2006-12-30 @ 4:23 p.m.
My best friend “G” down in Manhattan sent me three - ONE POUND BAGS OF DARK CHOCOLATE NON-PERILS!! Holy moly! I had gotten several UPS stickers stuck to my door. Evidently they were coming in the morning and of course, I’m always sleeping until noon lately because of these new meds. So finally after a week of hide and seek with UPS, they called me around 9:20 p.m. Tuesday night. I told them that I would probably just go to UPS and get the box, since I had no idea what it was except that it was from a company called NUTS.0NLINE. And I thought, how appropriate, thinking, of course, the box was somehow referring to me.
Dark chocolate non-perils, of course, are my crack cocaine.
I had hoped to start dieting right after Christmas. But then I got the chocolates and I also went to my mom’s friend’s house for her yearly Refrigerator Party. What is a Refrigerator Party? You clean everything out of your refrigerator from your Christmas Dinners....leftover turkey, ham, veggies, pies(!!!!), various kinds of desserts. It was truly a pig-fest, and probably not a great way to start a diet.
So I went to M’s house Thursday night for the Refrigerator Party with her, my mom and another of my mom’s friends. M, of course, is the woman who makes peanut butter sandwiches for the squirrels out in her yard. She even cuts them into little squirrel sized squares, I guess, so they don’t get confused. She also has several cats whom she vacuums every morning, not to mention owning just about every CAT-themed gew-gaw ever made. Cat pillows. Cat salt and pepper shakers. Cat toys. Cat shirts. Cat artwork. Cat checks. Cat statues. Cat dishes. Cat cups. Cat books. Cat phones. Cat soap. Cat hats. Cat nighties. Cat earrings. If she ever needed to, she could just sink a sign in her front yard, heralding the opening of “Cats-R-Us.”
I got to her house at 5, like my mom said, but I guess we had been invited at 4 to help cook everything in the refrigerator. Or at least re-heat. I had brought over this huge 5-7 pound ham thingie I had gotten at the food pantry in December. I figured I could share my bounty and also I don’t have a large knife at home and I figured “M” could cut it into thirds or quarters so we could all have some. But when she saw me carrying a huge round hunk of ham, she practically screamed and said they already had enough ham. My mom showed up about 15 minutes late and there was a lot of clucking over what time everyone was supposed to be there. You know how old women are.
Anyways we finally ate around 6. The table was overflowing. M’s one cat Granite John Marie (all her cats have the last name of Marie, even if they’re boys) patrolled the table. I kept scritching his ears everytime he got near me. He was so adorable. Pitch black and fluffy with huge green eyes.
Afterwards we went into the living room. It was really freezing in her house. Oy! The toilet seat was like a block of ice. Anyways, there was a brief exchange of gifts, which I didn’t remember was going to happen. But “M” gave me, or rather Guardcat, a bag of cat food. Of course that was a vast improvement over her previous gift to me a couple of years ago....a pair of white ceramic Praying Jesus Hands.
Since then I’ve been basically laying on the couch, shoveling dark chocolate non-perils in my mouth while watching old episodes of “The Sopranos” from Netflicks. I had inadvertently ordered the fourth season which I had already seen...like about 12 episodes worth. But it was really a blast from the past, since it was the last season I had watched while I was still (ahem) "with" Married Guy. He totally, totally, totally loved that show. I remember the one time he drove me down in New York City about three years ago, when we briefly drove through Jersey, he was like, “Oh, that’s the exit to Tony Soprano’s house.” and “That’s where Tony Soprano whacked Ralphie” and “That’s where Carmella went to the talk to that priest!” And then he started channeling Tony in his thick New York accent. I really tried not to laugh, but it was funny. Unintentionally, perhaps. Of course we were with his wife and kids at the time. It was when we were alone, when he was massaging me, that he’d always start talking about the sex scenes from the show. Bad Married Guy. Bad!! But oh, those massages were very...ummmm... Scintilating. But ultimately frustrating, because that was as far as we ever went.
I actually dreamed about Married Guy this week. These meds have really been producing very vivid and memorable dreams, I must say. I’ve dreamed about “A” twice and Married Guy once, and I can remember virtually every detail. Of course, I’ve always had the same dream about Married Guy since we split up. Basically I see him and am scared he’s going to start screaming at me. He had a terrible temper ya see (hey! Kinda like Tony Soprano!) and I’ve never had any idea how he’d react to seeing me again.
Recently when I broke off the brief thing with Handyman, my mom noblely suggested that I...”get all dressed up, with some make-up and nice clothes and call Married Guy for lunch.” I was like WTF???? I told her that first of all, SPROOOINGGGG!!!! I think I just heard “A” burst a blood vessel out of his forehead over such a fucked up idea (I didn’t say the “F” word in front of my mother of course), since it took him NEARLY 6 years to untangle me from a married man. S0....
Note to self: ”Don’t watch old episodes of “The Sopranos”, even if they keep arriving at your house and you have three pounds of dark chocolate non-pereils waiting to be consumed in your cabinet. Its an evil combination I say...EVIL!”
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty