Aspiring to The Best of The Worst

I rarely submit my poetry to any contests publications. I usually prefer to publish my own collections. BUT, I cannot resist the annual Wergle Flomp contest put on by winningwriters.com
In attempt to unmask the blatant commercialism behind all those cheesy vanity contests for poets, they have devised a contest to expose these for what they are in a really fun way. To enter, you must write the WORST poem you can possibly pen and submit it first to one of the infamous vanity contests and then submit to the Wergle Flomp contest indicating which scam you submitted to. I submitted in August to both poetry.com and then to Wergle Flomp. This is my second year entering. Today I received an email from the Chairman of the International Society of Poets stating that " after reading and discussing your poetry, the Editorial Advisory Board of the International Library of Poetry has nominated you for membership in the most exciting poetry organization in the world -- the International Society of Poets!"

So, I thought I should share with my blog readers the poem the Editorial Committee at poetry.com has been "reading and discussing" before deciding to nominate me for membership in the exclusive society "dedicated to recognizing poetic talent such as (mine)."
Enjoy.

Kiss My Lips

Kiss my lips, soft and fluffy
Red and wet, creased and chubby
Kiss my lips for love, for fun
Here, there, everywhere
Anywhere a mouse can run
Kiss my lips. Don’t make me chase.
Just like gravy on my face
Kiss my lips, soft and sweet
On the bus, or in the street
Kiss my lips in a bookstore
In a car. Kiss them like a movie star
Kiss my lips all alone or in a crowd
Kiss them long and kiss them loud
Kiss me standing. Sitting down.
Kiss me sideways, upside down.
Kiss my lips while north or south
as long as we are mouth to mouth
Kiss my lips, not once, not twice
Kiss them ‘til they’re cold as ice
XXX XXX
XXX …XX

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I know. Clearly, I should quit my day-job tomorrow and write songs for boy bands. Mmmmmm Bop. Simply brilliant.
Let's hope it will do better in Wergle Flomp than last year's entry, entitled
A Prayer for Beabod, my black goldfish in the early 80s: God rest his soul

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Three Infamous Dream/Vision Stories

It is known to some, and not so much to others, that I have had what some might call prophetic or psychic dreams or vision on occasion.

One such vivid dream had to do with a house I’d never seen or been in. It was so vivid that I sensed there was a real life significance to the message of the dream, so I drew a picture of the house and the placement on the street and quizzed my mother down to see if she knew of this house and if I had ever in my lifetime been inside it. She had never seen it. Fast forward four months later on a trip to the home of our new pastor and his wife. No it wasn’t his house, but on the drive there, we turned a corner in his neighborhood and my mother turns at me white as a sheet and says quietly, “Oh my gosh that’s the house. That’s the house exactly as you drew it.”And it was. We turned right in front of it and down a few blocks to the pastor’s house. "We have to ask if they know about this house and who lives there,” she said. About a half hour into polite chit-chat with the pastor and wife, she did exactly that. She described the house a few blocks down and that I’d had a dream about it.

“I know the one you are talking about” he said looking at his wife. He turned to me, “What was the dream about?”

“I was going to knock n the door of the house because I was with my dad driving at night and we had car trouble. But every time I went to the door I was knocked down the steps by a very strong force and a female voice told me to get away from the house, that there was something evil in the house.”

The pastor looked at his wife and his wife looked at him wide-eyed. They just stared at each other for a moment. Then he said, “All we know about that house is that they’ve sold it twice in the last few months and no one stays more than two weeks. It’s rumored to be haunted.”

That was the last time this particular pastor and his wife ever spoke to me. It was clear I spooked them. Eventually, we left the church.

Fast forward seven years later…I get a call from a high school friend. We are catching up on each other’s lives: “Bowen and I just got the financing to do a down payment our new house you won’t believe the deal we are getting on this house in Crystal Lake.” (Bowen being her husband.)

“In Crystal Lake? Hmmmmm…Is it an A frame house at the T of an intersection with a small cemetery on the property?”“Yes, as a matter of fact…how did you know?”I said, “Let me get my mom on this one. I have something to tell you that you may or may not believe, but whatever you do, don’t buy the house.” My mother confirmed the story. My friend and her husband decided not to buy the house.

