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
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
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!
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!
Monday, April 20, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Hell in a Hen Basket Part 2....The actual service!
Ok so...Sunday School has ended. Let me review my notes real quick.
KK- So I don't really know a lot of the terminology used in a church setting. So bare with me.
So upstairs I expected there to be lots of singing dancing in the isles that sort of thing. Since I was already disappointed that there were no snakes...I tried not to get to excited about what lies ahead. I took my seat close to the door. I explained to TJ that I wanted to be as close the door as possible in case there was a fire or something. By now it was 9:45 and 'service' was well under way. Little did I know that it was Palm Sunday. And that this would later become a real problem for me.
I noticed that there were still plenty of people wearing shades so I left mine on. Surely they would be mistaken for tinted lenses anyhow. Not that I really cared. As time went on I started to feel more and more insecure. I started twitch and became very restless. I could barely hear a word that was being said. As I started to fade in and out and payed less attention. I wondered if I could enlighten things somehow. I thought maybe I should take to the stage behind the reverend and take to a microphone and start singing songs of joy in baritone. Maybe I could even find a clever way to harmonize to his ever so increasingly boring words.
I decided then that there truly must be something wrong with me. Why have I not found God? How come I am so bored? Frustrated even for being there. I felt fraudulent. Maybe I just don't get it. Maybe I never will.
By 11:30 I had gone purely mad. I was beside myself with anger for ever agreeing to do this. So I put my arm around TJ and whispered in her ear..."how much fucking longer is this going to take?" Her eyes widened the size of silver dollars. Her mouth fell to the floor. And so did the scarf she was clinging to. As I bent to pick up the scarf I looked at her and she seemed completely stunned. "What?" I asked. "you can't say that word in here" she said. "what word? fuck?" I noticed she was looking around with her mouth agape. So I took a look around. About 75% of the church goers were looking at me. This is it I though. I've really done it now. Then she tugged my arm and told me how it was Palm Sunday and 'communion' will start at noon. Is she fucking kidding me with this I thought? But when I thought it...I felt like the entire church heard it. Again I felt challenged. Ok strike me dead. I started to imagine how cool it would be if the lightning that is without doubt at this point going to come and strike me down...instead would grab me by one toe and my nipple ring and suspend me. Levitate me. How cool would that be?
There was no way I could stay past noon. Or even till noon. I had never felt so uncomfortable or so out of place. So I pondered my escape. But I needed drama. And still had to be available to help TJ with her food. What could I do? I wished that I had forgotten my Blood pressure meds this morning. Then maybe I would have a nose bleed by now. A nose bleed YES!!! So I stuck my finger up my left nostril. Yep, the scabs are still there. Generally, when I have prolonged sinus infections...that with the combination of dry heat creates scab's on the inside of my nose. And I know that if I pick one of them there will definitely be a rush of blood. SOOO I pondered this for only a few seconds. My only other option was to have one of my imaginary Campbell soup commercial fits on the floor. But that would be to dramatic. Fuck it I thought. And I didn't care if God or anyone else COULD here me. I planted my thumb up my nose and my index finger on the outside of my nostril. Grabbed the scab with my thumb nail and ripped it off! It took all of about 3 seconds before the blood was all washed over my mouth and dripping off my chin. I stood there smiling hoping it was also on my teeth for added effect...but acting as if I knew not a thing. "OH MY GOSH" TJ blurts fumbling for a tissue. "Joel, your nose is bleeding really bad, here is a kleenex." "Oh my" I said. "I will meet you out side after to help you with the food!"
The End
KK- So I don't really know a lot of the terminology used in a church setting. So bare with me.
So upstairs I expected there to be lots of singing dancing in the isles that sort of thing. Since I was already disappointed that there were no snakes...I tried not to get to excited about what lies ahead. I took my seat close to the door. I explained to TJ that I wanted to be as close the door as possible in case there was a fire or something. By now it was 9:45 and 'service' was well under way. Little did I know that it was Palm Sunday. And that this would later become a real problem for me.
I noticed that there were still plenty of people wearing shades so I left mine on. Surely they would be mistaken for tinted lenses anyhow. Not that I really cared. As time went on I started to feel more and more insecure. I started twitch and became very restless. I could barely hear a word that was being said. As I started to fade in and out and payed less attention. I wondered if I could enlighten things somehow. I thought maybe I should take to the stage behind the reverend and take to a microphone and start singing songs of joy in baritone. Maybe I could even find a clever way to harmonize to his ever so increasingly boring words.
