on hand. An you want to boil these mother fucker's till they practically melt. Use a stock pot. Keep adding fluid. And reducing it. Do this for as much as you have time or patience for. I have done it for an entire day a few times and the results where priceless. OF COURSE the key is getting it drained. Use the most micro strainer you can find.
Or just bring your store bought fish stock to a boil...you can achieve the same sort of richness by buying a few containers and continue reducing it and adding more. Once it is drained and reduced you can add the haddock. I cut it in 1" chunks.

Meanwhile in the actual soup pot. You are browning your bacon. And yes a separate pot. Reason being is I usually like to make enough choWDa to freeze. But, in my experience you can not freeze a choWDa that has all the ingredient's combined with the protein. Now I do not know this to be a fact. If you are actually a certified cook and you know other wise well then do as you please. OR If you plan on stuffing yourself in one sitting then by all means use one pot. I prefer to mix the fish cooked in the stock and the chowder parts just before serving and the same for freezing them. Separate!

Once the bacon is browned add the onions. I do not dice them I like to sliver them. I like slivers of onions in my choWda. Cut them how you want. Then you can start to add the liquids (less the stock if you do it my way) ...once the onions start to appear clear. And don't curdle the fucking milk...let it all cool off a bit before you go throwing in milks and such. Let it all slowly come to a boil.

Your corn and potatoes have been what??? Whats the only way I make corn???? HMMM?
ROAST!!! You roast the ears of corn and the potatoes. Just roast them with a drizzle of oil and Sea salt and pepper. Don't ever fucking serve me ears of corn boiled in water. I will kick you in the chin. So, once they are done roasting you can shave your corn. I usually cut the baby Yukon's in half depending on how small they are and then add them to your choWda.

Serve with driblets of melted butter.

Ok so how did I fuck this up????? I bought sweetened condensed milk. Yep. It tasted like fucking Fish Cereal. It reminded me of the 'rice pudding' my mother used to make me as a kid.
It was rice and and a can of SWEETENED condensed milk. She used to serve it for breakfast and call it rice pudding. It wasn't bad. But with fish it was a fucking disaster.

How did I save it?????? PFFT....Well I was saved because I kept the protein liquid separate. SO!
I roasted more corn....piled it up with corn and potatoes....Added about a 1/4 cup of instant mashed potato flakes to thicken it and changed the name to Roasted Corn and Baked Potato ChoWda!!!!

How about that Bitches....2 great recipes in one great show!!!

The Pot Head Athlete- More 'POT'

So Yesterday I mentioned in my FB status 'I was feeling productive....'. So I thought I would go and make something of it.... and I did. I accomplished quite a bit...All before noon too. I met with a 'business angel' and I was very pleased with how it went. I left the meeting feeling way better then OK. But, I still felt productive. Until I remembered the DVR back home was recording a movie I could see again...I loved the book hated the movie sort of thing..."Running with Scissors" was on Bravo...so I decided to head home but take my time since it was DVR'ing Right?

Again, I was a little excited about the day and decided to make the longer walk home around 'back cove' instead of the shorter trek up and over the hills of up town Portland. Back Cove is a great part of Portland. It is basically a paved trail that runs along the waterside to get behind the peninsula of the city. Where I live! And it is one of my favorite walks. It must be shared though. With the high sprinting runners in 4 million dollar sneakers that seem to achieve speeds of 100 miles an hour as they sprint by with very impressive speed. But they are no comparison to the speed of the Cannondale cycling athletes....Clearly they achieve even greater speeds....but then, there are the casual slumbers like myself who just smile and stare at the sea while walking a lazy speed. Some... walking dogs. Or even running them.

Just like any other dog walking athletic venturing site seeing trail there are general rules. Very much like traffic flows on a road. One direction on one side-the opposite the other direction. And as I discovered today...it is equally dangerous as a road traffic pattern.

"LEFT LEFT" is all hear from right behind me. I spin quickly and heavily around making sure I fling my hair for effect... and my k nap sack swung with us. BAM! And next thing I know I am on the ground. I look around for a moment and there is poor heavy set girl laying on the ground too. She had been riding her bike... but clearly not at Cannondale athlete speeds. Thank god for me. But unfortunately for her. I still have not removed 'the POT' from my k nap sack.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I demand. I probably should have asked if she was OK but I was pissed and busy checking to see if 'the POT' had been damaged.
"I said 'Coming in from the left' at least three times" she explains as she looks at my pot. "Well what the fuck are you doing assuming everyone has perfect hearing then?" I blurt to her. "You had plenty of time to reposition yourself after your second warning!!!" I say. "Oh you know what fuck you you fucking rude asshole" she says back to me. "Oh Go ride your fucking bike in traffic you dumb bitch." I exclaim as I get up fix my hair...brush myself off and waltz away!
The 'POT' was left unharmed.

BYE BYE Birdie!! What's New PussyCat?

So recently I have expressed my new development of hatred towards the poor little birds out side my windows in the morning. And again I have come to realize that the problem is the old man upstairs who tosses out full slices of bread out his window for them. This in turn causes the poor little birds to fight over the huge slices of bread. This results in much SCREECHING and nagging amongst them. 'HAWK HAWK...EECHH EECHH CHIKADEE DEE DEE DEEE" UGGGG! And he usually starts this at about 4 am. And this creates a noise that only someone as deaf as myself can not seem to tolerate. Of course the simple solution to this would be to break the fucking bread apart! Or smash his fingers with the pot!! I have asked 'Joe' time and time again. But he just does not seem to get it. Maybe there is a better solution? There is. One step up the food chain.

I came home after a usual stressful day Monday. As I approached the porch...there was 'stray Jay' along with his wife and son. (Yes they all come to visit now) I sat with them on the porch having some smokes talking about lobster and rain. Suddenly out from under one of the over grown Maple tree's in the yard darts out a cat and snatches up one of the birds. Then runs off over the fence with it. "Did you see that?" Jay yells. I was to busy running my mind to answer him. I could not have been more excited. Jay babbled on to his wife about it. It didn't take long before it was forgotten. But not soon enough the cat was back for seconds. He was in stealth mode under the maple tree sprouts. The ones that I will make sure will never get cut down now. Now we were all watching. and WHAM it was off and over the fence with another bird in its mouth.

I was instantly off to 711 for cans of tuna and cream. I was gonna keep this cat happy.

I was never very fond of Kittie Cats. Steve and I had 3 of them back on the Cape. 2 of them came with Steve. The other...Lady Guenevere...we adopted as a small kitten to keep Wadsworth entertained. But he ended up terrorizing her when I moved to Maine without Steve or Mizz Katie and Ozzie. Lady Gwen ended up living in the laundry room. It was no life for her. I found her a happy home with small brats to love her.

And so in my morning bliss...I make sure I put out cream every morning to bring the bird slaying Kittie cat around. And I have enjoyed the capture and death of at least 8 birds in the last 2 days while I sit in the morning sipping coffee at my window.

And just when I though it was over. Just when I thought I could put the pot away in the morning. The guy on the other side of me seems to have hired a 'personal trainer'.

"Hut ONE Hut TWO" I hear this morning. I look over and the two of them are laying on the cold wet cement. Doing fucking sit ups. I reached into the cabinet. Grabbed the pot. This guy has got be fucking kidding me with this. Is he blind? Does he not see me in all my mania? But most importantly...does he think he is exempt from...'the pot'!?

PRIDE! In the Name of Lube-and some 'Pot Chronicle's'

OK So Pride fest was this weekend in Portland. And I realized... that I do not think I have ever seen a 'Pride Parade' before....I know huh...I just keep rolling with the bad gay man image. Of course... I have been to numerous events and festivals. BUT OH WELL! More about that in a moment.
The weekend was off to an alright start. Friday was horrid with all the rain...but by the evening it started to clear up a bit and I was able to emerge from the house. So I walked around a bit to verify that the Seadogs game had indeed been canceled and for sure there would be no fireworks. And that sucked. I like to sit on the porch and watch the fireworks. I did on a happy note get a call from 'Sunshine'. Sunshine had several weeks ago kicked me to the curb with an Email that offered me no explanation. I figured it was because I had never called him and wished him a happy mother's day! But none the less it was nice to hear from him.
Saturday I wake up to my usual annoyances. The birds. Even with the unlimited smokes in my pocket I still found my self wanting to run out side and smash the birds with my pot. Even though I know it is not their fault. It is actually one of the guy's upstairs fault. And I decide it should be him that gets bashed with the pot. Not the birds. For it is him that sits at his window and tosses whole pieces of bread spread with peanut butter down from his window for the birds to fight over. Of course they have to fight over whole pieces of bread. That is why a considerate person would break the bread into pieces so that all the fucking chirping birds can get some. And not fight over it. Yes so maybe It should be this old mans peanut butter- bread spreading knuckles I should be smashing with my heavy sauce pot. Not the birds! Of course it was time for coffee. After my water is done boiling I carefully prepare the beans that will be ground this morning. It will consist of 2 pinches of Arabic beans, same of Columbia beans, and then only 2 flavored beans of blueberry cobbler New England Coffee. Just the right hint of blueberry. Perfect for a pressed cup of coffee! I used to be intimidated to run the grinder this early in the AM as it sounds like small air planes are landing on the counter. But now I really don't give a fuck! I push that button with evil fury. And I hope it is pissing off the birds. And who ever else may fucking hear it. After some coffee and cigarette's I decided to do a bit of reading. This before I would get the day started. I had a plan. There was another break in the rain and I wanted to go around the corner to the Farmers Market they have on Saturdays at Deering Oaks. I was sure it was the same folks who set up in Monument Square on Wends days...But I never get a chance to stop. Though, I always manage to catch a sign at one stand that reads 'ECONOMY HERBS'. So I needed to see what that was about. Then determine if maybe this was the solution to getting the fresh oregano I desire with only .5" leaves. I am rather fussy about the size of oregano leaves and I need to find some that are 'just so'!. Before I left I knew I needed to prepare. I always bring my k nap sack with me. But. I was concerned that should I find the right oregano...they might need protection. I pondered what I could use to transport them and keep them safe from being crushed by anything else. I thought about the Glad plastic things...with lids...but final choice was to bring my pot with me. It is nice heavy sauce pan with tight fitting lid. I knew this was risky. Especially with the thoughts I have had of smashing people with it. I justified it with the ideal thing to transport the herbs. Plus+++ I recently posted an ad on craigslist to have the pot photographed. I need to do some graphic overlays on a photo of the pot. Since I am not a good photographer. And my finger always manages to show up in the photo's I take. I thought it would be a perfect job for an art student. And with that I packed the pot into my k nap sack. And head off the the farmers market.