-----

About eight years ago I jolted myself awake from a nightmare of being thrown from something. I couldn’t say what, but my jolt was so violent I injured my neck pretty bad and woke up sweating profusely, in a panic, like something traumatic had happened though I had no memory of the actual dream. It was a Tuesday and I was scheduled to wait tables for a lunch shift. I got up and dressed for work in so much pain I couldn’t move very well. I went to work and had a terrible time carrying heavy dished to tables. My entire left arm went numb. It made work so difficult and I felt so guilty having to ask other servers to assist me in carrying things that day. But, beyond the numbness was a feeling that something terrible had happened. I still had the residual feelings of having experienced a trauma, though I knew it was just a dream. I started to worry, however, that it was one of my psychic dreams. I got so worried that I called home that night, which was unusual because I never called home on weekdays. My mother was surprised to hear from me. At first I just told her I felt like checking in – but I was really feeling around to see if she would mention something happened to someone. She didn’t. But, I still had a nagging feeling something happened. I finally broke down and explained that I had had a dream that scared me and made me think something happened to someone. I asked her if everyone was okay. I even asked her if my grandmother who had been recovering from a stroke was okay and she reassured me that everything was just fine with everyone. But, she was concerned about my numb arm and suggested I call someone about it. At the time, I didn’t have health insurance, but was part of a medi-share program that was only good for serious emergencies. They had a hotline you could call to consult with someone on medical issues, so I called them about my arm and it was suggested that I do various exercises and massage my neck, etc. daily to try and find relief.

Fast forward to Thursday afternoon. My arm is still numb intermittantly, but getting better. I come home from another lunch shift to a strange message on my voicemail. It was the mother of my best friend (Katy) from college saying that she and Katy were missing me and hoped I would check in with them soon. The actual message itself was not all that strange, but I definitely thought it was strange that her mother had made the call and not Katy. I called her back and she told me the real reason for the message. “I didn’t want to leave the message on your machine, because I wanted to tell you in person, but Katy was in a terrible car accident Tuesday morning. We just brought her back from the hospital today. She was thrown from the car and broke several ribs and punctured a lung but she’s going to be okay.”

KATY! All this time, it was Katy!!! Why didn’t I think to check on Katy?!

Katy was resting when I first called, so I tried again the following day when she was awake. I asked her how she was feeling. She said she was sore. I asked about the accident. She was turning and someone hit her, but it was so fast she didn’t remember what happened. She said she was on her way to an early morning tanning session and since she was only going to tan, she put on a comfortable wrap dress with no underwear. She insisted that this was the reason she had an accident- that if she put underwear on, she wouldn’t have been thrown from the car, unconscious, spread-out on the road for someone to find her and see that she wasn’t wearing panties. At least she had a sense of humor about it. Then she said, “I still can’t feel one of my arms, and my ribcage is sore, but other than that…”

“Katy, your left arm? Is that the one you can’t feel?”

“Yeah, my left arm…how did you know?”I explained. And then I told her to never leave the house without panties on again, as long as I don’t have health insurance.

--

In March of 2000 I was keeping a grueling schedule that involved getting up at 5 a.m. to get ready for work and drive to a remote train station, catch the Metra into the city, take a bus, work a nine hour day, catch the bus to the train to the car, and drive to a musical rehearsal in Cicero (Morton College Theatre) to rehearse until midnight and then drive home, getting to bed about 1 a.m. After keeping this schedule for four straight days I was becoming one exhausted actress. My normal sleeping issues aside, this schedule was not something I would chose to do in hindsight. I became a virtual zombie and one night I had a wake-up call that I would never forget.

The fourth night driving home around 12:30 a.m. on I-355 North, I became conscious that I was a good candidate for nodding off at the wheel, but I was ten minutes away from my apartment and there was almost no one else on the road. I just kept thinking that in ten minutes I’ll be able to take a hot bath and crash for the night. In ten minutes, I’ll be home. I cranked up the radio and was singing along to keep myself awake. Then, the strangest thing happened. I had a vision that my car flipped upside down and onto the center median. It was so vivid that it jolted me. I shook it off. Man, I need some sleep. Stay Awake. Stay awake. Then, it happened again. The same vision. It lasted only seconds, but was terrifying. I debated pulling over to the side of the road. Should I take a quick nap? These visions were freaking me out. I decided that sleeping on the side of the road at this time of night was not all that safe of an option either. I continued to drive. The vision happened a third time. Quick. Now, I was practically slapping myself. It was freezing cold out, light snowflakes falling, but I opened my window, and my sun roof in order to keep myself from getting comfortable enough for sleeping and I cranked the radio even louder. Almost there. And then, it happened.