I decided then that there truly must be something wrong with me. Why have I not found God? How come I am so bored? Frustrated even for being there. I felt fraudulent. Maybe I just don't get it. Maybe I never will.
By 11:30 I had gone purely mad. I was beside myself with anger for ever agreeing to do this. So I put my arm around TJ and whispered in her ear..."how much fucking longer is this going to take?" Her eyes widened the size of silver dollars. Her mouth fell to the floor. And so did the scarf she was clinging to. As I bent to pick up the scarf I looked at her and she seemed completely stunned. "What?" I asked. "you can't say that word in here" she said. "what word? fuck?" I noticed she was looking around with her mouth agape. So I took a look around. About 75% of the church goers were looking at me. This is it I though. I've really done it now. Then she tugged my arm and told me how it was Palm Sunday and 'communion' will start at noon. Is she fucking kidding me with this I thought? But when I thought it...I felt like the entire church heard it. Again I felt challenged. Ok strike me dead. I started to imagine how cool it would be if the lightning that is without doubt at this point going to come and strike me down...instead would grab me by one toe and my nipple ring and suspend me. Levitate me. How cool would that be?
There was no way I could stay past noon. Or even till noon. I had never felt so uncomfortable or so out of place. So I pondered my escape. But I needed drama. And still had to be available to help TJ with her food. What could I do? I wished that I had forgotten my Blood pressure meds this morning. Then maybe I would have a nose bleed by now. A nose bleed YES!!! So I stuck my finger up my left nostril. Yep, the scabs are still there. Generally, when I have prolonged sinus infections...that with the combination of dry heat creates scab's on the inside of my nose. And I know that if I pick one of them there will definitely be a rush of blood. SOOO I pondered this for only a few seconds. My only other option was to have one of my imaginary Campbell soup commercial fits on the floor. But that would be to dramatic. Fuck it I thought. And I didn't care if God or anyone else COULD here me. I planted my thumb up my nose and my index finger on the outside of my nostril. Grabbed the scab with my thumb nail and ripped it off! It took all of about 3 seconds before the blood was all washed over my mouth and dripping off my chin. I stood there smiling hoping it was also on my teeth for added effect...but acting as if I knew not a thing. "OH MY GOSH" TJ blurts fumbling for a tissue. "Joel, your nose is bleeding really bad, here is a kleenex." "Oh my" I said. "I will meet you out side after to help you with the food!"
The End
Sunday, April 5, 2009
I am going to HELL in a hen Basket Part 1
Blogging can be a rush for me. It works 2 ways. In one way I feel like I have to rush a post. Mainly because if you dont keep up with it and get things posted the same day...it sort of looses momentum. But the other way for me...it get's me busy on yet another full and complete essay for MVOCS. So even though this same story will most likely appear in MVOCS it will be much more juicy and complex in the book. That's it complex.
Ok so. How did I end up in Church today? I recently befriended an elderly lady at the soup kitchen where I have been doing extensive volunteer work. Even though this has been a rewarding experience...and even lead me to commit criminal acts... I still crave to meet new people every day. Especially the ones who are full blown buckets of crazies. Her name is TJ. I do not know what it stands for. She is I am guessing about 65-70 years old. I never ask a lady her age. She has taken very kind to me when I am out on the floor and loves telling me how wonderfull I am. She ask's me all the time why I have not become some sort social worker because I am charming and delightful but yet have the ability to "provide leadership and keep people from arguing." (her words not mine) I explain to her that this is more of a management style that I have aquired over the years more than an abilty to guide other human beings, as this could be potentialy life threatning. TJ is also homeless. She is apparently running from her children back in Pa because she does not want to be subjected to assisted living and loose all of her pensions and what not. I can can respect this. But she also tries to convince me that the people at the shelter drug her every night to make her stop speaking the words of god that pass through her very soul. This I take with a grain of salt. Obviously.
So yesterday she cornered me and told me about her new church. She asked me several times through the course of the morning if I would join her. Of course I declined. Not really giving a reason, but just trying to be as polite as I could. But she was relentless in her begging. Telling me they would give her free food and "stuff". She even offered me any soda that she would aquire because "God does not allow her to drink it." But the final plea is what dragged me to say yes. How was she to carry all this food back to the shelter? Uggg "OK" I said.