After I get done poking around the market disappointed in 'Economy Herbs'. I decide I will head east over to Forest Ave and cut across to Hannaford. I was running low on Italian Sweet Creme'.
So I may as well get some while I am out. On the way there I was approached by a nice looking young man who claimed he had an invitation. He handed me a flyer that said I was invited to go and see Morton Bustard speak!! Oh Yippee I thought. I can't wait. I tossed the paper in to my k nap Sack. As not to litter. But no more then 4 minutes later I am approached by 2 dapper looking young ladies. They are clad with matching suits and skirts. And I wonder how good this could get. From a few feet away I could see they had name tags. And I immediately dismissed them as local Burger King managers. But that was not so. The closer they got they both extended their hands for a friendly shake. Of course I...being the germ a phobic freak that I am declined and instead replaced my curious look with a gleaming smile. Upon a closer look of the name tags I learn they are representatives of the Church of Ladder Day Saints. And I instantly felt the rush flow through my body. I could not even listen to what they were saying. I was so consumed with why this stuff happens to me. And how I was going to deal with it. How could it be? Two religious encounters in a matter of minutes. Could life get any better then this?

"Do the Mormons have a church in Portland?" I ask with fierce jab. "No, it is in Biddeford." replies the nice short girl of the two. "Oh!" I grin my evilest grin "So you have been sent to the gay pride event to canvas and recruit?" I hold my index finger over my lips waiting for the answer. And the question was very cleverly thwarted. And they proceeded to tell me of the church. I think. I did not really hear a word. I was far to busy with the conversation in my head. I knew I had to divide the conversation I was having with myself. So this is how I decide to handle this...I was so excited by this I was sure I had a boner. Only because this shit happens to me! And right at this point. I look at both of my shoulders. One at a time. And then again. "I do not know that I would make a good member of your church!" I speak quick and abrupt. "And there are a few reasons for this...One is that I have a date in an hour with the Gay Pride fest at the park there. And the other reason would be the 2 devils I have with me. One on each shoulder. This is Dick and this is Licker. Dick! is yelling in my ear to stand here and continue to patronize you two lovely ladies. But! Licker! is begging me to withdraw the very heavy pot I have here in my K nap sack and chase you into the park with it!" Of course the two dapper young ladies rushed off towards the park. I was hoping they were not going to go and canvas the
Pride Fest. In my crazy glorious way I also hoped I put the fear of GAYS in them. And Off I waltzed to Hannaford for my tasty cream. Dick and Licker both at my side! I think I will let them tag along for the day.

Meanwhile, back at the digs. I am looking in the mirror at my self. I wonder if I should shave. Maybe even apply some Paul Mitchell gels into my wavy hair. This is after all Pride Fest I was heading to. And I was hoping to network. Or at the very least get a dinner date. I did not shave or apply gel. I put on my favorite T-shirt and Shorts. Packed a hat and jacket in my sack. ( never know when it's gonna fucking rain around here) Right next to the pot. Surely there would be active photographer's at the fest. Surely one of them would photograph my pot.

When I first arrived back at the park it was nice and quiet. Several little booths with all sorts of information and knowledge was to be had. And to my delight...most of them were giving away free things. I was enjoying collecting the freebies...so far I had a red plastic bracelet that lied out loud saying I had quit smoking. It was not hard for me to tell them my recent battle with quitting smoking. At one point I wanted to show them my pot...that I often desired to bash thing and yes even people with. But something stopped me. So off to the next booth I went sporting my new bright red lying bracelet. How fun this was. All this free stuff. Next I got one of the aluminum water bottles that is supposed to be the next big eco friendly thing....DO NOT BUY BOTTLED WATER ANY MORE!! Use this!! Ok Fine. I love mine it is purple and filled with additional gifts. I was almost excited. Then more water bottles. All different colors. Filled with condoms, lube samples and literature. The only water bottle I refused was the one from Band of America. I detest the raping institution they are and was appalled that they were sponsoring such and event. So now my k nap sack was over flowing with things. I think I was pretty much done around here.

Just then I looked across the pond and up towards State St. And there it was. The parade was coming. Oh gee I thought and dashed over to get a better view. As I waited I was once again approached by someone...this time...to get my endorsement to gay marriage in Maine. "Do you support the recent efforts ..... ?" she asked me. I was not really sure if I should lie or not. So I looked for Dick and Licker. They were just smoking on each of my shoulders. "Yes I think it is fabulous" I lied. "Oh great" she smiled and then asked for continued support as well as my name and email. Then she gave me a big round sticker to place on my chest so that I would not be approached again. Of course I like this idea. Although, I could not stop moving the sticker from place to place because it just annoyed me. I eventually chose my sack to put it on. The Parade came. I was unimpressed. I could not believe the size of the Pride flag they carried. It had to be a half mile long. I did not care for this much attention to being gay. I felt I wanted leave then. But not until I watched the funny fat man sing badly rehearsed songs by Donna Summer. It was comical to say the least. Even though It hurt my ears. Just as I was about to call it a day. Something amazing transpired. I saw a man with three cameras. Thats right 3 of them hanging around his neck and shoulders. I could only see him from behind. He was taking pictures of to girls painted gold posing still hugging on a toadstool. Perfect I thought. He must be a professional.
Lets see if we can't get this pot photographed once and for all. As I walked towards him prepared to tap him on the shoulder...he turned his head to the left. I knew the profile. It took but a second...IT WAS HIM!!! "Oh this is just to good to be true!!!" said Dick and licker in Harmony!!
It was the Famous worldly photographer that I had my date with back in April...IT WAS the fucking food addict in recovery!!!! (If this means nothing to you you will have to go back and read this blog So it Goes <<Aquafina Hydrating Lip Oil.
Now it also included a bunch of rubbers and some Jose Lube samples.....
(I linked both of those products so you could see the similarity...)

I decided then to return some calls....one being my favorite gay superhero who recently made a huge move from Atlanta to NYC. I was curious how he was making out looking for new digs and if he was happy he made the journey. While we were chatting I reached into the collection bowl. And grabbed what I thought was my Lip Oil. I opened it up...and started the application on my lips. It was awful WET!!! It was the lube. I tried rubbing it in...but it only made the whole area around my mouth dripping wet with lube. So I made my way to the kitchen and grabbed a paper towel and attempted again to remove the lubrication. All the while still on the phone. It kind of worked...but now it was insanely sticky!!! And me and sticky do not go hand in hand. At this point I knew the only remedy was going to be a full blown hot steamy shower to get rid of it. But I don't get a chance to get my buddy on the phone that often so I had to stick it out. And my only solution was to get rid of the stickiness was to apply more lube until I finished the phone call. And when the phone call finished a while later I sat there looking out the window. "Great!" I said to Dick and Licker. "ALL lubed up and no where to GO!"
In to the shower I went!

A world with Deafness.

I am just feeling politically motivated at the moment. I have been reading a lot about what people with profound deafness go through. And I found the following to be my kind of Humor.

Dear Deaf Employee,

You are sadly mistaken and I pray you never encounter the prejudice I have faced. Your pride will go before your fall. A deaf person can work hard and do a job just as good as the person next to them even better, but come crunch time and a company has to make a decision about who to let go bye bye deaf person. For 10 years I was doing the same job and then bam transferred, then let go, hey no problem my skill set will get me another job 200 applications and 50 interviews later, with slanted questions like “how will you answer the phone”, I am not applying for an operator position, but a technician. “How will you know when the test is done”, I’m deaf not blind the test flashes a light as well as rings a bell and the computer indicates finished. Well we’re sorry but it would be a safety hazard in our environment. One year later in a failing economy and no prospects in sight SSDI was approved but every year we kept trying to get a job, that was 15 years ago. Without SSDI we would have lost everything. So get off your high horse just because you have an employer who can look past your disablility. Yes that is right deafness in a hearing culture is a disablitity. Contrary to popular belief it does not make one lazy. My output was double that of my co-workers. God bless you.

