Munching on my Milkweed from this entry: kambricrews.com/milkweeds-monarchs/
Grateful to have QED closed for Thanksgiving so Christian and I could enjoy a quiet holiday at the cabin. It was just the right balance of work and play as I banged through my inbox and reading list. We decorated our new tree, hung garland and wreaths, enjoyed a fire both in real life and on Netflix, and kitchen time for making turkey dinner, brownies, ice cream (recipe in the next post) and a perfect looking omelette. We also started the Haunting of Hill House which is great TV while at a cabin in the woods. Our country mouse time is over…back to the city we go!
For Thanksgiving, Christian & I drove upstate to our cabin to bury my sweet little budgie Dinah who passed while I was on vacation. She brought us a lot of joy, especially when she played with our dogs, Paquita (2001 – 2013), then Griswold and lately our silly Billy.
The playlist below my post has a few really short, but fun and cute videos of Dinah interacting with all three of them. It was always hard to capture just how funny and brave she was as getting the camera always caused a break in the action.
Dinah and Griswold were like Woodstock and Snoopy. She followed him everywhere, “fed” and groomed him and they both regularly teased each other and played together. She would dive bomb him or sneak up and peck him while he was sleeping. It always scared the bejeezus out of him but she was always too quick and flew away before his eyes were even fully opened. They would even play a “hide and seek” chase game around the coffee table.
Dinah was impulsively purchased around 2007 at a crappy pet store on Steinway Street for $14. Who knows how long she’d been there or how old she was, but she was never afraid of anything or anyone and was always free to fly about putting herself to bed at dusk and waking up with the sun. Her cage door was rarely, if ever closed.
My hope in bringing her home was that she could be a friend to my other budgie Larry who was getting up in age and not enjoying life. She opened up his whole world. He almost starved to death feeding her every bit he could, so I had to separate them until his love for her calmed down a bit. He went from never leaving his cage, to regularly joining her on adventures around the apartment, including playing with Paquita.
He passed in Spring 2010 and within the year Griswold joined the household. It was interspecies love at first sight. She loved his wiry, wild fur and his supreme laziness which meant he was unwilling to move even as she annoyed him. She traveled with us to and from the cabin where she loved the wide open floor plan, high ceilings and all the treasures she could find buried in the sheepskin rug.
Griswold grew less tolerant in the last few years as he gets grumpier with age. Chief Billy Bowlegs, however, is a young (maybe 3 years old now) pup we adopted in 2017 and isn’t aware of the option of simply walking away. This meant Dinah had some fresh meat to peck. Billy is a silly thing, always down to play. I’m certain that the two of them would have bonded, if only they’d had more time.
We hope to bury her next to Paquita, not far from a bird house and at the cabin they both so enjoyed. Right now the ground is too hard to dig, so she’s in an iPhone box in the freezer. And, as much as I loved her, we’re still planning to eat the turkey that sits in the same ice box.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever have another bird. She was so sweet and special to me. My live little fascinator who perched on my laptop, watching and sometimes helping me peck at keys. There is a budgie-shaped hole in my heart and home that can only be filled by her bright white light.
For Christian’s birthday, I bought a doggy DNA kit. We got the results today and now we can answer the frequently asked question, “What kind of dog is he?”
Our little Grizz Monster is a Pug and Shih Tzu mix with some other mixed breeds in his ancestry.
His curly tail & fawn coloring are all pug, which we suspected. The Shih Tzu was a surprise even though people have asked if he was that or lhasa apso (they’re basically the same breed). We thought for sure terrier was in there. Perhaps that’s part of his mixed breed great grandparents.
We’ll never know that for sure. But what we do know is that he is perfect and loved.
Spring has finally sprung and Griswold is making sure I got the memo. The normally very non-morning boy stood over my face staring at me till I woke up yesterday morning. This is the first and only time in his life he’s ever done this.
When I had my 103-degree fever and slept for almost 72 hours straight, he lay with me, quiet and content the entire time. During a stay at the cabin last Christmas, I had tried and failed to convince him to wake up to go outside for three days in a row, so I made the bed around him and went on with my day till he decided to finally get up. On the third day, I got his attention with a promise of a treat to which he merely poked his monkey face out from between two pillows (see photo).
The winter has been brutal. With the temperatures finally reaching into the low 60’s, Griswold must smell the trees, garbage and urine wafting through our open windows like a cartoon finger tempting him with pie. After a long week working on Christian’s new comedy special and producing his solo show, a long walk around Central Park is just what the doctor ordered for us both. And it was. Miles of walking with a nice break soaking up the sun at Bethesda Fountain had us both pooped.
This morning? He clawed at my leg, panted and whined, hopped in my lap only to hop back down and back again. He was acting like his skin was crawling, just itching to be outside! Are you kidding? Well, alrighty, let’s go out again. Today we walked all over Astoria Park, found a Geocache and I even ran a few laps around the track while he sat and watched. I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring, but it’s time for a trip to the cabin, I’d say.
Turning 41 on a Tuesday can be pretty blah. If you looked at our day on paper, it probably was.
We slept till 10:30 and in between the rush of showering, dog walking, coffee and breakfast, I gave Christian (the birthday boy) his gifts:
1) A doggy DNA kit for our mutt Griswold,
2) Tickets to “Hedwig & the Angry Inch” starring Neil Patrick Harris, and
3) A neon sign from the set of his sitcom Are We There Yet? that an eagle-eyed photographer from the show snagged at a junk store and shipped to me from Connecticut.
Christian went to therapy and had an MRI for his knee & hip while I worked. Afterward, we took Grizzy to an empty dog park. Bummer. Grizzy was hankering for some play time. We were finally joined by a guy with a rambunctious puppy named Fliffy. Making small talk about our dogs, we asked Fliffy’s dad what breed Fliffy was (poodle, Wheaton terrier mix). He asked what Grizzy was. I said we didn’t know but that I got the doggy DNA kit for Christian’s birthday.
“Today’s your birthday?” the guy asked as he walked toward Christian with his hand extended to give a shake. “It’s mine, too.”
Weird! “Happy birthday, Fliffy’s dad!”
“What year? I’m 1973.”
WOW! WHOA! WEIRD! What are the odds?
Hungry, Christian, Grizzy & I left the park for LIC Bar. We ate Vietnamese food and drank beer in the rapidly diminishing afternoon sun followed by dessert at Monika’s Cafe Bar. We came home to swab Grizzy’s cheeks for DNA, watch TV and not much else.
Turning 41 on a Tuesday can be pretty blah. If you looked at our day on paper, it probably was.