From the I-355 Southbound, going the opposite direction, a red car launches into mid air, lands upside down wrapping itself over the center median sailing at tremendous speed down the length of the median, passing me, huge sparks flying from the friction of metal and concrete until it hits a light post and ricochets back into southbound traffic. OH MY GOD!!! OH MY GOD!! Did I imagine that? Did I just see that? Am I so tired I’m hallucinating? I started shaking uncontrollably and crying, distressed over what I think I may have just witnessed. Within a minute I was at my exit. I felt that if what I witnessed was real, there were so few cars on the road, that I should report it. But without a cell phone (this was before everyone and their dog had a cell phone), my only option was to find a pay phone. There was a Dominick’s grocery store right off the ramp. I pulled into the lot, spotted a pay phone, went to the phone and made a call to 9-1-1. I explained what I saw and the location in relation to the exit ramp, that I had no earthly idea how the car ended up flipping like that only that this is what I saw, and that it rebounded back into the Southbound lane. Even as I was calling, I wasn’t completely sure I was lucid, until the operator confirmed it. Halfway through my giving details, she paused, had a brief exchange with another operator and then came back to the receiver to tell me that two Southbound truckers were reporting the very same incident, with the very same details, the red car flipping onto the median. Then she asked me a question I will never forget.

“Do you think there were any survivors?” My vision came back, myself on the inside of the flipping car (the drivers perspective).Thinking the answer to this question might be the difference between sending an ambulance and police or police only, I responded “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure,” while knowing in my gut that whoever was in the car died on impact.

Still shaking, I drove home very carefully and crawled straight into bed. For the next three days, I avoided news broadcasts and newspapers because I knew I couldn’t handle knowing who was in that car.

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Random Thoughts

> I've decided that frustration breeds creative productivity for me. Especially career and romantic relationship frustrations. I have been super- frustrated with both lately. I have been writing and jotting down notes like crazy. Getting all sorts of ideas. Good ones? Hell, I dunno. They seem brilliant at the time. But then I discount some and toss them aside or forget to write them down. Or, I blog, of course.

> More frequent trips to the grocery have caused me to notice that there is a company that exists in close proximity called PLANNED LIGHTING. I like to imagine it's a clinic for people who have gone crazy with lighting fixtures before perhaps they should have, morally and/or practically. Perhaps they are out of control with lighting. Maybe they have resorted to lighting a home they do not own outright, such as a rented apartment, and therefore, they have need of the services and resources of someone who can assist them in planning their home lighting in a more responsible fashion. (ala Planned Parenthood).

This made me think of other businesses with funny names. One of my favs is a Chinese take-out chain in Indiana called YOU A CARRY OUTA. I love it. I mean, I've never eaten their take-out, so I can't speak for the food quality, but you can't beat the name.

> I've decided that it's a good thing that my highly restrictive diet prohibits alcohol. This is a very lucky thing for me. Though I've yet to ever actually fall prey to the act of drunk-dialing someone, this might have been my week. Yes, fortunately, keeping my sobriety and insecurities in tact has allowed me to refrain from doing something completely regrettable week.

> I never thought I would say that I'm getting sick of avocados. But, I'm afraid this is moment is fast approaching.

>Chocolate Rain. I finally saw the video on YouTube and the song keeps haunting me at random times, then I went to an engagement party and it was part of the discussion. What a bizarre virtual world we live in that this guy's has gotten such exposure. I fully expect to hear fabulous, creative sampling of this in a dance club mix the next time I go dancing. Dee-jays don't let me down!

>Speaking of club dancing....DAVIS, get the silver club dress outta the closet! (I ditched my retro 60s one long ago, but have another that should suffice. Where is the black disco catsuit when a girl needs it?) We'll have to go dancing when I'm in L.A. in a few weeks visiting my city-of-angels posse. L.A. folks- I'll be the chick in the corner drinking San Pellegrino with a lime when she's not kicking ass on the dancefloor.

> Ode to Lasagna: Lasagna you are the object of my innermost desire. Absence has made the heart grow all the fonder. I cannot bring myself to pass by Piazza Bella (where I'm convinced they add cinnamon to the luscious, tomato-meat sauce). I cannot wait until I am able to fondle your cheese-hearty noodles again between hungry lips and teeth and tongue. Such long-suffering sacrifice I endure. Though I can now slip into the Calvin Kleins once dismissed as "too ambitious"; I am dreaming of you.