Launguage Barrier combined with a day from Hell!

Believe it or not. I am horrible at delivering jokes. Yep I really am. Most of the time I can't ever even remember one to tell. But there is one that I never forget. It has always stuck with me. I will attempt it right here right now.
A Guy hires 3 other guys to work in his coal mine. One Italian One German and One Chinese Fella.
He instructs the Italian that he is responsible for loading the coal in the cart. The German must see to it that the cart makes it to the surface of the mine. The Chinese Fella is in charge of supplies. After a few good days of hard work the owner comes to tell them all what a great job they are doing but the Chinese guy is no where to be found. The Italian and German both shrug as to his where abouts. So they head further down into the mine to try and find him. Just as they turn a dark corner the Chinese Fella Jumps out of the shadows...."SUPLIZE!"
Ok its bad. But you see why I like it? And you know where I am going with this.

So. Yesterday...(Thursday the 11th of June) I was struggling to stay sane after a second night of not being able to sleep. I finally got up from my bed around 6am furious and flustered. I decided to pass on a coffee. And instead sipped at a diet 7up. Around 7am I decided to head off to my favorite little market in the center of Portland to get some food for the week. The carts in this particular store are awkward. They are basically a carry basket affixed to 4 wheels with a rack on the bottom. It really is a small market. SO. I scurried about the market I bent down to grab a bottle of Sweet Baby Rays BBQ.
As I bent over I whacked my head on the corner of the end cap. "Fuck" I whimpered. Now I was really in a bad mood. But I thought nothing more of my forehead. Well for the next minute I noticed people staring at me. And naturally I took a silent defense. 'What the fuck are these fuckers looking at' I wondered. Then I tossed my curly bangs back in disgust with my hand. Basically my way of saying FUCK OFF. To all the people giving me horrid looks. When I realized that my hand returned with a large amount of blood on it. So I felt my forehead again sure enough it was covered in blood. Oh Now I know why people are looking at me funny!!
I approached a seemingly nice little Somalian woman who was wearing the apron that indicated she was employed there. "Exuse me, may I please have a paper towel I seem to have caught my head on an endcap?" I asked with a charming smile. Despite the blood that is now dripping off the tip of my nose that I dare not touch for fear of staining my shirt. "Oh Oh OHHHH" she said with a very well defined accent. I waited about 10 more seconds for the response I was looking for or at least a point in the right direction. It never arrived. I then hold my hand out much like the same fashion as Sophia on the Golden Girls. "EX CUUZE EMWA DO YOU GOT A PAPAH TOWILL IN THA I CAN BLOT SOME BLOOOD WIT?" I was sounding a bit demanding then. But damned if she didn't say "OH OH OHHHHH OVA Ear PAPAH TOWILL!" She then ran over and pointed to a roll of Paper towels. "Ear Ear Ear" she cried. I then waltzed over and ripped a few off to blot my bloody head and at this point face. I knew that it was hopeless at this point and that my entire face was now blood stained regardless of how dry it was at this point. But I grabbed my cart and marched about on my merry way to finish shopping. And despite the awkward looks I received. I managed to wrap it up. But not with out wondering... 'What would cause me to speak to someone in such a manner?' Am I so impatient that I would totally disfigure my speech to obtain something that I need? What the fuck just happened? And on the way home I thought long and hard about this. I needed a modest answer. This is what I remembered.

I think I was about 19. I was with my mother and for some reason she was driving. We stopped off at the little produce market that is (or used to be...I don't know if it still is) attached to the Laundromat that is across from WAWA and Plymouth Park in Conshy. For some reason I decided to go in with her. She just needed to get a few things. When it was her turn to pay I stood next to her and the oriental cashier says, "Sue Dolla". My mother gives me a quick glance as she reached into her pocketbook. I remember she had that certain look in her eye. She held up the money in question as of 'how much'. "Sue Dolla" he repeats. "TWO DOLLARS?" my mother asks. "Sue Dolla" he says as he nods yes. Just as my mother was to hand him the $2. She with drew her money. "Two Dollarsz" my mother sounded out. "T T T T TWWOO DOOOLARZ"
She again corrected him. At this point I was headed for the door. As I exited I heard her again "T T T T T...." Eventually she made it back in the car. I gave her the look. "What the hell wass that all about?" I asked. "How the HELL am I supposed to know what the hell SUe Dolla is!" she yelled. I did not respond.
As I thought more about that senerio. I remembered others. But even more I remembered what it was like EVERY TIME SHE WENT SHOPPING as I was growing up. It never failed. I always ended up in the car tooting the horn as she stood at the exit chatting away to someone she has not seen in 20 years. And the more I thought about it. I then realized this may be the cause for my Cambell's Soup Commercial Syndrome that you have heard me refer to before. Of course I didn't know what it was called back then. But now that I have had the proper diagnosis I can refer to it as the above mentioned syndrome.

I then remembered back in Bridgeport 1997 League Collegiate Wear. And A Colleague of mine Barb. Barb was a very Sassy Irish Lady. But also very charming in her own way. She didn't take anyone's shit. And soon you will see that I mean that literally. There were also...in the Embroidery Department. A few people working directly from India that did not speak a lick of English. And when you talked to them all they did was shake their head yes or no. Even if you were not looking for one of those answers. This used to really get Barbs goat. And she often resorted to the same thing I did earlier. She would raise her hand like Sophia. "You AVE TO MUST SIGN DA PAPAH WOORRK AFTA YOU DONE WIT DIS" It was a constant battle with her. And her frustration became more and more apparent. I then remembered one of the funniest things that I could not believe I forgot.
One Day. I heard the power washer going in the back of the facility. I knew that there was no reason for it to be running. So I take a walk back to investigate. I thought I was going to find that someone had fucked up in burning a screen or something and was hoping that I would not catch them. But to my SUPLIZE. It was Barb There she stood at the entrance to the bathroom in a pair of goggles with her hair blowing back spraying down the entire bathroom with a fucking pressure washer. I poked her and she shut it off. I asked her what the fuck was going on. "Look!" she exclaimed. " The Indians seem to not want to flush their shitty toilet paper and they have taken to throwing in the waste can or the floor. I come in here there is shit smeared all over the place" I look at her with alarm. I peek in. And she does not hesitate to point out a few smears to me. To this I walk away. But the next day she again does not hesitate to bring this matter up at the bi-daily production meeting. "How do you think we should handle this?" I ask in a muffled laugh. And soon the rest of the people sitting at the meeting started to laugh. Everyone but Barb. "I think we should hang signs up" she offers. And we all laugh again. But not Barb. She was serious. "OK then we will!" And I look at the graphic guy and ask him to bring some sign ideas to the next meeting. "Fair Enough!" he smiles.

The Next meeting before anything got under way Barb inquired about the signs. So the graphic guy with a certain smirk on his face pulls out to sign idea's. One is a 'Yes' sign that has a drawing of a stick figured man squatting over the toilet dropping his soiled toilet paper into the toilet under his stick figured ass. The other is a 'No' sign that has a stick figured man standing before the toilet dropping the soiled toilet paper into the trash can. The entire table laughed so hard at this we never even were able to complete the meeting. But not Barb. She thought it was great and immediately took possession of the yes and no signs very anxious to get them hung.

THis memory made me laugh equally as hard. And I remembered my influence for speaking to the nice little lady in the market that morning. Good ole' Barb!! I wonder if she is on Facebook!!

I have lost the battle with Chantix..All that and a Bag of Teeth!

So I tried my best to quit smoking with the help of Chantix
It was an OK experience. I especially enjoyed the VERY vivid dreams.
The first night I was so excited about my dreams that I actually got up
and moved my bed into the middle of my room. I was terrified that I would bang
my head on the wall or even swing my arms a bit to hard on the walls.
BUT...the day time pills where not as exciting. I still found my dark desires
very much present. At one point I was eying up the mail man on my porch.
I wondered if he had a pack of smokes in one of his many pockets. I somehow knew
he was a smoker. So. I grabbed my heaviest frying pan and stood behind the window.
I thought if I bashed him on the neck just right. I could knock him out for just enough time to
frisk him for his cigarettes.
At another point I had found my way upstairs at one of the guys door up there. I had gone
there with the intention of demanding a cigarette. Until he smiled. His Teeth where gone. I asked him what the hell happened. And to my horridness he smiled again! I had to blink and breathe and make sure I was not in a 'vivid dream'. I was not. "SteveO, what the fuck happened to your teeth?" I screamed. Then My phone rang. It was my mother. For sure I was dreaming. But only then did SteveO withdraw a plastic bag filled with his teeth. ALL OF HIS TEETH!! I could barely conduct the conversation with my mother and still listen to my new toothless 26 year old neighbor ramble on about having all of his teeth yanked out. I was sure this was a dream. But only until my mother demanded full attention on the phone. Then she asked me if I had looked in his mouth. I don't think she understood. So in all my horror. I stepped out of SteveO's apartment to wrap up the conversation with my mother. "You know how I live for these things MAh!" I said. And we said our good byes. Back in SteveO's I go. "Dude, WHY OH WHY would you do that to all of your teeth and what dentist LET you at such a young age???" I demanded an answer. He just stood there and smiled at me. With no teeth. And I must say I could not hear a word he said. I was just staring at his vacant mouth. In utter disgust. I later learned this is a procedure that drug addicts will have done. For the Pain Pill's!!! Thats right! They sacrifice all of their nice white young teeth for fucking pain pills...Why not just let the bus run over your foot???