(Wo)Man’s Best Friend
Christian Finnegan & Kambri Crews
Originally performed by Christian, Kambri and Paquita in front of a live audience on “Yappy Hour” at UCB Theater on 11/1/10. And, yes, Paquita performed this exactly as scripted. Remarkable little girl.
SFX: Sexy music
I’ve been waiting for you.
Come to me, Paquita. Come to me now!
Paquita comes running in and leaps into Kambri’s arms.
Oh, I’ve waited so long. Kiss me,
Kambri and Paquita kiss passionately.
No no stop! No need to rush. I want
to savor every moment of this. Have
Paquita drinks from Kambri’s wine glass.
And can I offer you some…cheese?
Paquita perks up.
I knew you’d like that. But I’m
going to make you earn it, baby.
Let me take a look at you!
Kambri gets Paquita to “go around” and “roll over” a few
times, periodically feeding her cheese.
The way you move, it’s so sexy.
It’s like your some kind
of…animal! Not like my husband,
that pathetic little worm!
But he’s out of town on business,
which means we have the whole night
to ourselves. Isn’t that wonderful,
darling? High five!
Kambri and Paquita high five.
Enough with all these games. I want
you. But I need to know you want me
too! I need you to speak! Speak!
Oh, I can’t take all of this sexual
tension. Take me! Ravage me! Let’s
make our own gravy!!
Paquita starts humping Kambri’s arm. Kambri begins writhing
in sexual extasy.
Yes! Yes! Give it to me, my little
Honey, I’m home!
Christian enters, wearing his jacket and carrying a
Great news! I was able to close the
Mortensen deal, so I took an
Christian stops, in shock. Paquita and Kambri continue their revelry, unaware.
What…the…FUCK IS GOING ON
Kambri snaps out of it and clutches Paquita to her chest.
Christian? What are you doing home?
What is the meaning of this? My wife?
Nothing! I mean, Paquita just came
by to…I mean…
I knew something was going on!
After all I’ve done for you, this
is how you thank me? By two-timing
me with this little bitch?
She’s twice the man you’ll ever be!
Yeah, that’s right–Paquita is my
lover. And she does things to me
you could never dream of? Don’t
you, Paquita honey?
Kambri and Paquita kiss.
Stop it! Stop it! I can’t take this
Yeah, well what are you gonna do
about it? Ha ha ha! What a loser!
Kambri cackles while she and Paquita high five and kiss.
I can’t take it…can’t take it…
Christian slowly pulls out a gun (his hand). Kambri notices
and is mortified.
I’m a loser, huh?
Christian, don’t! DON’T!
If I can’t have you, no one will!
Die, you canine-loving whore!!!
Christian points his finger at Kambri and “shoots” her
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Kambri writhes as if being shot.
(With her dying breath,)
Unh…unh…Good dog, Paquita.
And you. You happy now, Paquita?
Was it worth it? Ruining my life,
just for a little bit of cheese?
Christian dangles a baggy of cheese. Paquita runs over.
Look at you! Even now, it’s all you
can think about! You were supposed
to be my best friend! Well fine,
Christian tosses her a morsel of cheese.
Consider it your last meal…bitch.
Christian pulls out his “gun”, stoops down and…
Paquita plays dead. Christian keeps his gun on her for a few seconds, then looks away. Paquita gets up.
Oh, still alive, are you? BANG!
Paquita again plays dead. Again, she eventually gets up.
WHY WON’T YOU DIE?? BANG! BANG!
Paquita dies in Kambri’s arms.
Twelve years ago on July 3rd, I met my best friend. Today, I buried her.
Over the last few weeks her health declined rapidly. By Sunday, I knew she was living out her last full day with me, so we spent the night on my fire escape watching the sun set over Manhattan. Nothing makes her happier than the blazing sun shining on her.
Thankfully she survived the night so that Christian could see her before she passed. He flew home Monday morning after a weekend at the Tampa Improv and we drove her to the vet. The doctor brought her fever down and gave her pain medication, so when it was time to say goodbye she was excited to see us and performed a few tricks, gave us kisses and high fives. She even did her pièce de résistance and played dead unaware of the bittersweet irony.
After her heart stopped, Christian and I gave her more kisses and let Griswold smell her. Then I wrapped her in my favorite black wrap that went with me everywhere I went, just like Paquita. I arranged her in the box with her cradling her favorite blue fuzzy toy and gave her one last kiss on her button nose.
We drove her to the cabin this morning and buried her under a tree. The Rock House was the place that made her excited the moment we turned into the driveway and smile wide for hours after she hopped out of the car. It was almost too much, like letting a kid run loose at an amusement park. She had all the woods and sunshine a girl could want; a place where she was free and happy. I had always promised her I would give her a better place to live out her retirement years than our Queens apartment. I’m so glad I made good on that. These last two and a half years were her happiest.
Over the years she gave people so much joy and laughter with her crazy smart tricks and ability to perform no matter what the setting including live comedy shows and a TV taping in front of a studio audience of 400 people screaming and clapping for her. Cheering because, damn, that bitch deserved it.
Back on July 13, 2003, I wrote this:
The best thing about Paquita is that I always have a friend willing to join me . . .
for however far . . .
for however long.
Well, it seems we’ve gone the distance and our time is up. Goodbye to my smart, funny, adventurous little Paquita. Thank you for being my friend.
Before I went to bed last night, I considered what I might do today. I thought of starting yoga or meditation, saying to Christian, “I need to clear my mind. I need an open heart and eyes to feel and see.”
I privately, sheepishly declared to myself, “What is right for me? What should I be doing? I need a sign from above!”
I woke to a peaceful, breezy cool day at the Rock House. I spent much of the day researching a new hobby and helping Christian chainsaw some trees. My only “chores” were to drop Christian off at the bus station and pick up a few things at the market. After I returned home, I was on the patio putting my seedlings to bed for the night. That’s when I heard a commotion in the woods behind the outbuilding. I quickly made sure the dogs were secure then wandered to where the sound was. It had been a heavy thump with some thrashing about of leaves followed by silence. If it were deer, I would have seen and/or heard them run away. That’s when I noticed five very large birds circling very low by our outbuilding.
One or more must’ve attacked something. I was so glad I had made Paquita take cover. I’d read just yesterday about how Bald Eagles, which can be spotted all over these parts, can carry about 4 pounds. That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try to lift her up and drop her from a height that could kill her. As I marveled at their cunning hunting skills and how low they were flying, this feather floated down to earth.
As I picked it up, I laughed. “A quill?! So I should write?!”
