The Rescue Mission (please refer to 2 previous posts)

The Paranormal Channel has assembled a crackerjack team to rescue Clairvoyant Country Mouse. The posse consists of:

EMMA, who's driving the rescue vehicle; a fully loaded Winnebago (due to the high cost of gasoline, EMMA has been asked to fill the tank at her own expense);

BLEU DOG, who is in charge of ammunition & supplies. She has loaded supersoakers with beer & wine and has setup her guitar & amp in the back of the camper;

MADELENE, an ex-Navy Seal;

and CITY MOUSE. We have no idea what her contribution could be. In fact she had to payoff the station to be included.

We have fitted the Winnebago with cameras & microphones to give you a live blogcast of the mission:

(EMMA and CITY MOUSE are headed north in the Winnebago to pick up BLEU DOG & MADELENE. They are in contact with COUNTRY MOUSE via a spy-style wiretap)

CITY MOUSE: Yes, I hear you, Country Mouse! How's that bump on your head? There's liquor and WHAT in the back of the truck?

EMMA: Which exit do we want?

CITY MOUSE: I can't find Sullivan County on the map.

(EMMA glances over & rolls her eyes)

EMMA: That's because you're looking at a map of Pennsylvannia!

CITY MOUSE: Oops... What's that Country Mouse? (CITY MOUSE turns to EMMA) She heard us. She's having another beer.... Look, there's Bleu Dog!

EMMA: She told me not to stop. She's jumping in through the back door.

THUD!!!

BLEU DOG: I only see one super soaker back there..

(City Mouse shrugs her shoulders while Bleu Dog watches her figeting with something under her long paisley skirt.)

BLEU DOG: Hey CITY MOUSE, aren't you hot in that?

CITY MOUSE: This is granola dyke camouflage. I have to blend into the crowd.

(EMMA makes a sharp turn up a dirt road. THUMP! THUMP! The road isn't smooth.)

BLEU DOG: Here comes Madelene!

(EMMA stops the camper while MADELENE hops in with a yellow object under each arm.)

MADELENE: The Winnebago Model XTC 5 handled the dirt speed bumps nicely!

EMMA: Do you ever take customers up here to test drive SUV's?

(BLEU DOG examines what MADELENE is now holding in each hand.)

BLEU DOG: Why are you bringing your rubber ducks?

MADELENE: They're my secret weapons.

CITY MOUSE: (speaking into a microphone) Hey Country Mouse, I hear a lot of noise on your end, are you okay? I'm putting you on speaker.

COUNTRY MOUSE: Yeah, I'm good. After two beers I realized how easy it is to knit. There's tons of yarn in here. Just trying to keep busy. (COUNTRY MOUSE starts whispering) One of them just got in the truck with me. NO! She has the plaid...

EMMA: Sounds like they're fitting her with the lumber jack shirt.

MADELENE: NO! She's allergic to plaid! It weakens her powers - its like Kryptonite!

EMMA: Don't worry, we're almost there.

BLEU DOG: Here's the plan. We're driving to the line of march. When the hyper dykes see the Winnebago, they'll switch to "protest mode" and run towards us. Emma will stop the camper. Then we'll each get into position. Everybody remembers what they're doing, right??

(The other three nod.)

(EMMA is forced to stop as throngs of Orange County and Moonpower Lesbians swarm the Winnebago, pelting it with oranges.)

(CITY MOUSE grabs a stack of orange fliers and sneaks out the side door. BLEU DOG throws open the back door as EMMA puts a supersoaker over her shoulder & takes aim. BLEU DOG grabs her guitar & turns the amp all the way up.)

EMMA: Drink up girls! It's happy hour! (EMMA sprays the crowd with a fine Shiraz as they try to run away.)

(BLEU DOG strikes the first few chords of "Cat Scratch Fever". The Dykes scramble holding their ears)

BLEU DOG : No requests please!!

(CITY MOUSE spots the U-HAUL. She lures a bunch of Orange Pride Dykes away from it by handing out fliers for a Deeper Dating singles event.)