At any rate...I knew I had to give in to the yearning of a cigarette when I was in Freeport this past weekend at the LLBean Fest. I was taking an Awesome Kayak for a test drive. All the while wishing I had the $1700.00 to purchase it. I was in my own little world. SO pleasant. Not thought of cigarettes. Just my humble little oar. And my favorite smell of seaweed at low tide.
Until I approached by a child in her little Kayak. Yes it was actually designed for the little bitchy rug rat. Exclusive just for her. They were taking her picture. Several people surrounded her in the water taking pictures of her. And I became furious. And I looked at her pretty little smile and felt bashing it in with my oar and the coming in with a left jab on the other end of the oar.
UGGG
As I left Freeport. I stopped at a Mobile. And bought a pack of Camel Filters for 9 fucking dollars. Later I will take the Chantix and post it on Craigslist at a much reduced price. And with that money I will buy many packs of cigarettes.

I gave it a try. I failed. I am quitter. Just not of quitting smoking. I do not think I am ready yet. As much as I should be.

Ok So Next up...Prolly the beginning of next week. An Exclusive peak into MVOCS. I have been reluctant to do this on the blog...but since it shares the same name. What the fuck. Last week I made the lobster pizza. And of course every time I cook in the kitchen comes another episode of "My Very Own Cooking Show". This particular one I though would be good debut sort of sneak peek into the concept of MVOCS. So you can see what it is all about. And Maybe build up a bit of hype. This particular episode with the lobster pizza turned out to be a riot. And it has VERY Special Guest. So Get ready!! It's a Good thing!!!

Over and Out!

Joel

Your Friendly Neighbor, Joanne. The Chicken Cutlet Influence

It is no secret that no matter where I end up or land...I find myself in the company of the best of
the crazies. For the first few months living at my new place in Portland. I kept the door locked when I was home. I pulled the blinds though I always stood peering through them. I kept to myself and just worked on writing when I was home. From what I observed there were only men living in my building. Men who always came home with a six pack of beer and a take away meal. I later found out it was a fact. All 10 units in my building are occupied by men. There was how ever... a seemingly drunk middle aged woman who periodically showed up and made rounds to a few of the units. Even spending the night here and there and sometimes even a whole weekend. I was to learn her name was Joanne.

A few weeks ago I was moaning on my Facebook status about making chicken cutlet's. Only to get a knock on the door from 4 of my fellow neighbors + Joanne. And they ended up eating all of my chicken cutlets. They did offer me a beer but, I was still very upset that I only got one chicken cutlets. And it was after the food was all gone that Joanne pulled me aside to discuss the reason for the unannounced visit. "You see Jowal. There is a picnic table leaning on the garage at the house next door." She tells me this with a faint but assertive voice. I notice that although she has almost perfect speech. Her voice is trembling and in need of some sort of addiction. "OK" I say. "What about it?" She walks rather feeble to the window and points it out to me. "Well, with spring just about here, I thought it would make a lovely addition to our little complex here" She smiles and waits for my reaction. But, I didn't give her one. I just took a swig of what I imagine piss to have similar taste test qualities.

Suddenly Joanne becomes very upbeat. The leader of the pack. She started cheering the guys on to go get the picnic table and then tries to encourage me as well. The guys all get very excited and start carry on as if they were about to engage in a bloody warfare mission. "I will have nothing to do with this" I blurt. "Sorry but I am not stealing anything." I take another swig of piss. "Oh we are not going to steal it." says Joanne "I will leave them a note letting them know that we borrowed it and will return it when ever they need it!!" she says. "Get the fuck out of here." I beckon. "That does not make it right or even OK" I say. Then one of the drunk guys proceeds to tell me how the place has been empty since the fall. To this I reply. "Well it is probably a summer home then. And, it is only a matter of weeks before they start spending the weekends here." I could not believe I was even listening to this. Let alone trying to negotiate it. Then I look at my can of piss and see it is called 'Steel Reserve' with an 8.1% alcohol content. How Ironic I thought. Steel Reserve. So after we get the picnic table situated in the perfect place in OUR yard. Down sits Joanne to write the note on a paper plate. 'Dear Neighbors. Hi this is Joanne next door. We have borrowed your picnic table. If you need it back at any time just let us know and we will return it at once. Thanks, your neighbor, Joanne.' She then proceeds over the fence and thumb tacks the paper plate to the wall where the table once was leaning.

Fast forward a few weeks later. A few of us (just me and the guys) are hanging out cooking steaks and...sitting at the picnic table. When a complete stranger walks into the yard and sits himself down at the table. I look over at the empty house and in the driveway is a Volvo and a truck. Fuck I thought. But I was sure the guys would stick to the story that we had no idea how the table got there. "Is Joanne here?" The stranger asks "It does not look like there is a Joanne here." he says with a twinkle. Once again. Oh Fuck I think. "I had been looking through the kitchen window over there thinking how familiar this picnic table looked" he says with a smile. "Then I found Joanne's note!" Just then Ronnie, the resident 24 hour drunk blurts. "Yeah yeah we took the table. We just wanted to borrow it we can but it back." Standing behind him I thought how I wanted slap his bare back with the stainless STEEL spatula. You fucking moron, I thought.

The stranger introduces himself as Jimmy here from Florida and tells us how his mother who lived there passed back in the fall. He then tells us we are welcome to the picnic table and if there is anything else we need out of the house to go have a look as him and his brother plan to put the place up for sale. All the guys run over but I stay minding the steaks. The guys come back with all sorts of things...Tv's, Tv stands, etc. A few hours later the house is empty again. And I feel better that we can now actually not be thieves.

The next day Joanne comes around. I am the first to tell her of the great news. "We can relax now." I say" The table is ours to enjoy!" I smile to her. "Well, I see no one got me any of the curtains." she says "How could anyone leave with out the curtains? Everyone could use free curtains they are to expensive." she babbles. Then to my surprise she sits down at the table and retrieves a pen from her purse. "Can I have a paper plate? she asks. Not really thinking. I go and get her one. She begins writing. 'Dear neighbor, Hi, It's Joanne again...' I rip the plate and the pen from her hands. "No fucking way" I say with authority. "You are not going inside that house and taking the fucking curtains I don't care what kind of note you plan on leaving!" I tear the plate up. "But, I am sure..." "BU BU BU BUT" I cut her off. Go to Walmart buy some cheap sheets I will sew you fucking curtains" I said......the end

Up next...I have attempted to quit smoking with the aid of a drug called Chantix. Of course this has delivered some much needed Drama in my life. :)

Missed the boat....

My mind is like a soundtrack. I listen to music ALL the time. And I have even figured out how to make it work to my advantage. I listen to a certain song and my life just folds into the trench. When you have a guest or two you can actually direct the motions with the right soundtrack. 'Missed the Boat' is the song by Modest mouse I have been jamming to. Ipod is on 'repeat'. I 'Missed the Boat' today. I drove Stray Jay home. I did so with a good feeling. I thought about how the bitch took 3 days to get up enough time to let him see his kids. He a day planned today from early morning with the kids. Breakfast. A Parade. Even a boat ride that I arranged in the harbor. He never got to do any of it. As I made the walk up to his wife and kids I remembered another old friend. Paul. I remebered the same walk so many years ago. Nothing aggrivates more then a man who can't look after his own.

So I met the wife. I knew right away she was not happy that Jay bought me into her home. The first thing she metioned is that she had 'gained 50 pounds'. I told her I can make a lemonade that will suck it right off. She had no idea of my humor. She offered me a cigarette. I declined. I told her how I like to manufacture my own. Jay knew I was bitter. He used the kids as a distraction. And as much I don't care for the 'kidz' I managed to teach them to shake hands with about as much as ease as slicing carrot's. Then I sat down on the couch next to the wife. She offered me a beer. And I declined again because I had to drive. Jay was laying on the floor being consumed by his kids. They were so happy to see him. I turn to the wife. "I don't know what is going on with you guys. But, I hope you can find the chance to enjoy the rest of the day. And make it memorable." I say. And I glared into her eyes. She looked to the floor. She was obviously ashamed. I over stepped my boundary. As I always do. "Let this man be with his kids." I said. "I can come over tomorrow after work and cook some lobsters up. But, all this fucking vendictiveness has to be left back in high school." she looked back to the floor. "How old are you?" she asked me. I gave her my 'what the fuck' look. I stroked my beard. "I'm gonna get going." I say. "Can you give us a ride?" she asked. I look at her with another 'what the fuck look'.
I look at Jay. He has a fear in his eyes. I smile around the room. Shake my ass. "I don't feel much like dancing" I sing.