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Grace Almost Dies

Around 6:30 p.m. on Labor Day she knocks on my back door. When I open it her face is black and red with a huge gash in it, stiched up, and there is blood all over her clothes and she is shaking.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!"

"Jennifer, I just came from hospital."

"Are you okay?! What happened?!"

"I was at Harlem and Bel-mont. I was running to catch de bus. I saw de bus was coming and I didn't want to miss it. I ran across the street, but I fell over something, I don't know what. And my face. I hit the street, my sunglasses shattered all over and into my face. I was carrying glasses of juice. I had been shopping and the glass broke in the bag by my face on de street and glass all over me. There was so much blood. You wouldn't beleive how much blood. But I stood up and tried to get on the bus. I didn't really feel nothing. I didn't know really what happened. But the bus driver told me she couldn't let me on the bus like that. And this woman. This very nice woman with the paper towels. I wish I had gotten her name..with the paper towels. She had just bought them at the store and she was helping me with the blood and there were people all around. Someone I don't know, some guy ran to the Denny's, you know, and called an ambulance. But I didn't know he did. when the ambulance got there I didn't know it was for me. People kept saying it was for me and I was like 'why?' I didn't want to go. But, one man said I would probbaly need stitches and I went with them. 14 stitches."

"Geez! You're lucky you didn't cut your eye."

"I know, my God! Can you believe? They numbed my face, you know? And then took out de little ti-ny pieces of glass all in my face and then they did the stiches. 14 stitches. I am still shaking."

"You were shopping?"

"Shopping. I got up early this morning to visit with Snoopy today on the way south side, you know."

"At the cemetary?"

"Yes, the cemetary, but he is not in the ground, you know, he is in the building. The Maso...Maso"

"Mausoleum?"

"Yes. But the gate was locked. It was closed for the holiday."

"Oh, yeah. I guess it's just Memorial Day and not Labor Day that they stay open."

"Yes, but I didn't know and it took almost two hours to get there. I was so damn mad. I get excited, you know, on the bus right before like I am going to see him, even though I know not really see him, but to know he's there. I was so excited I could feel it in my stomach that I was going to see him and then it was closed and I was so damn mad I thought how can I climb this fence? I was thinking, how I could climb the fence?"

"Ah, so it was going to be either the police station or the hospital today, one or the other."
"I would've never thought I would end up in hospital today when I woke up this morning. You really just don't know. Anything could happen."

"So then you went shopping."

"Yes, on my way back, I went shopping, but I wasn't really in the mood for shopping, I was so damn mad."

"That's why you fell."

"No I fell because I tripped over something. Where the road is higher like this." She shows me with her hand a few inches from the ground.

"You were so mad about the cemetary being closed that you were having an off day, you know, spiritually. Off-kilter. Your chi wasn't flowing. Where it's one bad thing after another."

"Then I was mad when I was at the hospital because everyone there is with someone and I was all alone and didn't have any phone numbers with me."

"Get a cell phone! I'll program numbers into it for you and show you how to use the speed dial."

"I maybe should, but I had one once and it was so damn expensive."

"Get a prepaid phone or something just for emergencies. What if you never came back?- We'd go crazy worrying about what happened to you!"

"I felt so bad at the hospital to be by myself like that when everyone else had somebody. I thought that damn Snoopy! He leave me all alone like this."

"Nooooo. He was with you in spirit."

"You think so? I forget to think that he could be with me all the time."

"He was."

"Then why did he have to let me trip and go to the hospital today to get 14 stitches?"

"You were running too fast for him. He didn't think you'd actually try to run for the bus. But, he dove just in time to save your eye, didn't he?"

"Yes. The doctor said it was a miracle it went all around, but no went glass in my eye."

"See, don't give him such a hard time. He saved your eye. You're the one who had to make a run it. He may have something to say about that."

"I guess so. I look terrible, don't I? People are going to wonder what happened."

"Tell 'em you were in a bar fight."

"Yes. That's it. I should tell them it was a bar fight." She smiled.

I added, "Tell 'em if they think you look bad, they should see the other guy!"

She paused, raised an eyebrow and with a smirk, "Twenty-five stitches."

"YES!!! Twenty five!"

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Freedoms Watch T.V. Commercials

I recently emailed the following response to the Freedoms Watch organization via their website (freedomswatch.org) in response to their new television commercials urging Americans to support prolonging the war in Iraq:

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Your commercials make me nauseas. Because I don't support this war I am anti-freedom (or an anti-patriot)!?