CITY MOUSE: Girls, there will be Buddist meditations AND Tarot card readings after tonight's mixer!

(With that, the girls climb over each other to get more information.)

(MADELENE makes her way to the U-HAUL, clutching her ducks.)

(CITY MOUSE pulls a supersoaker from under her paisley skirt. She rips off the skirt revealing a very short Catholic school uniform. The super soaker is loaded with "Re-elect W" pins from last year's election. The Orange Lesbians back away in horror.)

CITY MOUSE: Hey you left wing radicals! It's time to play PIN the tail on the donkey!

(CITY MOUSE shoots at the crowd and then aims at the U-Haul to provide cover for MADELENE.)

(MADELENE opens the back of the U-Haul. COUNTRY MOUSE lays lifeless on the floor, wearing a dishovled blonde wig & size 20X plaid shirt as two mean-looking dykes are forcing Timberlands on her feet. MADELENE hurls one duck that flattens one of the dykes. COUNTRY MOUSE struggles to get up. MADELENE throws the second duck but misses and hits the bump on COUNTRY MOUSE's head. She falls back down.)

MADELENE: Sorry!!!

(The evil Orange County lesbian starts after MADELENE. MADELENE sees CITY MOUSE)

MADELENE: Throw me your card! Quick!

(CITY MOUSE throws her 2005 Republican National Committee membership card. MADELENE catches it and throws it boomerang-style at the charging dyke. She slices her mullet. The girl goes down. MADELENE jumps into the U-Haul.)

BLEU DOG: (shouting over a Melissa Ethridge tune) You can stop now, EMMA, mission accomplished!

(COUNTRY MOUSE and MADELENE jump out of the U-HAUL. COUNTRY MOUSE has changed into a very stylish sleeveless sweater that she knitted. CITY MOUSE heads back to the camper, careful not to step on any of the Pride girls they took down.)

BLEU DOG: Lets go to Drink 'n Sink. They owe us one!

COUNTRY MOUSE: Don't we have a gig at GW's??

MADELENE: (after surveying all the downed dykes) I guess there's going to be plenty of vacancy at that camping trip.

EMMA: There's still gas in the Winnebago. Anybody want to go? Pennsylvannia isn't far.

CITY MOUSE: I have a map of Pennsylvannia!

Clairvoyant Country Mouse will be back on the air soon!

Crisis Deepens at The Paranormal Channel (see previous post)

The Clairvoyant Mouse is reported missing! We have received an unconfirmed report that she has been abducted by the Moonpower Mystical Lesbians.

The Paranormal Channel is frantically trying to piece this story together as it unfolds. Eyewitnesses claim seeing her in the back of a U-Haul truck headed in the direction of Sullivan County, New York.

A ransom note has been received at the station signed by the Moonpower Mystical Lesbians. It states that Clairvoyant Mouse is being forced to predict good weather for the Day to be Gay Parade this Sunday. She will also be made to march in the parade, wearing a lumberjack shirt & Timberland boots.

There is one very strange demand in the note. She will not be released unless the local liquor store/bar on Monroe Lake, The Drink & Sink Saloon, stops referring to alcohol as "spirits" in their print ads. The girls find it highly offensive and politically incorrect that that "evil liquid substance" is being referred to with the same name as their "unearthly" members....

...wait! here's an update. Clairvoyant Mouse is still posting blogs! She says that she is okay except for a bump on her head. She received it when one of the more militant dykes tried to rip off her signature wig and give her a mullet-style haircut. Clairvoyant Mouse sadly reports that the wig sustained severe damage in the confrontation and that the girls are praying to its remains.

Right now, we are assembling a team to rescue our favorite celebrity. We'll keep you posted...

Crisis at The Paranormal Channel!!

We regret to inform our viewers that The Clairvoyant Mouse will not be making her regular appearance today.

The overwhelming response to her accurate prediction of a hurricane hitting the city of New Orleans has resulted in a hysterical mob swarming outside her dressing room. In concern for her safety, we are advising her to stay inside.

Our correspondents have spotted executives from the Weather Channel trying to barge their way inside to offer her a lifetime contract. They were shouting, “ Fire the meteorologists! Hire the spiritualist!”