I high five Jay and get going. I re-insert my ear buds. I drive away. I stop over at the harbor. Grab some lobsters. Drive home. Boil some sea water. And withdraw my knife.

And then I finally figured out that I have finally 'missed the boat'

Again.

I call Steve down in New Bedford. "Can you
come to Portland?" I ask him. "I have to work in the morning" he replies. "I want to show you the boat. Is there any way you can get to Portland?" I beg. "I am on my way." He hangs up.




I am not going to 'Miss the Boat' again.

Laugh all the way to Hell...

Last night I did something new. Well not new! I used to travel the bar scene back in my day. I wrote 10,ooo words yesterday towards the book. That was after a morning of work and a trip to the hospital.

After the firework display last night from the ball field. 'Stray Jay' convinced me we should go into Old' Port section of Portland. I was reluctant. He being the straight guy. Me wishing he was my 'new husband'. Well I should have never seen it coming. And I didn't. ( I learned to bounce around the subject in my writing class...it is supposed to hold your attention )

So Jay talked me into an excursion to the Old' Port. I thought...OK. I loaded my Ipod with some Modest Mouse and the new U2. We loaded up my nap sack with some 'Natural Ice' and headed out. It was about a 4 mile walk based on the pain in my legs. But, it felt real. I felt like a kid again.

So Jay is about 6'2" if not an inch or so taller. He carries him self well. He is thin. But carries a punch. On the walk he knew of all these places for us to stop and have a beer. This made me feel younger. As I guzzled the brew I thought of old friends. I thought about Shawn. I was sad he is dead now. Then I remembered that I was crazy. I knew I was not going to carry my self well. And when we made it to an alley in Old' Port it was filled with the best class of people. I looked at Jay and he was cold. He was almost a snapshot.

"Jay what's up you seem distant." I asked him. He looked to the ground. "I shouldn't be here." he replied. "My kids need me...my wife is going to let her family dictate our life together." I thought about my reply before I spoke. I thought about my personal life. I wondered if my father ever had such a guilty reaction. I knew my DAD was a better man. And I knew that I really did not want to listen to Jay moan about this subject. It was to personal for me. And after 38 years on earth I now just look the other way. Even as hard as it is to look away. It goes against everything my mother taught me. Even as a grown adult I always hear my mother. "Joel, don't you ever judge anyone. Take even the worse situation and find something good about it." Ugg it's like an echo in my head. So. I take out my ear buds. "Jay, either do it or don't. You have 2 kids. You should never let them forget who you are." I say in a deep breath. I was angry now. One minute I was feeling young and robust. Now I am feeling my mothers vibes. "Jay, make a fucking decision. Don't fuck around with your kids emotions. I can do one of two things here...I can take you to Philly and meet my Dad. OR you can choose the girl you want to fuck here in this sexy alley." Jay sat down on a bench. "There are some 'SMOKING' women here." He blurts. "Go and get em' " I say. I too take to the bench. I look at my Ipod and it is midnight. "I can't." he says. "I am to dorky and ugly." To this I put my ear buds back in and listen to 15 over 7 time signature and endorse my crazy. I wonder what it must be like to feel dorky and ugly when it isn't the truth. I try hard to comprehend. I think about my hearing. And I wonder if Jay can hear things I can not. I stand. Flip my fingers through my curly 'ness'. I adjust my flip flops. I walk up to the first beautiful girl I see. "How's it going HUNNY" I drunk out. She put her arm around me and planted her lips on my neck. "What's on your IPOD?" she says. She takes an ear bud and listens in. "Oh MODEST MOUSE!" She screams. Now she is dancing close to my hips. And then she tells me she loves my haircut.

WHAT????? the record scratches. I have not had a haircut in months. Instant turn off! I remember how easy it is. I think about my book. I wish I had my laptop with me. Why didn't I bring it?

I look at Jay. He is still staring at the ground. And I remember how I originally befriended him. I put my arm around him and pull him to his feet. "Let's go get a lobster." I say. "Sounds like a deal" he says back. We sniff out a lobster at an Irish pub up the street. The lobster came with pinch crackers. I request a chef's knife. When it is delivered I crack open the claws with a twist.
And throw the meat out on to the plate. I take a long swig of Jameson's. Then I am tapped on the shoulder. It was a guy that I had fished lobster with last winter. "Is this your boyfriend?" the guy asks. "No." I say "I thought he would be my new husband but he has kids." The laughs erupt from the bar. Jay slumps on my shoulder. "Thanks man"

Kids are like the Krazy Glue of my ass!

I know. Your thinking what the hell is he thinking now. I did not know if I should write this before or after my session with Lucy this afternoon. I decided to at least start it. If Lucy makes it more interesting then I will add a part 2 or something. I just want to let you know that this is going to be a fairly graphic post. Not as graphic as the stuff I save for the book. But, it will rank up there. I usually hold back a lot of the details here on the blog. Especially since my mother has gained access to this. But today. I just can't censor myself. Not this time. And, as always I expect the secret 'hate mail' from people I do not even know telling me how horrible I am for getting so aggravated with people that go to Food Addicts meetings. Bring it on Bitches! I am going to wipe your ass with this one!

And so. Those of you who know me in the least know that I have a very small tolerance for small children. And it is NOTHING personal against them. I know. They are innocent little bastards...I know. It has been mostly the parents that I blame for my level of dislike. I wont tell the stories again of how I have left restaurants, stores, and even the movie theater because of unruly little tyrants. Instead I will attempt to describe to you what happens to me when a small child shrieks. The feeling to me is worse then when metal scrapes on metal. Even more chilling then the finger nails down the blackboard. When a child screeches out of control it makes my head feel as if I have just been electrocuted. It stops me in my tracks. It makes me tremble. But it isn't until I observe the reaction of the parent that I find with in myself an uncontrollable rage. When the parent at Walmart simply ignores the belligerent screaming child and takes no action for the child's behavior. This is when I feel murderous. This is when I have to restrain my self from taking my Walmart cart and bashing into the parent over and over again while I scream obscenities to them even louder then the little bastard who started it. You get the picture?

I am aware that this is trivial and terrible. The level of fear that I now have of small children is intense. Even though there are some that I get along with just fine and love very dearly. I find my self avoiding small children at ALL cost. Well. Guess what? A block and a half behind my current residence in Portland is of all things. An Elementary School. Yes that's right! And! For the most part it is unavoidable. To avoid it can carry me blocks out of my way. But, when I here recces in session. I do just that. Lucky for me. I have a hearing problem. A bad one. This allows me to sit in comfort with the windows open and not hear the daunting screeches that come from the play ground. Today however, the play ground came to me!

After work this morning I went downtown to poke around. It was not long before I desired food. So, knowing there would be no food just lemonade and salt water... I hoped on a bus headed towards home to whip up a lemonade with maple syrup and Cayenne pepper. I get off the bus on Falmouth st. I listen hard down the road to make sure recces is not in session. It seems the coast is clear. So. I begin my rock star trek on down the red carpet. Just as I am approaching the school I notice many people with Bright green safety vests on placing equally bright green cones around the school and in the road. Next the police are either end of the street blocking off the road. And by the time I get to my place they are standing guard at the road blocks. What are they going to let these little fucking zoo animals do? I thought to myself. then my stomach started growling reminding me of my mission for a lemonade.

Once inside I am quickly distracted from my hunger as I open the windows and draw the shades. Instead of manufacturing a lemonade drink. I choose to roll a smoke instead. I stand just past the window with enough curtain protection and smoke my cigarette with a suspicious feeling of terror. With each drag I stare at the police man and lock my self into a Bettie Davis like stance. Drag after drag after drag. I should shut the windows and the blinds. I think. I know they are going to let these little rats from hell take to the streets. After plotting several different types of traps that I could set outside. I realize my ill fantasy only to blame the fact that the real reason I cant set traps is because of the police presence. So, I turn my attention back to my drinks.

After the lemonade I prepare the quart of salt water. I take my time drinking it because, as you can imagine, it's kind of hard to swallow. The purpose of the salt water in this time of fasting is to 'make you go'. And that is just what it does. And. I plan on describing it. So. This is your final chance to bail from reading this any further. IF you think you can 'stick it out' then I would further urge you not to take a drink or attempt to sallow anything until you have reached the end from here on out!! With that said.