I did ask for a sign from above. Ask and you shall receive, regardless if you like the answer.
The calamus, the hollow shaft of the feather that attaches it to the bird’s skin*, was still wet with a little bit of flesh around it as though it had been ripped out from the bird’s body. Creepy! Weird! COOL!
It measures at 18 inches long (!!!) and is almost perfect except for a teensy, weensy missing nick at the top. As much as I love my little parakeet Dinah, her feathers aren’t nearly this fascinating. The dogs sniffed at it for a full five minutes, but if it moved, they jumped back as if they’d touched an electric wire.
I never did meditate today. As for tomorrow? Tomorrow I’ll wash the dishes and craft a quill pen out of my feather.
*Yes, I did look that up and will quiz you on it later.
My milk just came in.Getting a private tour of Sharkarosa Wildlife Ranch in Texas.
We usually head out of the country for Christmas (check out last year’s epic trip to Peru), but 2011 is a different sort of year for us.
Almost one year ago we bought our first home (the “Rock House”) and just weeks after that we welcomed into our lives a rescued mutt (the “Griswold”).
Since it’s our first Christmas at the Rock House and Griswold’s first Christmas EVER we are doing it up right. Christmas tree erecting, wood fire burning, vinyl records spinning, meals crock-potting, fresh orange juicing, cookie baking, movie watching, Scrabble and Monopoly playing…it doesn’t get much better than this.Day two had my boys cuddled up doing crosswords and staring out of the Rock House window at anything that moved. Guess who was doing what.
Our tree has no decorations and we aren’t exchanging gifts, unless you count the rolling pin Christian bought me yesterday.*
But really who cares?
We’re together and warm and happy and this year has been one rife with gifts that can’t be bought. I hope this season is equally blessed for you and yours and that 2012 brings good tidings to us all!
*Oh, I’m totally counting that and will use it in an argument years from now when he has forgotten that I asked for him to buy a rolling pin while running errands so I could make him sugar cookies.
Ah! The halcyon days of autumn at the Rock House! I want to scoop them up and smother them in a jar filled with nail polish remover to preserve them until they’re dust-covered, crumbly exoskeletons.
I spent a lovely week in October partaking in the three Rs: Running, Reading and Relaxing. One evening, while watching La Vie en Rose, Griswold came cowering into the living room and hid behind the recliner. His tucked-under tail, panicked pace and look of mortification on his face could only mean one thing:
There was poop stuck in his butt.
I know I’m projecting human emotion on an animal, but he looked downright humiliated as I came to his rescue. Picture the saddest doe eyes, tiny whimpers, and a tail thumping quickly while still carefully covering the crime scene.
Watching a French film –subtitles and all– while sipping a rich Malbec made me feel oh so chic. Needing to pause said movie to wipe and cut away feces from my dog’s rear end reminded me that I am not. None of us are. As they say, everybody poops.
Another thing this experience taught me: My scissors are painfully dull.
>This morning, I was awakened by a bird. The imposter rooster was Dinah, my parakeet. I’m not sure what compelled her to fly into my bedroom but she did and hung out on the bed with me, Paquita & Griswold. I love that she loves the dogs, especially Griswold because his weird fur is fun for her to chew on.
It’s the winter that keeps on giving and last night was a first: THUNDERSNOW. As I worked in my home office, there was lightning flashes, rolling booms of thunder, sleet, hail and by this morning a foot of snow. Paquita was terrified of the storm and the building was creaking and making weird howling sounds so she ran for cover and stayed there all night. Her safe hiding spot: under the toilet.
The snow has stranded Christian in CT where he is filming episodes of “Are We There Yet?” (TBS, Wednesday nights at 9 CST/10 EST). Which, speaking of, his character “Martin” has a B-plot in an upcoming show where he’s dating an older woman. And just who is portraying the love interest? Paulina Porizkova.
He came home that night covered in glitter and in a great mood. Hmmm…not sure I want to tune in for that episode.
Nothing like having your husband canoodling with a supermodel to make you re-think your diet and exercise plan. Oof.
I woke up today with a mission: get paint, groceries to make my cousin Shari’s chili, and end my day at the cabin painting said cabin and eating said chili. I left the apartment, dragging a ticked off Chihuahua through the snow behind me while carrying 100 pounds of STUFF in a temperature more frigid than Gwyneth Paltrow.
The alley cats that live in my private car lot shot me concerned looks and slinked away, low backs, shifty eyes. I smelled like danger. I was THAT flummoxed. Car cleared of snow, warmed and loaded, I set off. Never have I tried to find a spot and parallel park after yet another snowstorm (including the 10 years I lived in Ohio), and I’ve only driven a handful of times in ten years. I quickly realized I had a better chance at finding Bin Laden than a place to park near the paint store on Steinway Street. I had left an hour later than I hoped, Paquita was whining, and I just felt FAT all bundled up in winter gear trying to program the GPS and check for blind spots…like I was someone who couldn’t bend over and tie their own shoe. Also, I realized I dumped all my change in a collection jar at home which meant I couldn’t feed the muni-meter.
“This is NOT cool. NOT cool, Universe! I just wanna RELAX! How do people LIVE in this city! No wonder I’m trying to get out!” I may have even screamed a nonsensical, “AGGHERRERHHHHH!!!”
Ask and you shall receive!
A spot miraculously appeared, the new muni-meters take credit cards but as I fished through my wallet a woman gave me her unexpired meter receipt with FORTY-FIVE minutes left on it. I went inside, got my paint and supplies and met zero traffic out of Manhattan. No, you were not slipped a roofie. I did, in fact, type that I had ZERO traffic out of Manhattan. I got to the Shop Rite in Monticello, pulled up my cousin’s blog for the ingredients and found everything I needed in a jiffy. IN and OUT in 30 minutes on a Saturday.
I get to the cabin and DOH! The driveway wasn’t plowed! I thought we had already made automatic arrangements with our plow dude, but no. There is NO place to park as an alternative and, sure I could stay at a hotel but who wants to blow money on that and have groceries go to waste? A lot of freaking out and frantic phone calls later –The groceries! The dog! Where will I go? What will I do? — I started driving around and saw a truck w/a plow attachment parked in front of a convenience store. I parked,
went inside and found a dude who looked like he might drive a plow (read: filthy, reflective coat, missing teeth and buying two packs of cigarettes).