The throngs of people outside her room include representatives from various organizations including other major networks, The Army Corps of Engineers, the Ellen Degenerous Show, The Department of the Treasury, The Department of Defense, The Pet Psychic & The Vatican. Even Alan Greenspan has been quoted saying, “I wonder if she’s ever tried predicting the future of the economy?”

One of the more unusual groups creating a stir is The Moonpower Mystical Lesbians. They have been spotted outside our offices praying to blonde wigs and declaring The Clairvoyant Mouse goddess of the year.

Even with all this commotion, she has managed to publish a few blogs for her fans. And in an effort to quiet The Weather Channel, she posted a weather prediction: “Tonight dark – with scattered lightness in the morning".

We will inform our viewers of any further developments.

Deeper Dating Part I: Heavy Metal and the Essence of Fluorescence

I just participated in a social experiment. First I attended an alcohol-free Lesbian singles event called “Deeper Dating”. Then a group of the women from this event met at a bar. What a difference a drink makes!!

Deeper Dating was held at the GLBT Center in New York City. It’s a place that has all the charm and warmth of a run-down Depression-era tenement house. We sat on extremely uncomfortable steel folding chairs under the glare of intensely bright fluorescent lights. I wondered how unsocial it would be if I put on my sunglasses. My mind quickly dropped this dilemma and moved on to something more philosophical. Can modern machinery and Eastern religions co-exist? I was straining to hear the event’s moderator talk in a soft, meditative voice about Buddhism while the room's air conditioner was rattling like a broken lawn mower.

At one point she said, “even if we’re not initially attracted to someone, we should make an effort to get to know the individual.” I paid for someone to tell me to throw basic instinct & initial attraction out the window?

It was time to do what I came for, check out the women. Deeper Dating attracted a diverse group. I was happy to spot some attractive prospects among them. So I decided to keep an open mind and turned my attention back to the speaker. She was explaining how the event worked.

We were to form an outer circle and an inner circle. The two circles would face each other. The moderator would ask a question and we would exchange our answers with the woman facing us. After we exchanged our answers, the person in the inner circle would move over one and we’d each be facing a difference person to answer a new question.

The outer circle was formed first and somehow I ended up on it. Damn! Two cute women were also on the outer circle. That reduced my chances of meeting them. But there were some other possibilities. I glanced around as the moderator was completing the circles. I noticed a very tall Asian man. I wondered what he was doing here? I figured he helped set up the metal folding chairs. After all, there were about 50 women. That’s a lot of metal chairs to clank into place. OH NO! He was heading my way! It hit me that the 6 foot tall Asian man could be female and would be standing right across from me.

Yes, my initial reaction to this woman / man was shallow and not in step with “Deeper Dating”. But I’m a mere 5’1” (and a fraction). When you’re my height, size does matter. I don’t like straining my neck way back to look someone in the eye. A friend of mine finds Asian women very attractive. I was wondering if this one would change her mind.

Before the first question, we were having a moment of meditation during which we were to join hands with the person in front of us. Yikes! Full disclosure here: I am Catholic but I have issues with the Catholic Mass. I hate the “shake hands with the person next to you part when you say, “peace be with you”. It’s followed by the priest putting the Eucharist in your hand and then you putting it in your mouth. Its needless germ spreading, like this. But I went along. It’s a good thing I always have Handiwipes in my purse.

After suffering through that little moment, the moderator gave us the first question: what was the last thing you read?

Oh I can have fun with this, I thought. I have a cute answer! With a big smile, I was about to tell my partner about the lame fortune that came with the Chinese takeout I had for lunch. Am I CRAZY??? How insensitive! I stopped myself. I said I couldn’t think of anything and asked if she wanted to go first. In a very deep and scary voice she said she doesn’t read much, just comic books. Not the best conversation starter. The moderator butted in, “Even the menu you read at dinner or lunch counts”. I figured that saying I read a Chinese menu was just as insensitive as the fortune. Besides, what if she’s Korean? She’ll think I’m insensitive and ignorant. What would Margaret Cho say?