Ten minutes after the salt water flush I was sitting checking my email. Though, I was still suspicious of the green cones all around outside...I had moved on. It was time to visit the toilet. Timing is everything. A few minutes later it was time now to wipe my ass. So as I went thought the motions I was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks. It was like an avalanche of screaming kids. Hundreds of screaming kids running all around out side. I felt the zap in my brain and the chill in my bones. I knew I had to wipe my ass as quickly as possible and get up to shut windows after all. Now I was in a frenzy to wipe ass. BUT. There was a new problem. I could not withdraw the paper from my ass. It was stuck. It was like I had dipped it in rubber cement. The more I tried to wipe the more it got stuck. I was now in a full blown state of panic because I really needed to get the windows shut but my finger was stuck in my ass hole. When I finally freed my finger from my ass it was covered in shit. I couldn't reach the sink. So, with all the commotion going on outside. I reach with my clean hand and grab more paper. Only to get THEM stuck in my ass as well. So now I am stuck on the fucking toilet with both hands covered in shit and two wads of paper stuck in the crack of my ass. This on top of hundreds of screaming children running a fucking marathon out side my windows makes me want to cry. And I did just that as I crawled to the shower with the drama of Joan Crawford. I get in the shower and reach towards the knob trying to decide witch shitty hand I should use to turn it on. The sound of the gushing water did not put a dent into the volume of the screaming kids. So I just laid on the shower floor and covered my ears. With my shitty hands.

Time to go see Lucy!

Dont want to make it rain.

This is an archived one from about 3 or 4 years ago. I read it and thought I would share it too...An oldie but goodie.

Steve and I moved into our new house 3 months ago. Since then it has been project after project. And some of it proved to be very challenging. Ripping down walls, installing new wood floors...even building a new stair case. Fun stuff! Our latest project has been in our bedroom. We have discovered that we could gain at least 6 feet of ceiling by removing the current one and building directly on the rafters. This will also allow us to put in some sky light windows, and even a little storage loft. All genuine enhancements to our long awaited ocean view bedroom.

Tho original plan was to do one half of the room at a time. That was we could just move the bed and everything else to one side of the room while we worked on the other. But it did not take but one night to come to the understanding that this was not going to work. So Steve insisted that we move into our spare bedroom until we finish the work. So I walk across the hall scratching my head. "I really don't think the bed will fit in here" I say. But Steve was already measuring. And decided we could after all fit the king size bed in there with about a foot and a half of extra space. "It's OK we can live with it for a few days" Steve said. "OK" I said "Just make sure there is a place to put the humidifier. This room is really small and the forced hot air heat will probably suffocate us with no moisture." "OK no problem" Steve says. We spent the rest of the day ripping out the ceiling, followed by a nice relaxing dinner and some TV time.

Steve had gone to bed a little early that night. Wadsworth and I stayed behind watching the rest of a Match Game Marathon. Eventually we made our way up stairs. As I opened the door the bed was Right There! I was surprised the door opened all the way. Wadsworth jumped up into bed and I followed. I guess I had been asleep for about 3 hours when I felt a drip on my head. I opened my eyes and pondered what it could have possibly been. I decided it was nothing and closed my eyes again. About 30 seconds later I felt another one on my face. But I just rolled over and to my delight Wadsworth was laying there with his paws out but his head was up. He was awake. A few seconds later another drop. And now Wadsworth was biting the air. He does this when he sees bugs or snow flakes. I poke Steve. "There is something fucking leaking in here"
I whisper. "There can't be anything leaking in here there are no pipes around this room." Steve replies in a most annoyed state. "I'm fucking telling you something is leaking in here." I say. "The drops woke me up and Wadsworth is snapping at them." Steve reaches over and pets Wadsworth's head and kisses his ears. "Joel just go back to sleep. It is not raining outside, there are no pipes in these walls it is impossible for there to be anything leaking in here." Steve said as he then rolled back over. "Fine!" I said as I rolled over. "But I am fucking telling you I know I felt drips of something!" "Have another drink." Steve says. "Fuck you." I reply. "Good night Snookawookim I love you" Steve says in a most sincere way. "Fuck you. There is something fucking dripping here!" I respond.

About 5 minutes later Wadsworth is now snapping his teeth over and over again. He let out one of his little moans before he nudged me on my neck. He only does this when he needs something. When I open my eyes and pet him I realize he is soaked. I knew he couldn't be sweating. And I also knew he did not piss the bed. Then I felt the drips again. feeling my hair I noticed it was rather wet too. "Stephen Get the fuck up!! There is something very wrong in here, and I want to know what the fuck it is." I said with a raised voice. "Yeah I just felt a couple drips too." he says in a voice that finally shows some interest in my concern. "I couldn't fit the tables and lamps in here." he says. "Reach over and flip the light switch." he said.

When the light came on. We were in awe instantly. The room had turned into a weather system. The ceiling was now sea of dark clouds. And they were indeed dripping moisture. Everything in the room was soaked. But the fact that there were clouds in the room really fascinated me. I sat up and stared. I giggled with excitement. I looked over into the corner and the steam was bellowing from the top of the digitally programmed $80 hot air humidifier that I insisted we get 2 of when the forced hot air heat came on the first few times in our new house.

"Oh Fuck!" Steve says. "I forgot to chance the square foot setting on that thing when I bought it in here." he moans. I cant take my eyes off the clouds. "Wow" I say out loud. "I can't fucking believe my eyes." Steve storms out of the room. Wadsworth follows him to escape the moisture. Steve comes back with loads of towels and throws them at me. "Start wiping down the walls." he says with panic in his voice. "We need to dry everything as quickly as possible before it gets ruined." he says as he now is opening the window's. "Wait Wait" I cry..."Maybe we should get the camera first. No one is going to believe this. Plus. What if we have to file an insurance claim?" I plead. Steve grabs the towels and starts to dry the walls. Then he starts flipping out that all the sheet rock is going to be ruined. Steve becomes more and more frantic. And is now yelling at me. "Joel don't just fucking sit there. We need to move quickly." he cries. I grab him by the arm and pull him towards me. "Hey bud, Sweetie snookawookum." I say with love. "We have created a rain storm in our guest room. Doesn't that account for something?"

:)

My Mug...

So I was having a glorious day today here in Portland...Sucking on Lemon's chasing them with the 'lemonade" brew I have been drinking...Thinking how my colon is the cleanest in Portland. When I finished work I decided I would like to 'cheat' on my lemonade binge...and replace a bit of my colon cleansing cocktail with a bit of pickle juice. That's right. I have been known to have several jars of dried out pickles in my fridge. Usually after a night of drinking whiskey. There is nothing more refreshing then the juice of pickles. And I never hesitate to guzzle it. It feels good. It is far better then V8. So. I stopped by my place. And decided to grab my shopping bag(s) and walk along to the local Whole Foods. The sun was shining. It was still early (11am). I was feeling great. I knew in the back of my mind that I had a gift coming from a good girl in Philly. I knew that it was either scrapple or tastykake's. And I decided how luscious a bit of steak and cheese would be (Fine Kimberly I was already cheating)...

So I go to the store...do my thing...fill up my bAG FULL OF SHAVED STEAK AND STUFF!!
I then start waltzing back towards home. I am approached by a little man. At least 5 inches shorter then my 5'9". "give me your wallet" he proclaims! I just brush on by him. And I think..
how this would make my day. Then he pokes me on the back. With some sort of object. "Give me your wallet" he says again. So. I size him up. "Your kidding me with this right?" I ask. "Give me your gad damn wallet right now!" he replied. I then took a deep drag of my fag... "Your just a poor man robbing the poor man" I said. "AND unless you have ever been bludgened by a jar of pickled cucumbers...you might want to step out of my fucking way". I said. I was a bit intimidated. But then I thought how powerfull a jar pickles could be. If I was to gain a good lead I could easily break open his skull with them. I knew I may have a few bit's of blood on the bag...but hell, nothing Dawn dish soap wont eliminate. But it was then I felt a power. I knew I could maintain things with out a jar of pickles. So. I then flicked my cigarette at him. Looked him in the eye. "Listen to me you little twirp...I will back your ankles around your fucking ears if you don't get out of my face at this moment in time!" saying it but never really meaning it...

"Moment in time?" he says. "Oh You must be a gay!" he yells as he runs off.

Swine I am

This week, though not really dramatic, has been a very busy crazy kind of week so far. I have 4 appointment's to see health care professionals. Two of those (as of Wed) I have already had. The new weekly glbt meeting for homeless youths is underway...Monday's @ 1. And the beginning of a writing course. That on top of the work, writing, and trying to find time to eat. And now it's going to rain the rest of the week. Lovely.

So Monday, I wake up with a really really bad sore throat. A throbbing tooth ache, the shits, and a headache that I assumed was a result of the tooth. Now, I know I am crazy. I know. I know I also have some health issues as well. But, I am dealing with them. And for the most part feel okay. I have close friends that are dealing with some hard battle's this week and I think of them ALWAYS...even in my own cause for alarm. But, even in the thick of it all. I must find some humor some where. So I will share with you my meeting with Ellen (my PCP/nurse practitioner). Lucy, (the shrink) is 2pm today. So maybe something exciting will happen then.