Of course. This kept me up most of the night. After I returned from my gala evening with the "April Stool's Day" gang. I tossed and turned all night. Worrying myself sick that I had agreed to do this. I do not know the last time I have been in a church. Oh wait yes I do...Ireland 1998 St. Peter's. But it was surely not to see a ceremony of any sort. So when I finally got out of bed at 6 am. I went to the bathroom and looked at myself. "What the fuck have you done now Mr. Schermerhorn?" I noticed that my hair was getting longer and starting to curl again. So that will be my excuse for lathering up my goat t and shaving it right off. 7 months of hard growing and trimming and manicuring POOF...Gone...Was it a fear of god?
As Tj and I approached the "church". I noticed the sign read 'GOD CARES FOR YOU Welcome to First Assembly of God'. "What the fuck is this TJ? It doesn't look like a church there are now bell tower's" I said. "Oh SUSHHH" she said. By 8:30 we were seated in the basement for "bible study". We were sitting at tables set around in the shape of a U. So that the person conducting this could stand in the middle and read. As I looked around I noticed several people had either tinted lenses or sunglasses on. One or the other. I thought, brilliant idea. These people will be sleeping and no one will ever know it. I fumbled through my laptop sack looking for my sunglasses. NOTHING! I could not find them. Checked my jacket pockets....and alas...found my 70's style chester the molester over sized sunglasses. I immediatly put them on. Perfect, I thought. Now the best I can hope for is that snakes will be pulled from burlap bags and the fun stuff will begin. But that didn't happen. No snakes. No blood. Nothing. Just Jesus. I tried to doze off and utilize the sole pupose of the shades. But something in me believed that the snakes would still be let out of the bag.
An hour later after coffee and small talk. TJ and I were escorted up stairs to the "Temple?" Here I expected no snakes but happy and joyous singing and clapping.
But that will have to be Part 2. It has become very sunny here at the harbor and I can no longer see the screen of my lappy. I have a hot date tonight so it may even have to wait till the morning before I can wrap this up...So till then!!! Cheerio
Ok so. How did I end up in Church today? I recently befriended an elderly lady at the soup kitchen where I have been doing extensive volunteer work. Even though this has been a rewarding experience...and even lead me to commit criminal acts... I still crave to meet new people every day. Especially the ones who are full blown buckets of crazies. Her name is TJ. I do not know what it stands for. She is I am guessing about 65-70 years old. I never ask a lady her age. She has taken very kind to me when I am out on the floor and loves telling me how wonderfull I am. She ask's me all the time why I have not become some sort social worker because I am charming and delightful but yet have the ability to "provide leadership and keep people from arguing." (her words not mine) I explain to her that this is more of a management style that I have aquired over the years more than an abilty to guide other human beings, as this could be potentialy life threatning. TJ is also homeless. She is apparently running from her children back in Pa because she does not want to be subjected to assisted living and loose all of her pensions and what not. I can can respect this. But she also tries to convince me that the people at the shelter drug her every night to make her stop speaking the words of god that pass through her very soul. This I take with a grain of salt. Obviously.
So yesterday she cornered me and told me about her new church. She asked me several times through the course of the morning if I would join her. Of course I declined. Not really giving a reason, but just trying to be as polite as I could. But she was relentless in her begging. Telling me they would give her free food and "stuff". She even offered me any soda that she would aquire because "God does not allow her to drink it." But the final plea is what dragged me to say yes. How was she to carry all this food back to the shelter? Uggg "OK" I said.
Of course. This kept me up most of the night. After I returned from my gala evening with the "April Stool's Day" gang. I tossed and turned all night. Worrying myself sick that I had agreed to do this. I do not know the last time I have been in a church. Oh wait yes I do...Ireland 1998 St. Peter's. But it was surely not to see a ceremony of any sort. So when I finally got out of bed at 6 am. I went to the bathroom and looked at myself. "What the fuck have you done now Mr. Schermerhorn?" I noticed that my hair was getting longer and starting to curl again. So that will be my excuse for lathering up my goat t and shaving it right off. 7 months of hard growing and trimming and manicuring POOF...Gone...Was it a fear of god?