My radar was spot on: it was his plow and it turns out he’s my neighbor. In less than ten minutes, he cleared a place for the Thunder Nugget, and I took down his info and gave him all the cash I had. (Don’t worry, if you know me, I carry little to no cash.) But now I’m worried that he knows I’m in the woods alone. So, while chopping up garlic, I had fantasies of stabbing him in the neck with the butcher knife and splashing him with the simmering crock pot full of chili.But for now, I’m here. In the cabin with my Chihuahua, paint and chili. Just when I think I want to stay holed up and write a sequel to the Unibomber’s Manifesto, the path is cleared.
Just in case: His name is Rich and he lives in a yellow house just up the road from me and I have his cell number programmed in my phone.
Look at how funny Paquita was on this episode of “Jokespirations,” a series of interviews with Christian as “Rolly Chedwick” interviewing the inspirations to his jokes. All the episodes will be on his DVD “Au Contraire!” in stores May 12th.
Christian will be doing the Countdown thing on MSNBC tonight. He’s using his new Twitter page @ChristFinnegan to get suggestions on which random word to work into a joke. David Schuster is guest hosting and should plug Christian’s upcoming DVD “Au Contraire!”
Speaking of, Warner Brothers put together a trailer for the DVD which turned out really well, I think:
And, finally, I saw some footage of the pilot Paquita filmed for Scoop & Shanda. I snagged a couple of screen captures. She was so cute and composed in front of the live studio audience. I can’t wait for you to see the video footage of her on Christian’s DVD extras, too. Those videos will be added to his above YouTube Channel soon. Meanwhile, click on the pic to take you to the few photos from the pilot.
My dog Paquita’s day is about to go from zero to AWESOME. She’ll run on a treadmill, drink wine, play dead & more in front a TV audience. Fatman Scoop & Shonda of MTV’s “Man & Wife” are shooting a talk show at Comix today and needed a small dog for a segment. Well, guess who got the gig? Ms. Paquita Borgito Borgato Chorizo Jimenez!
After nailing her lines during the filming of Christian’s “Au Contraire!” DVD extras (pictured at right on set with Christian and director Oren Brimer), her reputation of being a pro in front of the camera got around.
I hope she nails her scenes again today. Either way, we’ll get some great footage to add to her reel.
Eat her Pupperoni, Taco Bell Dog!
Last night’s Tex in the City First Friday Roundup was the most attended event in Tex in the City history. We raked in over $1,000 in sales and that’s not including any raffle stuff. Photos and a write up to come. Pencil in March 6th from 6:30 – 9:00 for the next one. Be sure to RSVP as might need tight security check in. We’ll see.
Next up is my annual Academy Awards viewing party. This free event has also grown every year with last year’s attendance at about 250 people. Christian will be out of town this year so my Tex in the City partner Scott Ramsey will be co-hosting. Tomorrow, after Paquita films her scenes for Christian’s DVD extras, she and I will head over to Scott’s place in the Village to brainstorm menu and drink names. Last year I had fun with “There Will be Bloody Marys” and “No Cosmo for Old Men.” This year’s menu and nominees are tougher, but I still have a few funny ones, I think.
But back to tomorrow’s filming. I’m really excited for Paquita’s film debut. Her picture has been in the Onion before but that was just a pose. For her scene, she has to perform about five of the fifteen plus tricks she knows all while sitting in a 1970s mod chair as she’s “interviewed” by Christian who will be in costume. I’ll take some photos throughout the day and post some online as a sneak peak.Stage mom.
Ooooh boy, today’s the day! I’m so excited to watch the events unfold with my friends at the Comix bar. If y’all need a place to gather. We’ll have the showroom open as well.
Paquita looks so cute and pathetic walking in the snow that people can’t help but comment on her. This morning a guy said, “Hey Miss, can you walk me next?” His buddy answered, “If you pick up your own poop.”
Christian is in Atlanta this weekend performing at the Punchline. He and I are looking forward to it. We’ve both of us home so much over the last two months we’re kind of sick of each other. We’re not used to so much togetherness!
Absence makes the heart grow fonder after all.
My parakeets have discovered the joys of walking instead of flying. It’s fun to see them explore. For example, Dinah is having endless fun in front of my new floor-length mirror, a Christmas gift from Christian. I worry I might step on them, though. I’ve never had to wonder if a bird is at my feet.I highly recommend the “In the Womb” series on National Geographic. Weed smoking not required because it is a genuine mind FREAK.
Paquita tried on her winter boots for this morning’s walk.
I finally saw the first rough cut of Christian‘s one hour DVD special we produced in front of two live audiences in Philly. Christian spent most of Sunday taking painstakingly detailed notes on specific cutaways, line reads, edits, sound edits, etc. After the initial negative feelings and comments that are natural for anyone putting together a special like this who isn’t wholly delusional, he’s pretty pleased with it. And he should be. It looks fantastic and is pretty awesome for a rough cut.Once Warner Bros. gives us a budget for the DVD extras, we’ll be busy filming those. The scripts are written, we have two different film crews lined up and people in mind to cast. (Sorry to you hopefuls but the role of our Chihuahua will go to our Chihuahua, Paquita Borgito Borgato Chorizo Jimenez.) If we use a location rather than a studio, then I’m sure Comix or Ochi’s Lounge will work out for what Christian has in mind. So, now it’s just a matter of how much can we spend to produce them. The Comedy Central air date is not contingent on the extras being completed so the other question is: When will it air? I don’t know yet but we’re aiming for Spring 2009. No matter what the date, you can rest assure that I will be the first to shout from the rooftops.Proud wife and pleased publicist.
I love my morning walks to the deli with Paquita. So does she. Like all dogs, she really thrives on routine and has come to learn what my different shoes mean. At the sound of my opening the front closet door she will race to see which shoes I pull out. Flip flops she most definitely should expect a trip to the deli. The dejected walk she makes to her bed at the sight of my gym shoes and high heels would make me sad if I weren’t so proud of how perceptive she is. She pathetically plops down as if to say, “Time to make my bed and lie in it…for several hours.” Sigh.
I’ve mixed up the routine so that each part of the ritual has its own meaning for her: WALK! Each act — tearing off paper towels for picking up poop, getting out her leash, gathering $3.70 for my morning papers and coffee — is enough to make her shake all over and frantically follow me everywhere her whole body saying, “Can I go? Can I go? Can I go? Are we going? Are we going? Are we going?!?!!”
Saying, “Yes, you’re going, don’t you worry!” only gets her more excited and she doesn’t quite believe it till her harness is buckled. Ask her if she likes coffee and you’ll be met with a frantic wimper/bark. She doesn’t actually like coffee (she’s more of a white wine or lager girl), but she knows it equals a trip to the deli.