Ellen, (Yes I do call all these people by their first name. When they start calling me Mr. Schermerhorn I will learn their last names!) is a tall broad woman. She is rather elegant but with the typical 'MainE ac' flair. Unlike the little green fairy hornet from a previous blog...I like how Ellen always coordinates the color of her sock's and top's. She is probably in her early 60's. And appears to be developing a bit of a hunch in her upper back. She is always pleasant and appears happy to see me. (key word appears) This particular visit was a routine follow up visit. I generally meet with her once every two weeks. When I saw her. I remembered the reason I was there on a Monday vs. a Friday this time. Ellen was a fabulous dark gold tan. She had been on vacation for two weeks. "Oh you look great!" I said when I met her at the door. "Thanks, I feel even better!" She went on to tell me how she was rock climbing somewhere in Arizona. To this I rolled  my eyes. And remembered I might have the swine flu. I did not want to hear another word about senior citizen's dangling off of a sun drenched cliff. "That's really close to Mexico." I prepare her for the worse. To this, she rolls her eyes. 

I decided early on that morning that I would not reveal that my throat was swollen and soar. For I feared that I may be quarantined. And I do not know much about the process of being quarantined but, in my mind, it was very similar to being sentenced to prison before you have the chance to prove your innocence. 

"So how are we doing? How has Jowal been feeling?" She asked. "Please don't quarantine me." I begged. "I have a pounding headache, full blown hershy squirts, and my throat is EXTREMELY soar!" I blurt...already with my tongue hanging out saying "AHHHHH". She chuckles lightly withdrawing her blackberry from her pocket. "What are you doing?" I tremble. "Your calling EMAILING THE CDC AREN'T YOU? Your going to have me quarantined?" I said, already putting my jacket back on ready to bolt out the door before the men in white coats get there and strap me down. I knew I could take her down with out a problem if she tried to restrain me. I don't care how many fucking rocks she has been climbing. One swift side way kick in the gut and this momma is going DOWN!!!! "Oh Jowal...you know I keep all my notes on here...here look." she offered me a view of the screen. I decline. And take my seat back on the table. 

After a full exam. We discuss how good my blood pressure is doing with the new meds. Blah Blah Blah. Just when I think we are wrapping up. She says she will send Kelly in just to get a culture done on my throat while she goes and gets me some antibiotic's to take. "Okay, thanks." I said. About 5 minutes later. A nice Irish looking lass called Kelly comes in. "Hi Jole, I am Kelly" she smiles. "This is just going to be a little uncomfortable but I will be as swift as I can okay?" she looks at me for conformation. "Sure, no problem" I say this thinking she has nothing on me. I mean  it's been a long time since I have had a throat culture but, come on who are we kidding here? I am no stranger to getting the occasional tonsil's tickled ey? "I just need you to lay back and put your shoulders down and relax" she says with another Irish smile. "Huh?" I quiz. "Why do I need to lay back?' I ask. "I just need need to get a clear view up your nostril's" She smiles and tilts her head. Then I notice she is not holding an extended wood Q-tip. But, A wire with a small ball on the end of it. I don't even know if it was cotton. "Well why do you have to look up my nostrils to get a culture from my throat? I don't understand." I ask puzzled. "Oh this is just a more effective procedure for the test." she said. And after about 2 or 3 minutes of my badgering questions I say. "Well...I don't think I should like the new more effective procedure. I don't see why you can't just swab the back of my throat and call it a day." She looks at me with a long blank stare as I smile back. "Okay" she says. Just then Ellen comes in the door with the bottle of pills. Kelly and I both stare at her like we are little children waiting for someone to decide. "I should like to have an old fashioned throat swab Ellen. I do not particularly fancy this new up the nose method." I break the silence while standing my ground. "Oh come on." She says. "I will only take 10 seconds. All you will feel is like you may sneeze." After I ponder this for about 20 seconds I agree and lie back. Ellen then grabs the coil of wire and approaches  my nose. "Just relax" she says. "Close your eyes" I obey. She makes it about half way up my right nostril and I decide to change my mind. I immediately reach to her arm and using only a bit of force begin the withdraw. Ellen challenges my physical request uses her other arm around the top of my head down to my shoulder on the left restraining my neck from movement. And still managing to block my hand from grabbing the object sill half way up my nose. "Kelly hold down his other hand" she says. Kelly grabs my other hand but not with a lot of force. And before I had a chance to plan my strategy. The wire was up my nose and in my throat, withdrawn and in the next nostril for a repeat performance. "Good Job Jowal" Ellen says with the utmost sarcasm. As I waited for the sneeze that never came I glared at her. I wanted to execute the side way kick after all. But, I knew. If she wanted to quarantine me...she would...I had no recourse!

Thank you for sayin PLEASE

Most of my life is boring..
I get around..no denying it. Today, I walked the back cove section of Portland.
Some times I see sign's..for instance...today I saw a bag hanging on the post. It bore a flag..one that you carry across the street. And you return it on the other side. I looked back. And sure enough there was another flag. I was baffled. SOOOO I took one of the flags and walked across the street. It felt nice. I then placed it in the basket for other street crosser's
. S O of course I got thinking!
I really don't care what people think of me. I walk with stride. I do not let the general public choose my path. So when it becomes dangerous to cross the road...so much that you need to wave a flag...Of course I need to do it again and again. So, I found my self crossing the street over and over again with a flag I have to carry. The purpose of this 'flag' is to make sure you are seenby 50 mile an hour driverz . So. Again and again. I thought about my desire to wave a flag.
I remembered a certain email I had gotten. It was when my father finally realized just what phillyout.com was. He sent an email to all my loved ones. He could not wait to bare his skirt and 'pumps'. "News Flash from London" that was the title of the Email. " good friend of mine woke me up that morning. "Jole, have you seen your EMAIL?' He outed me. Pulled me from the closet I was so determined to live in. (yeah right) He later sent me a check. A substantial check. And upon cashing it. I was not to have any contact with him or his family. Including my grandparentz.
OR any of my long lost half sisterz. All of with whom have different motherz.

When I think about the notion. The very ability to walk on this earth. I wish.

I think that most people are kind. I do not really see the reason to wave a flag as I cross the street. The brake on a 50k car works. It does not stop for just anyone.

After I got over my street crossing desirez. I walked up on a street. I then saw a sign...it said "PLEASE DO NOT THROW TRASH ON MY YARD" It was a hand written sign. PFFT I thought
It is only because you beg 'PLEASE' that I will not throw my trash about your lawn!!

The world is a Vampire...

I know. I am reluctant to think that the news will ever send a flu my way. I will never expose my hands in public. I can not get enough. It to me is almost moronic. I love the idea of washing your hands...you still have to touch the soap!! Or the button that dispenses it.!!

I have a lost control of thought's at the moment. When ever I log on to my blog I get slammed with Instant messages.

Sorry

The Princess and the Pea!!

You remember the story right? Of course you do! For the most part it has been a rather calm week. It was miserable weather wise. However, the weekend seems to be the first of the season full of sunshine and warm salty air. And I welcome this. Last spring in Maine, I did not see any sign of hope ( or grass ) until the blankets of snow on the ground started to thaw in the middle of May! So no real drama to report...BUT...it is still very early on Saturday. Anything could happen!

In general. I AM a morning person. I feel comfortable in my skin getting up as early as possible to get the day started. And to be honest. It really does not matter what time I fall asleep. I just wake up! It is rare for me to open my eyes and decide to "sleep in". I just cant do it. I envy the person who tells me they slept till 9 or 10 on a Sunday morning. The flip side of this...is getting to sleep.

I dread the task of falling asleep. Of course, for the better part of my adult life this was never a problem. The process of falling asleep and waking up did not apply to me. And it was better referred to as passing out and coming to. And some times I miss those nights. Especially last night. When just a benadryl and one glass of Lowland scotch proved NOT to be an effective sleep aid. It only confirmed...that I really just may be one of the bucket of crazies that I try so hard in life to steer clear of.

So when I signed the lease to my place here in the city of Portland. There were 2 things that I was unaware of not really knowing the city that well. One, About 3 blocks to the left of the building is the baseball field. Home of the Portland Seadogs. I assumed that because it was not the Red Sox...it really should not pose a problem. Two, across the street, on the other side of the (active) railroad tracks and just beyond a small body of water is Portland International Jetport. Not airport, jetport. Again I assumed that because it was a jetport...that it would not accomidate 747's and such. Only the likes of Martha Stewart, Patrick Demphsy(spelling?), and other famous part time residents of Maine would periodically dash into the 'jetport' using smaller private JETS!! PFFT yeah right!

Last night. I did not mind the roaring of the over head 747's and airbus traffic. The train never bothered me either. It reminds me of home to hear the train coming and the whistle in the distance. Not even the cheering screaming seadog fan's followed by a fantastic display of fireworks plus finale'....( I once again assume...they won!) Nope none of this kept me from dozing. I do not know if it is my substantial hearing loss...or what. But there is a MUCH larger problem that is keeping me awake tonight. And it is not just this night. It is every night.