Quick! Come up with something or you’re going to be fumbling through a conversation about comic books! It is Deeper Dating. Can’t I say I read something in the Bible? Then I looked up at her and thought of the last book I read. “The last book I read was ‘Venus Envy’ by Rita Mae Brown.” I figured most of the women in the room read something by her. “I don’t know her books.” Oh. Maybe the Bible is the way to go…

“Okay, times up!” Whew! Saved by the bell! And time for a new partner. H-A-P-P-Y! The next woman, Rene, was cute & petite with short wavy black hair and a nice smile. The next question was to name a favorite possession. I had to go first again. One of my favorite possessions is a picture of my mom and her dad on the roof of the building they first lived in when they came from Ireland. I explained that they were living only a few blocks from where I currently reside.

“Wow!” Rene said. “What kind of a frame do you have it in?” I was honest. I haven’t framed it yet because I’m terrible at decorating. She smiled. Now it was her turn. She described her pool table. It was custom made in Mexico where she used to live. She recently moved to Staten Island and had a separate room for her pool table. At this point I was digging the pool table & Rene. I asked if she got to play a lot. “No time! I’m VERY involved in politics. I devote all my time ousting Republicans!” She rolled her eyes, “It’s all Republican by me. I can’t stand it!

I’m a registered Republican. Her political affiliation didn’t bother me. But I was getting the drift that membership in the DNC was mandatory to getting to play pool or any advice on picture framing.

Another partner rotation. My next partner, Tracy, was a perky little African-American with a Caribbean accent. Question #3: name an accomplishment you’re proud of. I drew a blank. Why does the outer circle always have to go first?!? I was experiencing Deeper Dating rage. Think, THINK! Nothing came to me.

“Well, I usually don’t discuss this because I’m too modest. But I have made extensive progress on proving Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.” Tracey let out a big laugh. I continued, “Of course I’m still reviewing my proofs and calculations. And I’m juggling this work while also pursuing a cure for the common cold…” Time’s up! It was the inner circle’s turn.

Tracey, giggling, said she couldn’t think of anything either. Being in goof-ball mode, I told her she could ask me about my accomplishments. She asked how much longer it would take me to prove the Theory of Relativity. Longer than I had hoped because I do most of my calculations in bars on cocktail napkins. I wrapped it up by warning her of the dangers of drinking and deriving. She belted out a dinosaur-sized laugh. At least we were having fun.

This went on for a few more rounds. I felt like a contestant on a game show. I was more worried about coming up with answers than meeting people. Hey! How was this any deeper than having a drink in a bar and walking up to someone and saying something stupid?

When the circles broke up, it was refreshments time. I passed on the table of unsavory goodies. I looked at the bowl of potato chips and couldn’t get the hand holding meditative moment out of my head. Then it was time to exchange numbers. What? That’s it? I didn’t meet anybody!

This turned out to be entertaining. There were rules. We weren’t supposed to exchange numbers. If someone offered you a number, you were to just say thank you. If you wanted to give her your number, you had to approach her separately.

When we were given the okay to get numbers, the rules were forgotten and the room turned into a feeding frenzy or like what you see on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. The women were like floor brokers feverishly passing trading tickets back & forth, I could barely keep up.

I saw a flaw in my strategy. When I got home, I realized that I didn’t know who half the people were who I had collected info from. Hmmm…

I went out with one woman who called me. It’s a subject for another blog. And there have been others.

Then Tracey e-mailed me. A group of women from the event were getting together at a bar. Count me in! I bet they couldn’t remember who was who either. To be continued…

True Love (oh no, a serious one)

What happened to true love? When did it go out of fashion to want to find someone who sends you “over the moon”? Why do so few people seek out a soul mate who can give them that funny ripple in their stomachs? I’m talking about top-shelf love, the best feeling in the world. Yet it seems so few choose to pursue it.

Countless times after a date the first thing a friend would ask: “Did he pay?” And if answer was yes then, “Was it a nice (expensive) place?” If the answer was yes again, then I’d hear “Marry him! Seal the deal!”