Some mornings I like to trick her by waiting till she goes back to sleep with Christian. I’ll quietly collect my change, carefully tear off a paper towel, slowly ease open the closet door and slip on my shoes then say, “Coffee?” The time it takes her to scramble to the front door depends on how deeply she has buried herself in the covers, but it is never more than a few seconds. She trips over herself on the slick hardwood floors and comes to a skidding halt.
She reacts in this same way when the sun shines on a pillow from 9:00 till 11:00 each morning. Yelling “Sunshine!” will make Paquita drop whatever she’s doing, run to the sunshine-y pillow and flop on her side to soak up the rays. Her mouth hangs open with her lips pulled back, and I could swear she’s smiling. She really likes the morning sun.
Sundays are the quietest as many of the shops don’t open or open later than usual. Today we passed our neighbor with a boy Yorkie that really loves Paquita and our other neighbor with his mutt Rocky who Paquita wants to kill. Then I saw the scruffy old white guy who “drives” an equally old greenish brown Dodge Demon. I say “drives” in quotes because he never really drives it. He moves it from parking space to parking space and generally spends his day drinking a cold beer and smoking outside of the deli talking to various people. We continued along and the Cuban woman who works at the Latina Cabana lit up when she saw me. “Well hello!” But Paquita isn’t allowed inside so we just waved and said to have a great day.
I passed the man who sweeps up the sidewalk and empties the trash cans without saying hello. He doesn’t like dogs and gets really mad if you try to throw away poop in his garbage cans. Paquita was fixated on a smell and wouldn’t budge as he swept closer and closer to her. I’m sure he was trying to scare her but she didn’t budge. Something must have smelled really good to her.
Finally we reached the deli just as the old Pakistani man who is friends with Sherman, the deli owner, was coming out. I had scooped up Paquita and was holding her in my arms when he saw me. “Oh, hello! Good morning,” he said. “Good morning!” I replied. He started to go on his way then stopped and said, “People say when they have a baby they are happy. But when people have a dog, God is happy.”
So am I.
Me being all director-y on set yesterday. The shoot went according to Hoyle and we were out in time to get in three full games at Bowlmor (I beat Christian two out of three!) before heading to the final performances Moonwork.
After all that activity, my back is killing me today. Ugh. I’m performing tonight, Tuesday, Wednesday AND Thursday. Goodness me, I’m beat.
In sadder news, I think Larry is on his last leg. Literally. He’s been sleeping all day and keeps his right leg up almost the entire time. The vet said it’s very likely he has a tumor near or on his testicles which is why he would lift the one leg. It’s common in parakeets, and at his age of eight years, I’ve had him longer than most live in captivity. Time will tell, I suppose, but if he is dying soon, I want his last days to be good ones. I’ve moved Dinah into her own cage (she was being very aggressive toward him lately) and have given him millet and fruit to try to help fatten him up. He’s a little on the skinny side and hasn’t been chirping, doing his catcalls or barking at Paquita. Poor Larry. Get well soon, little boy.
So Paquita is having her fake pregnancy again where she mothers her blue ball. This is the second time she’s also lactated. Weird, right?
Well, last night I got Aretha (Christian’s hamster) out of her cage to play and, as usual, Paquita was very excited. This time, however, Paquita laid down and spread her legs wide so Aretha could suckle! How freaking crazy / cute / weird. Aretha came over to check her out but Aretha doesn’t sit still much. I wouldn’t have let it happen anyway as I know how sharp those tiny teeth are. Paquita would have been permanently scarred if her first adopted baby severed a nipple. So we gave the trusty blue ball back and she cuddled all night with it.
I and a few of my Tex in the City friends are getting a team together to “change the course of an epidemic” by walking 6.2 miles through Manhattan for the annual AIDS Walk New York. We had a lot of fun the last time we did it and managed to raise a decent sum of money, so we figured what the heck…let’s do it again! So Gawker Stalker, on May 21st you can find me somewhere in or near Central Park.
Even Paquita took part and she will lead us again this year when I walk in memory of my uncle Darold Carnes and surrogate dad George Zein, Jr. (both of whom are listed on this Deaf Lost to HIV/AIDS site) and family friend Lisa Hillard. May they rest in peace and may a cure be found.
Last year we capped off the walking by drinking wine at an outdoor cafe and resting our tootsies. Paquita was too zonked to even beg for food! I wonder if she dreamt of meeting John Spencer?
Want to join in on the fun? Fill out this form and show up with your walking shoes.
You’ll get a free t-shirt and some exercise, too.
Day two of our “vacation in our own city” was on Sunday, September 4th. We called a livery cab to drive us to Hunter’s Point in Queens to hop on the NY Water Taxi. First off, we almost never hopped on the taxi because of this gloriously cheesey, man-made beach that was nestled in the midst of rocky construction and ugly coastline and offering $2 PBR, hot dogs and classic rock blaring over the speakers:
Strange twist of fate / timing / whatever, unbenownst to me at the time I snapped the photo, my friends Rachel & Chuck are directly under the yellow flag in the picture below. I discovered them later as we sat atop the ferry (dock entrance pictured on the left) and waited to depart.
We smuggled Paquita on board and made her stay in her bag the whole time from Hunter’s Point to Manhattan’s East Side, down around the south tip stopping in Brooklyn, passing the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street & then on to Pier 63 on Manhattan’s West Side. Well worth the $10 on such a beautiful and uneventful day. But Paquita wasn’t too happy:
After a very long leisurely al fresca lunch at the sports complex of all sports complexes Chelsea Piers, we walked to Sin Sin for Rob P’s show The Pro Shop. Paquita was a peach and just chilled sipping water and “digging” herself a bed on a cushioned bench.
Overall, not a true vacation since Christian did a spot on Rob’s show and we’ve been to Chelsea Piers before and the Sin Sin lounge, but the Water Taxi was so worth it as was getting Paquita out of the house to blow some serious stink off.
Her head still smells like an egg roll, though.
It was pretty obvious to me that this whole living together hasn’t sunk in yet when I typed yesterday’s entry.
I didn’t even notice that I hadn’t included him till I looked at my site later. “Oops, I should add ‘Christian and’ in the beginning of that sentence.” Correction made, changes uploaded. Hours later I realized that I had a big, fat “my” in the heading and promptly changed it to “our“. This might take some time getting used to.
We moved my old kitchen into our new kitchen last night and quickly realized there isn’t a single drawer. What the? How the hell did we miss that? So, we got online and bought this kitchen cart. We were so involved with choosing the right thing and completing the billing and shipping page that we didn’t notice Paquita was gulping down our white wine.
My little 4 pound baby was trashed.