The problem with being me, Jowal. Is that I can't ever seem to leave it alone. I can't have unanswered question's. I can't have a problem with out a solution. Initially, my solution to my falling asleep disorder was to just take off all of my clothes. But then, all it took was one slight move or adjustment and there it would be. Some other lump beneath me. A crease in the sheet that feels like a mountain growing under my ass. A feather out of place in the pillow stabbing me in the back of the head making me bleed so badly that now I can feel the blood running down my neck. Of course when I go to wipe the blood off there is nothing there. In an instant I am standing up...making the bed again. Smoothing out the sheets. Fluffing the pillows and lightly running my hand over all angles of it to make sure no feather's are sticking through. I know I know....Get a pillow with out feather's Jowal. I know.

"But there must be some other solution to this!" I have said to Lucy time and time again. There is no point in denying that Lucy is my shrink. And for the last 5 weeks she has been as patient as possible with me once a week. "You can't keep taking Benadryl to knock yourself out Jowal." she has said on more than one occasion. "Well what the hell am I supposed to do?" I yell. "I have tried EVERYTHING!. I have tried shrinking the sheets in the dryer just before bedtime!! Hell, in the past I have even tried ironing and starching the sheets directly on the mattress!!! I just don't know what else to do!" I plead. "Well if your not going to take the Ambion then there is only one other solution!" she fight's back. "What might THAT be?" I say, while quickly preparing my counter attack to shoot her 'solution' down..."Throw the sheets and pillow in to the trash and sleep without them!!!" she snarls...and leaves me speechless!

And So it Goes....

And so it goes....
It was the big 3 day weekend here in New England. I think it may even be one of those that ONLY New Englander's are privy to. Patriot's Day. Right. For the first few year's I was on Cape Cod I secretly had myself convinced it was a holiday for the New England Patriots. Just another day the banks are closed. Columbus Day is the other. This is for the most part is a paid holiday in New England. For me though, it was a different sort of holiday.

As some of you know I had the big "hot" date with the big "hot" photographer Saturday night. A nice lad who I had enjoyed several meetings with coffee...even a walk on the puny beach here in Portland. ( A beach by the way that if you don't keep an eye on the tide... you best know how to swim!) But this was going to be the date. The one that would include being swiped away in his convertible Saab out of the city, up the coast, and to his waterfront home in Brunswick, Me. There I would be fed lot's of smoked meats and fine wine's and the like. I would then be treated to a first hand look at this lad's world famous photography. This to was exciting. There were photograph's of Queen Elizabeth, Steven King, and then some real artsy stuff as well. I was very impressed. To say the least. I then spent the rest of the evening soaking in a hot tub, over looking the ocean. A straight shot to Portugal. I have not been doing much dating since Steve and I split up...but this one will go down as one of the best ever. Until the next morning.

I was not really expecting the other shoe to drop. I knew it was a bit imaginary. But, as I savored my final bit's of the Soufflé style Omelet loaded with fresh veggies...I felt like I was in a dream. And I couldn't wait to get back to the hot tub and enjoy the nice brisk morning of ocean scented sunshine. Then, I take my plate to the kitchen. My brilliant worldly photographer had excused himself a few seconds earlier. SO I thought I would take a lead and at least rinse my plate before I dash back to the hot tub! I couldn't believe my eyes. The kitchen looked like gale force winds had recently swept through it. It was an utter mess... It looked like days and days of mess. Food everywhere. Food on the floor, half empty snack bags scattered about. Pot's and pan's I was sure had not been used during my over night stay there. I was sure I would have noticed this earlier. In normal circumstances I would have had to stop my entire life right then and there and launch a full scale investigation. And make sure any unanswered questions I had were explained with reason... and then formulate a solution. But this was not a normal situation. I was getting back to that hot tub with a fresh cup of coffee and a cigarette come hell or high water. I knew he was entertaining guests later that day so I just excused this mess with that. Sure that was it, he just got up much earlier than I and prepared all the food for his afternoon delight and everything was neatly stacked covered in colorful plastic wraps in the fridge. And that any minute the maid would arrive to clean it all up, then offer me a fresh topping of hand whipped cream for my coffee as I basked in the hot tub. Indeed.

About an hour later I snapped out of sleep that ended no sooner than it began with my coffee mug twirling around to the jet streams in the tub. I looked around and there was still no sign of my host. So I grabbed another smoke and forced myself to sit still and not investigate his where abouts. Even though I knew the time had come. And at this point I was slightly aggravated... so I stood up and flicked my cigarette into the ocean. Impatiently I slipped on my guest house coat, and began storming through this mini mansion. I started at the master bathroom where the door was locked shut. I heard water running and classical music and felt relieved. SO I descended back down stairs to the kitchen. Fixing my hair all the while so that I looked proper for the maid when I introduced myself. The maid never came. But there was a new addition to the kitchen counter. It was the turkey that had been smoking out side all night. The thing is...It was shredded to bits.
"God Damn sea gull's are relentless" I said. Either that or there is now a fabulous turkey salad with cranberries and walnuts joining it's counter parts in the fridge.

Just then my host came running into the room fully dressed but on a rampage. Tossing things about at his desk and rummaging through papers. "Get dressed" he said. "I need to go to my support group at once. And, I really need you to come with me!!! I need your HELP!!" To this I rolled around on the heal of my foot to look out the window. Are you fucking kidding me with this? I thought. We didn't even finish the second bottle of wine last night. So I shut my eyes and said to my self Joel. Don't forget about your new Deli Isle motto...support this man. Put your arm around him and walk him to the car. Even offer to drive. He clearly is beside himself. And I will not tolerate manic driving. So! I smile at him as I close my house coat. (guest house coat) And say, "sure, no problem, give 2 minutes and 30 second's. I'll meet you at the carport"

Three minutes later I am behind the wheel of what drives like a Ford but is called a Saab. The roof is down. The sun is bright. And I think the only thing that could make this moment complete is a 10 foot silk scarf tied around my neck blowing out the back of the convertible. Ah yes how lovely. Then I look over at my troubled passenger, and further think...then my fabulous silk scarf will get caught in the rim of the back wheel and yank me out of this vessel only to bring this wonderful date to it's violent and dramatic ending. Ahh yes I think. And smile.

And just think...the other shoe STILL has not dropped!!!

After following his directions. We arrive at what appears to be a rather large ultra modern church. Very unlike the one I attended on Palm Sunday. There are hundreds of cars in the lot. And of course this intrigues me. "This must be one hell of a support group" I say with a twinkling smile. Aswe approach the door. There is an easel with a dark blue sign on it. It reads..
Welcome FA. And in my sarcastic wit. I think oh great. Welcome Fat ASS. This proves to be the horror that I would have never EVER Imagined I was getting myself into this time. Once inside we approach a table with well dressed artificial smiles. My Favorite!!! YAY I think. Lucky me.
At the table I am asked to sign in and to write out my name tag...Hello my Name is "Fat ASS" I wanted so dearly to write instead of JOWAL. Yes I wrote JOWAL. Because I can't stand when someone reads my name out loud and can't even pronounce it properly. 90 percent of the time in my life I am called JOLE. Not JOWAL. (that is also the gauge I use when deciding if someone as smart as a doctor is good enough to treat me....Jowal not Jole)

Next, I am handed a folder and several Pamphlet's. It is on the folder that a sticker sticks. And reveals the meaning of FA. This is when I hold my head back and look towards the ceiling in hopes that I can catch the shoe that some terrible force of hatred towards me feels the need to hurl at me. I am going to catch that shoe...and throw it back at them. Then, I am going to run the fuck out of here. Steal the Saab. And get my ass back to Portland at nothing short of 90 miles an hour.

"Welcome to Food Addicts in Recovery uh, JOWAL, please take your seat here" says a very gay man in a bright green IZOD sweater with matching socks. He is thin and cocky. And all I can think is how much I do not want to sit next to him. I already knew he was going to try and coach me. And I was already developing my plan to snap his glasses off his face and toss them across the room so that he can no longer see. I did manage to compose myself and take my seat. I was even able to tune out most of the speeches and sob stories for almost 2 hours. Although, my Cambells soup commercial syndrome was in full force. Each time another person got up to speak I just agonized my dramatic fall to the floor for the invisible forces to drag me out the door. Then as if things could get no worse ever ever ever in life. It is announced that it is time to eat!!
This has got to be a fucking Joke I thought. A Cruel fucking joke to these people. I mean...do they do the same thing at AA?? Do they announce it's time to bust out the TaKillYA! Grab your shot glasses!!! What the Fuck??? It was no joke though. Suddenly all these hundreds of people run to their bags and pull out HUGE plastic Glad containers filled with lettuce and cereal's. Then they all formed groups each with their sponsor. UGGG

I run over to my famous photographer and remind him that we forgot to bring "lunch". And just as I had convinced him that we should really be getting me back to Portland. My Neon Green fairy hornet is by my side offering me canned kippers. I decline the kippers. And give the photographer a look. THE LOOK. Then my fairy in Green says how great I look. And that it looks like I only have about "10 or 15 more pounds to go. "Oh" I said. "I'm not really part of the program, I am just here to support my friend. I found him crying hysterically in the Deli Isle this morning and I just knew he had to get here right away!"

It was a long ride back to Portland. But that was only because I was no longer in the driver's seat.