Imposing our political agendas on other countries infringes on freedom. This war was based on a lie. We are not fighting Osama. We are not ridding the world of weapons of mass destruction. We are feeding terror groups more excuses to hate Americans and develop ways to terrorize us. This war has severely damaged our foreign relations. Sure, we can keep saying we're winning this as long as we can keep changing the reason for why we're even at war to begin with. Maybe no one will notice. Maybe if we keep running a fear campaign and guilting people by saying they aren't supporting our troops, people will find a way to justify a gazillion tax dollars and thousands of lives lost. Let's support our troops staying in a war that didn't provide them with enough resources for battle to begin with. That's patriotism at its best. Let's keep our troops tied up for the war-on-terror, or good-Samaritan-democratization war (whichever sounds best for the moment), so that when a disaster like Katrina hits the U.S. we don't have enough troops on hand to help save the lives of our own citizens.

Are you sending your children off to war for the noble cause? Or is it just other people's children? Curious to know. Will they come back alive, proud of what they're a part of, or will they come back and commit a quiet suicide from their guilt of having been a part of it- a death that will never make it to press because it could breed anti-war sentiments?

"They will attack again."

Fear propaganda has been used throughout world history to back a whole host of immoral actions on the part of governments. Your choice to exploit fear without fact in these messages confirms to me that the real war agenda lacks any legitimate justification.

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Vodka & Cheese Blintzes

So, I got off work early on Friday for the holiday. Weather was gorgeous; I had to be outside. Took the dog on a log walk through Roscoe Village. He was able to meet and sniff two labradors (three blonde, two black), a border collie mix, and a giant, un-neutered schnauzer (with whom the greet when surprisingly well) so he was satisfied. Upon our return, he runs upstairs to meet with Grace, our Polish landlady, who has made every effort to be deemed his Second Mother and feeds him bread, cheese and retriever rolls (rawhides). Needless to say he’s in love with her now. Which started the trend of always going up the back staircase to her apartment to pay her a visit EVERY afternoon. If she’s not there, he will sit outside her door and whimper until I pull him down with the authority of Mommy Numero Uno. He sometimes gets pissy with me about this by: taking a ‘tone’ with me. So, I’m not all that thrilled about the routine she started except when I remind myself that she truly enjoys his company. He is the often the highlight of her day as a widow in her 60s (?) with no children or even family in the States at all.

So, he runs upstairs and I follow him, but today Grace sees us and starts to shut the door. She’s talking to one of my neighbors from upstairs. With a very serious look on her face she says, “Jennifer, I will have to talk to you later. I have something to ask you. Not now but later” and closes the door behind her. I could tell something was going on. Something not good. I start to think of what it could be. I’ve often worried about her financial stability. I know she gets offers to buy the house all the time. So many developers are salivating over the land, trying to build condos on this block. With the empty lot next door it’s all the more appealing. I started to worry that she finally got an offer she couldn’t refuse and that she was going to tell us we would need to move out.

About ten minutes later, she knocks on the back door. “Can you come upstairs with me? Mars can come, too.” I say sure. Mars and I head up. Walking into her apartment, she says, “I have some bad news and I think I’m going to die.”

Before you interpret this as an actual reflection on the status of her health, I should tell you that she often says she’s going to die. When we had flooding in the back staircase, when we had mice, when the pipes were frozen for almost a month last winter, when squirrels were climbing into her bathroom air duct and squawking at her in the morning…all of these times she was going to die. And if she’s not going to die, she’s “going to pass out” or is already “unconscious” (about the broken gas meter, the dryer not getting hot enough, my air conditioner going out earlier this summer). In fact, the phrase “I’m unconscious,” is especially overused, and is my favorite, of course, considering.

“Whatever it is I’m sure you’re not going to die from it,” I assure her, as I have many times before. “How bad is it?”

“Come in, sit down. You are not going to believe it. I don’t even want to tell you or I’m going to cry.”

Oh, no; she sold the house. I sit on the couch. She sits down beside me. Mars gets situated near her on the floor awaiting food offerings.

“I don’t even want to say it, but they are breaking up and moving out.” She gestures to the ceiling “Chris and Christina*!”

* Names changed here to protect their identities, but actual names equally rank with cute alliteration.

Thank God she’s not selling the house.

“I’m going to be sick,” she says. She remembers she has a bone for Mars and gets it for him. He happily chomps it in the middle of the floor.