Her back legs kept try to catch up with her front much like a car that slides on ice…turning and skidding sideways before she would fall over. She couldn’t hold her head up and could barely keep her eyes open. She was limp like spaghetti.
We fed her rice and ice cubes till she sobered up a bit then put my little drunkard to bed. This morning she woke up with a dry nose and pleading eyes and let out a long, exhausted high pitched whine.
As some of you may know, I have an ongoing fear (obsession) of dying alone and my corpse not being discovered for days. Well, this woman seems to have it all worked out:
Faith, a 4-year-old Rottweiler, phoned 911 when Beasley fell out of her wheelchair and barked urgently into the receiver until a dispatcher sent help. Then the service dog unlocked the front door for the police officer.
Paquita has entered her obsession with her blue ball stage. This happens about once a year, so it must be a hormonal. (She’s not “fixed”.)
She cries when she can’t find it, cries when she finds it, cries when she bounces it, barks at it when it just sits there. Every night for the past week, she has jumped out of bed to go find it and bring it back. She then “buries” it before drifting off to sleep. If it falls off the bed during the night, she scrambles half asleep to find it and bring it back to bed. In the morning she immediately starts crying in an attempt to get me to play with her and her ball. She actually has little streams of tears running down her precious little face.
Last night was the most pathetic. As you can see from the picture, it is covered in little bumps that must feel so good to her. Last night she scooped the ball into her crotch with her paws, trying to get it closer and closer as she humped and cried and humped and cried.
I know how you feel, honey. You’re preaching to the choir!
More on the beloved Paquita who is in the loving arms of my friend Keith as I type this from Anguilla: She inspired Christian to write a joke which has been transformed into a cartoon on Comedy Central’s new show Shorties Watching Shorties. Although the dog they drew looks nothing like Paquita, I must say they did a great job animating his joke.
Paquita is going to have to start paying me for this publicity work!
Last night’s show was great. A rainy day after a major U.S. holiday couldn’t keep the crowd away. It was a packed house and great night of Sob Stories. Next month’s theme is “I Got Dumped” where you can hear about the sorrowful ways in which the featured guests were given the old heave-ho out of love.
Christian is cute, too!
The Doggie Street Fair actually took place on the sidewalk which made it incredibly congested, i.e. pointless. I did see Cindy Adams and lots of really chic dogs dressed to kill. Paquita’s date, Sam, was cute as a button and brought homemade dog treats instead of flowers. Nice touch, but I’m afraid there was no love connection. After all, Sam has no testicles. Please. Next!
I don’t have the heart to finish the entry I started with the above title. Instead, I will resurrect something I wrote when the war in Iraq started:
. . . I will still carry on my business as usual wearing an invisible bulls-eye for the same reason I rode the subway and walked in to work on September 12, 2001, when much of this City stayed inside:
“It is better to die on one’s feet, than to live on one’s knees.” –Delores Ibarruri**
So, fuck you, Mr. Terrorist.
**In the event I am the victim of an attack, somebody please take care of Paquita. She’s very loving and knows 10 tricks in voice and sign language and loves to hump arms. Oh, and Mom, those things in that top left dresser drawer are not mine. I don’t use them. Nay, in fact, I have no idea how they got there. Please kindly disregard.
Now, On to Other Things
If you’re looking for something to do tomorrow night, join me at the Cutting Room for drinks around 8:00 and then Portable Comedy at the Gershwin Hotel at 10:00 PM for, well, comedy, because I sure could use a laugh or two or nineteen or thirty. Plus there’s free vodka, and I promise not to cry or fart.
So, obviously I’m super busy what with planning a book launching party and all. (Tune in tonight at 9:00 to CNN to watch our lovely guest of honor on Larry King Live.) On Friday it dawned on me: I haven’t a thing to wear. So, I went shopping at Bloomingdales and Macys for the first time ever. That’s how much I hate to shop. Top my hatred of shopping with the change of the fashion season and you have one frustrated chick. I found a so-so dress . . . it’s simple, which I love, but it’s cutesy and I fear the color is too dull for photos . . . anyway, I digress.
Whilst shopping I encountered two of the most unruly kids EVER. Let’s call them Motherfu*ker and A$$hole. Motherfu*ker and A$$hole were screaming (no exaggeration) and running full speed (I do not lie) and weaving in and out of unsuspecting shoppers (kill, kill, kill).
Let’s pretend for a moment you are allergic to cats. Well you know how when you’re allergic to cats, cats will then invariably come sit on your lap? Well cats are to you as kids are to me. This is especially true when Paquita accompanies me.
Assuming the above equation is true, you know that they instantly gravitated towards me. Now, generally, I will let kids pet Paquita for two reasons: (1) they’re just kids who want to pet a dog…they’re not having me change their diaper or anything co-dependent like that; and (2) it helps keep Paquita socialized and friendly. Well, not when you’re Motherfu*ker and A$$hole, and certainly not when your mother can’t be spotted. There was no woman within 100 feet that closely resembled these children. What a bit*h she must be. So, I told them, “Go away, I don’t like kids.”
Then they chased me–literally chased me–through the store, while A$$hole kept asking in her three-year-old gibberish nonsense voice, “Do he bite? Do he bite?” She never even waited for an answer. I hate that. If you ask a question, wait for an answer. If you don’t, it means you don’t really want to know the answer. Jerk.
Finally I turned and said in my most sinister teacher voice, “YES, she WILL bite you. Now, I don’t know where your mother is, but I don’t want you near me. GO AWAY!”
In unison, they took one step backwards, did an alarmed take to one another, then bolted. Victory was mine!
I got my hair cut today and Joe wanted to cut it in a short bob. I said, no. I’d like to grow it long again, actually. “Why?” he asked. “Well, I think I’m turning in to that woman. The one that all the kids run from and says is a witch. I give balls back, really I do! And I’ve never hexed anyone, I swear! If I have short hair, then I’m old AND mean. So, let’s go long and blonde.” So in a few months, I’ll be long and blonde haired and yelling at kids, “You want your ball back? Well you can’t have it! Posession is 9/10ths of the law you sh*thead, now get off my stoop!”
God, I can’t wait.
I packed up Paquita and walked through the 30th Avenue street festival to make my way to my favorite spot in Astoria Park. This time, however, I braved a bikini. That first time peeling of my top and pulling down my shorts in front of a group of fellow park lovers is a frightening thing. Suddenly it’s just too bright. Can’t someone please turn down the lights until I get undressed?