Seal the deal? Are we talking about a corporate merger or being in love? Not very long ago I came to the realization that I was, shall we say, shopping for the wrong brand, and have been going on dates with women.

With all the disadvantages of being gay, I thought one advantage was that these people were more likely to pursue true love. They were already taking a chance living a lifestyle far from universally accepted. Why wouldn't they "go all the way" with love?

But a few dates taught me otherwise. One woman was trying to figure out how normal or stable I was. Okay, maybe she dated someone who suffered from severe mental illness. No, I realized what she meant was how financially and, yes, emotionally stable I was. Our one date would make a funny one act play. She kept asking me all this “surface” stuff. Where do you work? What do you do? Where do you live? She only dated women who live in Manhattan and was pleased that I was “professional”. Meanwhile, I was going on a spiritual hunt. What makes her happy? What makes her laugh? What’s this woman’s theme? Could she be a soul mate? Is there any connection here?

All the people I work with are wonderful. Except for one. But I’m so glad that I know him. Its amazing how one person can represent everything I detest. It’s like one-stop shopping. His sons are to marry the right type of woman. Not only must they be Jewish, they have to come from acceptable families. He was concerned when he learned that one son’s fiancé had divorce in her family. None of his children will rebel. They don’t want to be cut out of their inheritance. Every social contact he makes is for a socio-economic benefit. Not surprising, he’s one miserable individual. He goes home everyday to a wife who verbally beats him. He doesn’t wear the right jacket to their country club, he watches too much sports. He’s uncouth in her eyes. As the expression goes, you’ve made your bed… This fellow is an extreme example of the anti-true love movement and a very scary one, indeed.

People choose mates for several reasons and none of them are wrong. Some want financial security. Others seek trust. Some want a great physical relationship, while others want someone they’re just plain comfortable with. But where’s the passion in that? Yes, it’s safer not to be head over heels in love. You can’t get hurt as much. It’s much easier to seek out material comforts through a relationship. But I don’t believe God intended us to just play it safe. He wouldn’t have given us the ability to have true love.

Enough of this romantic dribble. What made me so damn serious all of sudden? I’m not really going to post this, am I? I’m off to re-read “Wuthering Heights”.

The Para-normal Channel

Why isn’t there a Para-normal network? We have a network for everything else. There’s the NASCAR, Tennis, Golf, NFL, Fine Living, House & Garden Channels. We even have three up & coming gay networks. True, television executives have thrown in a smattering of programs that deal with the world of the “beyond”. John Edwards is on TV. The Travel channel has a program that features haunted hotels. And everyone loves the Pet Psychic. But the popularity of the Para-normal screams for its own home in TV land.

Need proof of its popularity?

Tourism is on the rise in Lily Dale, NY. Roughly 22,000 tourists now descend like locusts on this Western New York town to connect with deceased loved ones through the town’s 40 registered mediums. It’s the epicenter of the Spiritual movement, a religion that, according to Rich Beattie of The New York Times, combines a reverence for “the God of your own understanding” with the belief that the living can communicate with the dead. The town is halfway between Buffalo and Cleveland, not exactly a vacation hotspot. For those who are tired of covering up their travel destination by saying they’re visiting relatives (just not living ones), the state of Florida has an answer. Welcome to the Southern Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp, located between Orlando and Daytona Beach. It’s 39 certified mediums attract nearly 10 times as many visitors as Lily Dale (not counting the ghosts).

You can’t walk down a street in a major city without coming across a sign for Tarot Card or Palm readings. There’s even a growing niche on Wall Street of Financial Astrologers.

But this isn’t just an urban phenomenon. Psychic fairs have permeated the countryside. A friend works in a café at her college. There was a psychic fair taking place on campus. One of the participants came into the café and asked for a cup of coffee. “Milk and sugar?” she asked. His eyes widened & he responded, “How did you know?”

We even have a growing number of Astrology schools popping up worldwide. Another friend consulted a graduate of one such school. He was in big trouble. He couldn’t remember his girlfriend’s birthday. Luckily a friend’s mother was a graduate of “Astrology University” in India and agreed to help. He would describe his girlfriend’s personality and she would pinpoint the astrological sign, hence the month of the gal’s birth.