“Wow. So…what did he do?” I asked. Sorry guys. It just came out. As soon as I said it I knew I shouldn’t assume that it was something the guy did. I quickly followed up with, "I'm kidding. What happened?"

“I don’t know what happened. The wedding is off and she is moving out and he is moving into another apartment. They will be out by November and I will have to fix up their place and find new people to rent it.”

The couple got engaged last Christmas on a romantic trip to Mexico. Right before their trip, I met Chris in the stairwell in the wee hours of the morning because he woke up my dog on his way to take out his trash. He was so excited, he spilled to me that he had a ring and was going to propose on their trip and that he couldn’t wait. He had this look in his eyes, so intense. So honestly bursting with excitement of the idea of their being engaged that I will never forget it. I just remember thinking that if I were ever to get a proposal from a guy I would actually consider marrying I hope that he has the very same look in his eyes when he’s plotting to pop the Q.

It seemed fitting for them to be engaged. They had been dating since high school in Iowa and had lived together in their upstairs apartment with cats, a large tank of tropical fish, and a dog. They did almost everything together when they weren’t working. Chris did all of the disgusting things that women sit around and dream a guy would do for them on top of being actually very attractive. Things I will pass on writing the detail of because I might throw up on my keyboard in the documentation of these. Suffice to say, he is undeniably a romantic, proclaiming his utmost affection for his Christina in actions and words to anyone and everyone. (Actually wore a t-shirt that read: “I Love My Girlfriend” and not just around the house) Whipped. Christina seemed content enough with Chris, and life, though she was quieter, not as social. Really the only time you’d hear anything from her was when she was promoting a show she was in (an actor). But Chris was always very friendly and would enjoy small talk and sitting with other neighbors in his yard talking about his band or…Christina. Grace was especially fond of him. EVERY time he would leave from talking to us, she would take it upon herself to remind me that I should find myself a man like Chris. I would always respond something to the effect of “they don’t make ‘em anymore” and she would nod in agreement with me or sometimes mention that Snoopy was like that sometimes. (Snoopy being her late-husband’s nickname; she still only refers to him as Snoopy.)

Now Chris and Christina are calling it quits breaking off the engagement, breaking up the family. He gets the dog and the fish. She gets the cat. And Grace is going to die.

“I am so upset.” Grace said, starting to cry. “I thought they would get married and be here forever. I can’t get over it. I am going to make myself a bunch of cheese blintzes and drink myself to death with vodka. I don’t know what to do with myself. How could this happen?”
“Maybe she met someone else.” I said, posing a likely theory. “She just got that new job at that bar and she met someone that made her wish she’d explored more guys since high school.”
“Could be. Could be.” She said. “He mentioned they have been avoiding each other for the last four months or so, pretending everything was okay. He said the split was her idea. He was almost crying. You know he has been drinking an awful lot in the last few months.”

“Maybe it’s for the best.” I tried to console her. “Maybe he needs to meet someone who appreciates him for who he is. Maybe now he can find a better match.”

But, I’m not so sure I believe that because Chris will never be the same. He will be jaded now like other men who have been hung out to dry somewhere in the name of young innocent love. He won’t ever want to give so much of his heart for fear of losing it again. She has probably ruined him for every girl after. His drinking may get worse. Maybe may just up the ante with cocaine, heroine, what have you, in the effort to self-medicate and lose all true senses of respect for himself and women. Another one bites the dust.

Grace tried an optimistic outlook, “Maybe they will go separate ways and see other people and then realize they were meant to be and it will be better than before.”

“Maybe or maybe not. Either way I’m sure it will be okay. They are both still young.”

“I am serious. I feel like someone died. I am going to eat cheese blintzes like you wouldn’t believe and get out my vodka,” she exclaimed.

“And I’ll have to march upstairs and say to them: Look at what you’ve done to Grace! She’s passed out unconscious from vodka and cheese blintzes; YOU'VE GOT TO MAKE THIS WORK, DAMN IT!” I motioned as if this would be said by grabbing them both by their collars, pulling them in and screaming in their faces.

She laughed and then tried to convince me I needed to eat cheese blintzes with her.

“Noooooo. My diet. It’s a no, no. I didn’t get skinny this summer for nothin’ and besides, it’s not really a matter of losing weight as much as it is for health.” I managed to escape them.

I have been fantasizing about cheese blintzes since last night. I hope she can get over the break-up soon; I can’t hold out forever- smelling them in the stairwell.

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