Once I got cozy on my towel, I read some Harry Potter (sorry, Cheeks), had a one-hour phone conversation (!%@$#^), listened to three CDs and all the while Paquita found a way to be on top of me. On my belly, on my ass, on my chest, her ass in my face. It was hilarious and garnered lots of attention and comments which is just what I wanted seeing as how I was either reading, talking or listening to music whilst splayed out and sweaty in my bikini. I was foolish to think that those activities would protect me from people getting a close-up vision of what I’ve been hiding all Winter. Silly me!
for however far . . .
for however long.
So Bob and I covered many topics last night that will remain between us girls. However I will share with you the brilliant idea resulting from our discussion of Paquita’s exceptionally high libido and how I’m not that good at discouraging her –ahem– rubbing. (Hey, she doesn’t have much in life, let her have that.)
That’s where the idea of Puppy Love™ was born. Puppy Love™ is made of the latest state of the art latex and feels like real flesh. Puppy Love™ comes in three shapes to satisfy every breed’s most hidden desire: Forearm Fantasy*, Leggy Lust**, Crawling Carousal***. For the low, low price of $19.95 (SRP) your pet can hump to its hearts content in the:
— car; and, let’s not forget…
— the bedroom (cue Barry White “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Baby”)!
while you’re too busy:
— pooping and peeing;
— copulating; and,
— much, much more!
Simply mount Puppy Love™ using the handy adjustable straps (3 sets included****) and let your stud or bitch have his or her way. They’ll love you for it. Don’t leave your pet wanting more. Mount Puppy Love™ in every room.
*Bendable fingers for those special needs
**Specify male or female leg
***Specify infant or toddler size (recommended for dogs weighing more than 35 pounds for an additional $29.95)
****Extra straps $3.95 each.
Sorry, only available in the USA. Shipping and handling $4.95. Batteries not included.
I’ve taught her to be accepting of all kinds. Just like that Jesus Loves the Little Children song.
Hey, Kambri, where were you when the President declared the end of the war in Iraq?
Why, Yankee Stadium with Christian Finnegan, of course!
In my typical way, I got *free* tickets to the game and quickly called Christian to tell him, “No, we won’t be watching a movie after all. No, we won’t be going to the MoMA for their music video exploration montage after all. Yes, we will be sitting in Yankee Stadium eating $4 hot dogs and drinking $7.75 beer in absolutely perfect weather, so get dressed and be at my place STAT!” What can I say, he follows orders well.
Afterwards, we indulged in some brownie, ice cream, caramel concoction at Serendipity III before heading home to Astoria for a hot make-out session with a very horny Paquita.
I gotta tell ya, dates don’t get better than that.
I suppose I should talk about The War. Life isn’t all parties and armoires and home improvement or dates and flowers and my dog. If Hussein is really behind 9/11, then I hope we hunt him down and kill him, but I’m concerned that we’re going against the majority of the UN. It seems as though Bush just has a big boner for Saddam Hussein. I’m most worried about the anti-American backlash and potential for suicide bombers and biological attacks, especially here in New York City and in the subway.
That said, I will still carry on my business as usual wearing an invisible bulls-eye for the same reason I rode the subway and walked to work on September 12, 2001, when much of this City stayed inside: “It is better to die on one’s feet, than to live on one’s knees.” –Delores Ibarruri**
So, fuck you, Mr. Terrorist.
**In the event I am the victim of an attack, somebody please take care of Paquita. She’s very loving and knows 10 tricks in voice and sign language and loves to hump arms. Oh, and Mom, those things in that middle left dresser drawer are not mine. I don’t use them. Nay, in fact, I have no idea how they got there. Please kindly disregard.
Here’s one of those wacky evening post I warned you about!
Behold lemon pepper chicken, grilled to scrumptious perfection by yours truly, asparagus and baby red potatos. This, folks, is one of my favorite meals. Simple, hearty, cheap and mmm, mmm, fu*king mmm. It satisfies my Southern meat n’ potatos need without clogging my arteries. Never mind that it’s served up on the only plate I currently own. A single green Asian dish purchased for and used by a candle for the last two years. Buy me a rug, silverware, or pretty much anything else, and I just might cook dinner for you. You can have the plate. I’ll eat off the floor. No really, it’s okay, you’re the Guest.
So it turns out after two years of never having to cook one single meal for myself, cooking reasonably for one person just isn’t that hard. However, it turns out after two years of never having to wash dishes after cooking, washing dishes sucks Cable Guy ass.
Throwing Down Those Amish Chains
Every time the Cable Guy would go into my bedroom, my bird Larry would whistle a catcall. I was like, “Yo, I think your ass crack is fine and all that, but that was the bird.”
I’m all fancified at home now. Got me some high speed internet and some digital cable to keep my lonely heart company. Now I can leave witty posts and pithy comments any time of the day. You won’t know when I’ll be updating my blog. I’m all crazy like that.
In my present state of financial stability and observing the average way of life for families since I moved away from my own, I have come to realize that I grew up relatively poor. Not “No-Food-in-the-Fridge” poor, but maybe “Hide-the-Tupperware-the-Creditors-are-Coming” poor. Fresh meat was scarce in my trailer, but Spam was not. When that ran out, it was mayonnaise and cheese sandwiche. When the cheese ran out it was balled up slices of Wonder Bread. When the bread ran out I’d suck on dry spaghetti sticks.
SIDE NOTE: Now, before my mom gets all defensive, I had a happy childhood in Montgomery, Texas. What I’m saying is that most people my age have never gone from living in a tin shed to a mobile home back to the shed again let alone ever used an outhouse out of necessity.
Okay, so the reason I’m telling you this is because of my lack of Epicurean experience during my childhood. Now, years later, I live with a man for whom I broke my rule about autograph seeking because it was THE Anthony Bourdain. So tonight, my personal chef isn’t home and there I am staring at mayonnaise and cheese and bread thinking, “I’ve come all this way for this?” That’s when I remember the smoked oysters that were awaiting me.
As a child, smoked oysters were a delicacy afforded to us on very rare occasions. Hey, four tins, a box of Club crackers, Pepsi and cheese don’t come cheap. The rarity of these aforementioned items in my household made them taste so much better. I can still picture my dad cutting cheese slices and arranging the oysters on little plates and dishing out dollops of mustard before we all dug in to our treat. So, it’s not just the taste that I like, it’s also the memory. Every once in a while, I get a hankering to eat this meal or maybe to be 8 years old again.