Other channels would be envious of the Para-normal network’s built in cost savings. There’d be limited need to publicize its line up of shows. Most viewers would be clairvoyant and thus would already know what’s coming on.

Maybe executives at Viacom, MTV’s parent, are discussing the possibilities of a Para-Normal network but see obstacles. Not all facets of this “genre” would make for good viewing. For example, there’d be no point to having a show predicting the end of the world. The network would loose credibility if the prediction was wrong. If it was correct? Who cares! The network could face lawsuits for inaccuracies. My friend faced the wrath of his girlfriend when his friend’s mom was six months off on her birthday prediction.

But at the very least, the Para-Normal Network would be popular, fun and give a whole new meaning to “channel” surfing.

Dykes for Dummies: A Cultural Guide

Congratulations! You’ve known that you’re gay your whole life. And you’ve come to realize that there’s nothing wrong with it.

The hard part is over, right? Now all you have to do is meet other Lesbians, make new friends, go on dates, etc. WRONG! Welcome to culture shock. Every social network has it’s own bizarre customs, etiquette, rules, and taboos. This community is no different.

I’m speaking from firsthand experience. As a dyke-in-training, I’d like to share some past & present adventures on my quest to un-code this culture. If you’re a neophyte too, feel free to come here to compare experiences and know that you’re not the only one fumbling around in an unfamiliar world. If my situation doesn’t apply to you, sit back & enjoy the ride.

Where do you start?

I hadn’t a clue. But what I did have: an open mind, internet access, and a home in a gay Mecca (gay Mecca – any area with a large concentration of gay people. Better known to straight people as a big city, or a resort town with too many antique shops and rainbow flags.).

My plan was to go to gay bars and seek out lesbian events. While surfing the ‘net for activities, I stumbled upon online dating sites. I was thrilled to discover that women were using them to make friends as well as search for potential dates. But what kind of personal information do you post on a gay site? I ran a search of women in my town, NYC, to find out. I already knew that I was different from most Lesbians, being a Catholic Republican who works in finance. But hey, New York is a big city. There have to be some women who are like me, right?

As I viewed one profile after another, I could feel a sinking feeling in my stomach. I was learning what I didn’t have:

1) an affinity for cats, Wicca, or radical left-wing politics
2) the ability to write poetry, novels and protest songs
3) an aversion to capitalism, and any events involving alcoholic consumption

I’ll never fit in. They all seemed to be of the same mindset, which was miles away from my thinking. I’ll be an outcast - I’m doomed.

But I also caught myself giggling. A lot of these profiles seemed pretentious and unbelievable. Under the education section, some women listed more degrees than a thermometer and expected the same from a potential partner. “Intellectual”, “Spiritual”, “Citizen of the World”, and “Great Sense of Humor” were adjectives and catch phrases that the website should have charged extra for their over usage. It seemed illegal in the “Favorite Books & Movies” section not to mention a Virginia Woolf title or an obscure foreign flick. This set loved all genres of “sophisticated” music. Of course, Country music was not popular here. I couldn’t help thinking that most of them never actually listened to the classical music they listed.

I didn’t despair. I decided to take a silly approach. Why not put together a profile that would be the antithesis of what I read? How many of these women really did have a sense of humor?

So I had some fun:
Favorite book: Phone Book (Manhattan Yellow Pages can double as a stepstool)
Favorite Movie: hmmm, I’ll make up one: “Godzilla vs Rodan”
Music I Like: Classical Music like “The Chipmunks’ Christmas”
Music I Don’t Like: Anything sung by William Shatner
Favorite Foods: Anything I didn’t cook

I wasn’t a complete wise guy. Interests are good conversation starters. So I stuck in some serious stuff. Guess what? My profile worked. I have made friends and actually got asked out on dates (still do). I was myself. I didn’t try to “fit in”. And just as important, I didn’t forget to have fun and not take myself too seriously.

Bad date?

“Get up here!” I was being summoned by Paul, my manager. “She’s doing the plastic bag thing… again!”