As Tj and I approached the "church". I noticed the sign read 'GOD CARES FOR YOU Welcome to First Assembly of God'. "What the fuck is this TJ? It doesn't look like a church there are now bell tower's" I said. "Oh SUSHHH" she said. By 8:30 we were seated in the basement for "bible study". We were sitting at tables set around in the shape of a U. So that the person conducting this could stand in the middle and read. As I looked around I noticed several people had either tinted lenses or sunglasses on. One or the other. I thought, brilliant idea. These people will be sleeping and no one will ever know it. I fumbled through my laptop sack looking for my sunglasses. NOTHING! I could not find them. Checked my jacket pockets....and alas...found my 70's style chester the molester over sized sunglasses. I immediatly put them on. Perfect, I thought. Now the best I can hope for is that snakes will be pulled from burlap bags and the fun stuff will begin. But that didn't happen. No snakes. No blood. Nothing. Just Jesus. I tried to doze off and utilize the sole pupose of the shades. But something in me believed that the snakes would still be let out of the bag.
An hour later after coffee and small talk. TJ and I were escorted up stairs to the "Temple?" Here I expected no snakes but happy and joyous singing and clapping.
But that will have to be Part 2. It has become very sunny here at the harbor and I can no longer see the screen of my lappy. I have a hot date tonight so it may even have to wait till the morning before I can wrap this up...So till then!!! Cheerio
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Jaba the Nut
When I do what ever I am assigned to do while volunteering at the soup kitchen. I tend to be full of smiles and loaded with compliments. Very often I can be heard loud and clear. "Good Morning Sunshine" or "Well don't you look refreshing on this fine afternoon" I do this not just because it creates a nice atmosphere. But also because I am genuinely a nice guy. And my smile is sincere. And I like to spread the joy even in a time that may be less then pleasant.
In my last few blogs I have mentioned the "fat bastard" on the handicapped scooter that tends to get under my skin. I question his need for this scooter based on my observations of him jumping off and literally running for pieces of pie or shortcakes that sometimes come to the kitchen as a treat to it's patrons. And even more, he will stop at nothing to get to them. I have witnessed him pushing over people. Ramming into feeble old ladies with his 4 wheel excuse with out any sort of warning or simple "excuse me". No he does not care what is in his way. He just accelerates and goes.
Last night I witnessed him stealing bowls of peanut butter. The "condiments" are usually transfered into bowls with a spoon to avoid being stolen. But this lard of a man took three or four bowls and put them right into the basket of his scooter and revved out the door. And if that was not enough!!!!!!!!! The next morning I was assigned to stand at the counter where every one brings the trays and plates and bowls and I feed them into the machine that apparently cleans them...Now here comes this fucker with his dirty empty bowls from last night. I could not react. There was nothing I could do. I felt like flopping on the floor. (a good example of this is a Cambell's soup commercial where a man is sitting at his computer working when his wife yells "lunch is ready" the man falls to the floor and appears unable to use any of his muscles and then looks like he is dragged ALL THE WAY to the lunch setting of soup when a fully dressed chef appears in the door way announcing that it is OK because the soup now contains sea salt!! I tried to find it on You tube but could not) Any how it is exactly how I feel when I cant believe how a movie has ended. Or something upsetting like that. I just want to release all of my muscles flop to the floor, and give up.
I could not resist. "Hey" I said to him. "why did you steal the peanut butter last night?" "Fuck you" he says back. I stare him down. I decide I must take action against this selfish inconsiderate bastard I now have named Jaba. I will if it kills me...spit on his next platter...sneeze on it...or better yet...use my dandruff weapon ...remove my hat and casually massage my scalp over his next platter of Shepard's Pie. After that I will find a way to disable his scooter. Force him to walk. I will prevail! And just then my horrid evil feeling were confirmed as he sped off and nicked 3 people with the basket on the front of his scooter to get in line for his breakfast.
It did not take very long for my opportunity to present it self. He is generally the last to leave the soup kitchen (of course) picking up scraps and stealing more condiments...filling empty soda bottles with coffee and milk...and so on. So I took up post outside smoking...waiting for the bastard to exit. I still was not sure what I was going to do. But, I knew I felt crazily secure in doing it. I happened to look down at my nap sack and see the out line of my rather sharp scissors. The ones I use to trim the little flat of hair on my chin I call I Goat Tee. And just as luck would have it he came out the door. and stopped with his back towards me less then a foot a way. I spent all of about 30 seconds trying to talk my self out of anything I was thinking. But, I couldn't stop myself. Before I knew it I had the scissors out. And I proceeded to stab the two back tires of his scooter. They quickly deflated. But he did not even notice. He just zoomed off with the two back rims whistling in tune with the sea gulls. I quickly came up behind him. "Hey, your tires have gone flat!" He just ignored me and kept going. I felt better now. That afternoon I saw him walking unnecessarily with a walker towards a taxi cab. I can't tell you the joy I felt as I sneered from the window of Starbucks writing this blog. Even as I try to feel remorse all I have to do is think of the peanut butter. And it just fades away. I wonder how much it cost's to replace 2 tires on a scooter? I wonder if his fraudulent disability claim will cover it? I hope that it does not. And I hope it cost's him his entire disability check that he probably got that same day.