So tonight I got home late and hungry without a meal and recall these oysters are in my cupboard. Alas, I had no cheese or crackers, but I did have mustard. I peeled open the tin, drained the oil, dumped them on a plate and squirted mustard all over them. The smell of these things is potent, so naturally Paquita was intrigued. I was eating whilst standing and Paquita stood on her hind legs as tall as her little body would allow. She sniffed the air wildly trying to see what was on my plate. She desperately wanted whatever it was. I cut off a piece of one for her and asked her, “Do you like oysters?” Paquita excitedly answered with, “Yip!” As a reward for her answer, I handed over the oyster. Instead of excitedly gobbling it down like she does with all her human food treats, she sniffed it intently eyes bulging and fixated on the prize. Impatiently, I put it on the rug for her to eat at her leisure.
What did she do instead of eating it? She started rubbing her face and body over it the way dogs do with decomposing carcasses or the feces of plant eating animals!
Smoked oysters are disgusting and I need a book like “Food for Dummies”!
Yesterday was another task mastering day. Among many mundane chores, I managed to pick up a security pass for tonight’s tree lighting ceremony and an oil painting that a partner in my firm gave to me. After dining on meatloaf, I settled in to watch Il Postino, an Italian film from the mid-90s. The movie made its way at an even pace, using outstanding cinematography and the universal language of love rather than Hollywood graphics and formulaic techniques. It wasn’t until the film’s last 20 minutes that I realized what a beautiful story I had just witnessed. My throat clenched so tightly I could barely breathe. Paquita was in a frenzy trying to lick my salty tears.
So subtle yet so sublime.
I took Paquita to Greg’s place so he and I could have a work session and she and Mona could have a play date. Mona is the cutest Yorkshire Terrier that belongs to Greg’s friend Robert and is the exact same size as Paquita. To watch those two relating to each other for the first time, then finally relaxing enough to enjoy each other was really cute. I taught Greg Dreamweaver and we both learned how to make a shopping cart on www.texinthecity.com for cabaret ticket purchases. I’m so proud of the work we did till 1:00 in the morning! All this while the dogs ran each other ragged. I realized how horny Paquita really is. All she wanted was to be boarded. She kept scooting her butt into position for Mona, but Mona wanted none of that. I do the same thing. I wonder if she learned by watching me? How embarrassing. :-)~
The dog is wimpering while she’s playing fetch! I kid you not. Things are falling apart. I’ve been coming home late from my day job and working till past midnight every night on who knows what. Time really does fly on this computer thingy.
Tex in the City’s 6th party is tomorrow night and it’s the second time we’ve gotten a tequila sponsor. This time, though, it’s a Friday and the sponsor is interested in future ventures. So, let’s hope it is a smashing success. I also sold my first ad for our cabaret program. You too can advertise with Tex in the City. Just drop me an email. For a few bucks, you can get website exposure, an ad in the program and inclusion in a few emails that are sent to a database that is over 1,000 strong and growing. Yee Haw!
Okay, enough of the sales pitch crapola. That’s all that has been running through this head of mine lately. I panicked yesterday realizing that I am supposed to know about marketing because of the parties I’ve hosted in the Caribbean for Jose Cuervo and my promotional work with Stoli, Winston, Camel, Pepsi and Lipton, blah, blah, oy vey! I do know about crowd pleasing and hosting parties and trademarks and logos and brand imaging and target marketing. I’m great at that. But I panicked nonetheless. With a cabaret production premiering in a month and rough-cut press releases staring back at me, I rushed to Barnes and Noble. Dumb. Rudy Giuliani was there so it was a mob scene, so I grabbed the first book I saw. It was a piece of crap. So, I go back today to return it and Sarah Jessica Parker and Cynthia Nixon were there so it was a mob scene. So, I’m going back tomorrow when Christy Turlington is scheduled to be there and there won’t be a mob scene. What’s with all these damn book signings? Christmas isn’t till December people!
“A mother of two, allegedly murdered by her lover, may actually have been suffocated by her own massive breasts, a jury heard yesterday. A pathologist said 238-pound Yvette Dow of Leicester, England, was found face down, with her head enveloped by ‘her very large breasts.’ Professor Guy Rutty told a court in Nottingham it was possible she may have collapsed and smothered herself…”
I knew I loved my 34C’s sometimes B’s. Now I can scratch that off my list of possible freak accidents that could cause my early death. Whew! Anyway, Marc gets home tomorrow, so I’ve made sure Paquita has enough Science Diet to last her before she would resort to eating my rotting corpse. I should have been a Boy Scout. I’m always prepared.
One afternoon I found myself watching a documentary about an ex-cop turned entrepreneur. It seems he found a societal need that wasn’t being met and seized the opportunity. And so began his trauma and crime scene clean-up career. The one hour special followed him and his crew on three different assignments and outlined the circumstances surrounding each. The first was the home of an elderly woman who had been beaten to death in her bedroom by a robber. Her family was going to sell the house once the cleaning was complete. The second I don’t recall. The third was a black man named Dwayne in his 40’s who lay dead on his bed for weeks before anyone realized it was death they were smelling. His death.
Dwayne’s family disowned him upon learning he had AIDS, and so he was all alone. Alone, dying and too sick to care for himself let alone his apartment. So newspapers had piled up in some corners, trash had piled up in others. The refrigerator was open and roach-infested, dishes were stacked high in the sink and on the counters and his clothes were strewn about. The ex-cop began the daunting task of cleaning this mess that had been Dwayne’s so called life. Left and right he tossed Dwayne’s belongings into garbage bags and hauled away any evidence that Dwayne had ever existed. An old photo album revealed a healthier happier time in Dwayne’s life. The camera focused in on orange-tinted family pictures depicting Dwayne’s family as they were in the 70’s wearing their Sunday best before they decided Dwayne wasn’t worth the risk or embarrassment or hassle. Then, poof, the album was gone, the apartment was restored to a gleaming white and the credits rolled. May Dwayne rest in peace.
Marc is in Las Vegas this week visiting his friend Andrew, a wheeler-dealer type who grows medical marijuana and has all new porcelain teeth that he paid for with some cash but mostly by trading jewelry and services. So, I’m occupying my time with non-stop internet surfing, blog hopping, and reading weird but true news blurbs while slowly going bonkers from boredom. I haven’t heard from my family in weeks, haven’t received a single phone call from anyone–not even a telemarketer, and the only email I got was from myself reminding me to take out the trash before I go to work tomorrow.
Need I say it? I’m in a funk. I’ve envisioned myself having a terrible accident and lying in my own filth while Paquita eats my flesh to stay alive until Marc gets home. Then he’ll hire the ex-cop to clean my waste and toss my old photos. I’ll see Dwayne at the bottom of some dumpster and wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask him for his autograph.
Or maybe I’ll take Paquita for a walk so I can bask in the wake of her mass appeal.