Tuesday, May 31, 2011

My Baby Has Died

    On this hot and hazy night I’m reminded of a hot June from five years ago. I sat in a cab going uptown. My mind raced with what could be happening to my little baby. As the cabbie yelled into his cell phone I blew on her face to cool her. Her eyes looked dead; moving, but not focused. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart and I was defenseless to help her. Uptown we went. The heat was so hazy that midtown seemed like it was in a fog with peeks of lightness.

When Nikki first came into my life; I didn't want her; didn't need something or someone to take care of. I just moved into my own apartment for the first time. I was free from my parents; free from the past that I ran from. Now here I was with this little person who needed me to take care of them and I wasn’t sure I could take care of myself.

When I first met Nikki there was a promise that she would only stay two-three days the most. One week later she was gone. I felt sad. I got use to coming home from work; Nikki sitting on the floor, staring at me; all green eyes and black hair. Then with a twist of fate I got to keep her. How could I not take her? Her family dumped her, just like mine.

As the years rolled on boyfriends, friends all faded from my life. Still Nikki was by my side, talking and acting like a dog. Now I sit in the waiting room; her hair and feces still on my shirt. I want to cry, sob like some soap opera actress does after she finds out her young lover is cheating. I hold it in, my Ex boyfriend, who has only known Nikki for over a year cries openly as he sits in his plastic ugly chair.

We say our good byes; Nikki stares blankly, paws trying to wiggle; alive but the brain will not let it happen. She’s had a stroke; it makes me think of how horrible it must feel for her; eyes open, seeing the world and your limbs, useless, dead, silence.

I want to bundle her up and take her home, but I can't. The doctor could be wrong. She is dying. I can't leave the room and leave her here. I know I have to because she is suffering. I can hear the nurses laughing in the hallway as sounds come out of me like pouring rain; how dare they laugh; live, when my child is leaving me forever.

A couple of weeks before this I bought Nikki her own bed. A rather soft and gaudy leopard colored thing. Man, it looked pretty gay. Friends told me she wouldn't lay in it but Nikki loved her gay bed; spent most of the last month in it. When I found her, she was laying in it. I spoiled her to the end and she died in gay fluffy style, and not a cold floor.

Saying goodbye to someone is hard. Only if you had one more day to tell them how much you loved them, you would. The second worst thing after someone dies is; their stuff. How can you throw away their things, like they were nothing? If you’ve never loved and been loved by a cat or dog I feel bad for you; animals can fulfill your heart and mind in ways you’d never imagine.

Yes, I took care of her; talked to her; bathed her; and loved her unconditionally; now I realize she did the same for me.


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Are Manners and Joyce DeWitt Dead?

Coming out of the gym today I opened the door for a frizzy haired redhead; instead of thank you the redhead just gave me a dirty look. I have to say this pissed me off. Why couldn’t she utter thanks before she worked on her thighs? I feel like the art of saying please; excuse me; thank you; has been replaced by arrogance and annoyance. Does it really hurt to be polite?

Sometimes I leave the island of Manhattan and go to a smaller city. Doors are held open; smiles are given without wanting something in return. It throws me off until I get use to it. If you live long enough in New York you kind of morph into an un-thoughtful jerk, if you’re not careful.

On the American citizenship test, foreigners are required to learn things most American born people don’t know or care about like, “Who wrote the Star-Spangled Banner?” and “What is the judiciary branch of our government?” Do many Americans know the answers, I don’t.

I personally think manners should be a requirement on citizenship test. Certain cultures don’t require you to cover your mouth when you cough or wear deodorant in the summer. So instead of people learning about how many stars there are on our flag, why not teach them American manners; controversial? Yes; someone coughing in your face on a crowded subway? Gross.

In life you’re always going to have your sour apples and nasty people. We all have our days and that’s understandable. New York is crowded and busy. I’m just saying; let’s show each other a little respect and curtsey; it really doesn’t hurt I promise.



Joyce DeWitt is alive; she hasn’t acted much since Three’s Company went off the air in 1984. On July 4, 2009, DeWitt was arrested in California, and cited for drunk driving; I hope Jack, Chrissy or Mr. Furley never find out.

Friday, May 20, 2011

If God Is Coming Saturday, Should I Vacuum?

   The end of the world is coming Saturday 6: p.m; according to nut case Harold Camping, the Oakland minister who’s predicting the end of the world on Saturday, a great earthquake will first take New Zealand, triggering an apocalypse that destroys America city by city.

Are you kidding me? Hell no; I still have too many things to do. Justin Timberlake is hosting Saturday Night Live and Lady GaGa is the musical guest; that blonde guy with the big teeth is supposed to call me and I’m awaiting a package from JCrew; the rapture will have to wait.

Humans always try to predict things; the end of the world; the weather; Lindsey Lohan’s career. I believe things just happen. If the world ever comes to an end it will just end; no countdown, no repenting, no T-shirts that say, “The World Just Ended And All I got Was This Lousy T-Shirt.”

Camping says the quake will reach San Francisco around 6 p.m. PDT Saturday. The saved Christian souls will ascend to heaven, including those dead and buried, while all others will remain as the Earth falls into fiery chaos.

False prophets and dime store ministers will not sway me with their madness. I will awake Saturday with the same attitude. Coffee will be strong; clothes will be changed mutable time concealing any imperfections; work will be done in the same way as any previous Saturdays.

By 6: p.m I’ll be taking a Disco nap with cucumbers on my eyes; in my boxer shorts and an empty glass of red on the nightstand. If this is the end, it’s a great way to go.