I thought for sure this crime would be traced back to me and I would be told I could no longer volunteer at the soup kitchen. But it seems no one has even noticed. I will say however. The other patrons sure do not miss being bashed into by Jaba the Nut!!
In my last few blogs I have mentioned the "fat bastard" on the handicapped scooter that tends to get under my skin. I question his need for this scooter based on my observations of him jumping off and literally running for pieces of pie or shortcakes that sometimes come to the kitchen as a treat to it's patrons. And even more, he will stop at nothing to get to them. I have witnessed him pushing over people. Ramming into feeble old ladies with his 4 wheel excuse with out any sort of warning or simple "excuse me". No he does not care what is in his way. He just accelerates and goes.
Last night I witnessed him stealing bowls of peanut butter. The "condiments" are usually transfered into bowls with a spoon to avoid being stolen. But this lard of a man took three or four bowls and put them right into the basket of his scooter and revved out the door. And if that was not enough!!!!!!!!! The next morning I was assigned to stand at the counter where every one brings the trays and plates and bowls and I feed them into the machine that apparently cleans them...Now here comes this fucker with his dirty empty bowls from last night. I could not react. There was nothing I could do. I felt like flopping on the floor. (a good example of this is a Cambell's soup commercial where a man is sitting at his computer working when his wife yells "lunch is ready" the man falls to the floor and appears unable to use any of his muscles and then looks like he is dragged ALL THE WAY to the lunch setting of soup when a fully dressed chef appears in the door way announcing that it is OK because the soup now contains sea salt!! I tried to find it on You tube but could not) Any how it is exactly how I feel when I cant believe how a movie has ended. Or something upsetting like that. I just want to release all of my muscles flop to the floor, and give up.
I could not resist. "Hey" I said to him. "why did you steal the peanut butter last night?" "Fuck you" he says back. I stare him down. I decide I must take action against this selfish inconsiderate bastard I now have named Jaba. I will if it kills me...spit on his next platter...sneeze on it...or better yet...use my dandruff weapon ...remove my hat and casually massage my scalp over his next platter of Shepard's Pie. After that I will find a way to disable his scooter. Force him to walk. I will prevail! And just then my horrid evil feeling were confirmed as he sped off and nicked 3 people with the basket on the front of his scooter to get in line for his breakfast.
It did not take very long for my opportunity to present it self. He is generally the last to leave the soup kitchen (of course) picking up scraps and stealing more condiments...filling empty soda bottles with coffee and milk...and so on. So I took up post outside smoking...waiting for the bastard to exit. I still was not sure what I was going to do. But, I knew I felt crazily secure in doing it. I happened to look down at my nap sack and see the out line of my rather sharp scissors. The ones I use to trim the little flat of hair on my chin I call I Goat Tee. And just as luck would have it he came out the door. and stopped with his back towards me less then a foot a way. I spent all of about 30 seconds trying to talk my self out of anything I was thinking. But, I couldn't stop myself. Before I knew it I had the scissors out. And I proceeded to stab the two back tires of his scooter. They quickly deflated. But he did not even notice. He just zoomed off with the two back rims whistling in tune with the sea gulls. I quickly came up behind him. "Hey, your tires have gone flat!" He just ignored me and kept going. I felt better now. That afternoon I saw him walking unnecessarily with a walker towards a taxi cab. I can't tell you the joy I felt as I sneered from the window of Starbucks writing this blog. Even as I try to feel remorse all I have to do is think of the peanut butter. And it just fades away. I wonder how much it cost's to replace 2 tires on a scooter? I wonder if his fraudulent disability claim will cover it? I hope that it does not. And I hope it cost's him his entire disability check that he probably got that same day.
I thought for sure this crime would be traced back to me and I would be told I could no longer volunteer at the soup kitchen. But it seems no one has even noticed. I will say however. The other patrons sure do not miss being bashed into by Jaba the Nut!!
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