“We’re swamped. Maybe later,” How come he has time to fool around? It was okay, though. Paul was a pleasure to work for and protected me from our previous manager, an evil character.

On top of trying to get everything done so I could get out at a decent hour, a consultant just came in to upgrade one of our programs. He was patiently waiting to get my attention. I didn’t want to be rude & keep him waiting. Jerry & his fellow employees were treated terribly by that evil manager. I’d cringe at the way they were spoken to. “Give me a sec Jerry, I’ll be right with you.” Jerry, a very soft-spoken Asian fellow, smiled & nodded.

Time to pull rank. I asked a co-worker to go to our office on the other floor & see if Amy, our marketing rep was in fact wearing a plastic garbage bag for the 2nd time this week. Jerry took advantage of the fact that there was no one else in the room. He cleared his throat, “Marc wanted me to give you his email address.” I smiled. I liked working with Marc. He left Jerry’s company a few months ago. Some nights we’d be working on our new trade entry program until 10:00 at night. The evil manager delighted in everyone working around the clock. But we made the best of it. He used to tell me about his motorcycle & the flying lessons he was taking. Marc was like Dilbert with an edge.

The phone rang. “She’s wearing a bag!” My co-worker was laughing so hard that he could barely get the words out.

“Did anyone ask her why she’s wearing a garbage bag?” I had to ask. Amy was nepotism at its finest. Her antics were one of our fringe benefits. She was zany & very entertaining to say the least. Before he could answer my question, my co-worker lost it & dropped the phone.

Jerry cleared his throat again, “Marc also wanted me to tell you that you were his favorite client.”

The phone rang again. My co-worker got a little of his composure back, “ She said she’s wearing a plastic bag because she ordered pizza. Paul wants to know why you’re so busy.”

“Has she ever heard of napkins?” Jerry signaled that he was done & had to run. I nodded & thanked him. “Is the cheese going to somehow land on her back?” By now, me & my co-worker were hysterical.

“Tell Paul I’m going crazy because we traded with every broker in Europe!” Feeling sarcasm swelling in my lungs, “You’ve heard of no child left behind? This is no broker left behind. AND we don’t have accounts opened yet with half of them”.

“I hear ya!” He continued the Bag Lady explanation, “Amy informed me that wearing a plastic bag is better than napkins because she’s wearing white.” He was loosing it again as I tried to interject. “Wait, I’m not done. I asked her then why wear white? She said, are you ready for this? Because its after May; its fashionable to wear white.”
I hung up on him and put my face in my hands. She talks to our investors?

Wait! In the middle of a pile of trading tickets on my desk was the piece of paper with Marc’s email address. Hmmm, I’m his favorite client? He got my attention.

Let’s fast forward. After exchanging a few emails, Marc invited me to a sailing race. He didn’t sail but his friend John was going to be in a catamaran race in NY harbor that was launching from the Sandy Hook, NJ area. I didn’t know much about sailing. We were in the middle of a July heat wave. It’s too hot to watch a boat race, I thought. Due to the pick up in volume at work I was running a severe sleep deficit and hadn’t been out in the sun too much. And what do I know about catamaran racing? But the one thing I do know about all boating activities; none take place without some festive drinking. So I said I’d go.

But there were snags. The race was starting at 8:30am Saturday & Marc agreed to be there early to help John. He wanted me to go with him, via his motorcycle the night before. They were pitching tents & bringing campers to stay over Friday night. I started thinking, why are these people camping? Isn’t there a yacht club or boathouse?

I couldn’t decide which was more unappealing, riding on the New Jersey Turnpike on the back of a bike or camping. Luckily there was a ferry between Manhattan & a town nearby. I asked Marc if it would be okay if I got up very early in the morning and met him there.

I woke up that morning in pain. Not only was I wiped out from work, I got my period. Cancel! No, I can’t. He’ll think I don’t like him. And he seemed so happy when I said I’d go. Ugh, the forecast was for another hot day. I threw a bottle of Advil and extra sun block in my backpack along with a goofy rimmed hat with a draw-string. Fashion be dammed.

Despite my delicate condition, I made it to the race site feeling okay. Marc picked me up at the ferry & we took some back roads so he could show me a marina where we could rent a boat to watch the race from. But first we’d see his friend off.

I wasn’t pleased to find that the race site was nothing but a bay beach lined with a few campers and (horrors) port-o-johns. There was no yacht club or any permanent structure. His idea of watching the race from a boat was making sense.

The sun was strong. I immediately began reapplying maximum strength sun block and popped a few painkillers. We helped John & his girlfriend get their catamaran ready. The intensity of the sun and menstrual cramps were getting to me.

On the way to the marina, we passed a bar. So I would be spared one less trip to the port-a-johns, we made a pit stop. The bar was a dive, but an air-conditioned dive. The temptation hit me to forego our little boat ride & hangout in the cool indoors for a while. Nah, I wanted to be a good sport.

We rented a four-person skiff with a motor operable from the rear. The sun was bouncing off the water. I was wishing I had a hat with a rim as wide as a sombrero. One thing we didn’t realize. This was New York Harbor. It has as much boat traffic as the Turnpike has cars. That means wakes, big wakes. We were in a little boat. As we speeded along, I felt a full assault coming on from the waves. No!! On top of the sun & my cramps, I was feeling sea sick. Not a good combination.

“Are you okay?” He asked. I’m sure I was turning green.

I looked at Marc as if to beg him to put me out of my misery. “I gotta get off this boat!”

Luckily our boat had a shallow hull so we could pull up to the launching site. He wanted to try to bring the boat all the way in. I couldn’t stand those waves a second more. As soon as we were only a few feet out, I jumped over the side. Of course I got my clothes wet. Not a problem. I had extras in my backpack.

All I wanted to do was get out of the sun & roll up in the fetal position. We both left our backpacks in John’s camper. I changed & crawled onto the bed in there. I wanted to go home but I couldn’t even pick my head up. The racers were trickling back as the race ended. John lost. Marc didn’t want to leave me alone so he waited for John & Courtney to return before he took the boat back.

Courtney was very perky. “I’m going to make mudslides, do you want one?” I groaned. (Not unless you want me to throw up in your camper.) I declined her offer. John looked at me. His diagnosis: sunstroke. Good assumption.

Being out of the sun was a help. I was feeling semi-human and I wanted to get into my own bed. When Marc returned I said I thought I could handle the trip home. But as soon as I got back in the sun, my head started pounding. I didn’t care. I had to get home.

I was about to discover a semi-cure for sunstroke. Absolute terror. We didn’t have much time to catch the next ferry. That meant we’d have to go on a highway to save time. Sitting on the back of a bike going 60 mph was not only frightening, but also nauseating. I held on to Marc for dear life.

Ah! We made it to the dock. I really felt sick. He insisted on waiting with me until the ferry arrived. I was hoping he’d leave. I was afraid of throwing up on him. At this point, everything was making me sick, even his shirt's shade of green. I kept repeating to myself, “Don’t throw up on Marc.” I was hoping he wouldn’t try to kiss me goodbye because I would have vomited on him.

The ferry arrived & we parted ways. He knew to keep a safe distance. Smart man. That ride back was a blur. I was laying below deck and some people were starring at me & asking if I was okay. I got home & slept for 15 hours.

I was mortified by the ordeal. Marc called me the next week & tried to make me feel not so embarrassed. He also wanted to give me some things he had of mine. I hadn’t opened my backpack so I didn’t know that I was missing anything. He volunteered to meet me at lunchtime. When we met he handed me a somewhat see-through plastic bag. Oh no! It was my underwear & shorts that got wet from jumping off the boat. Our backpacks were both black. I must have put my dirty clothes in his. I could feel my face turning red. I thanked him. He washed everything for me. And folded it nicely.

This was a MAJOR clue as to my true sexual orientation. Marc & I never really got it together. But we are friends. How could any self- respecting straight woman not latch on to a guy who would wash & fold your clothes on the first date?

One straight woman did gain something from this experience. I gave the plastic bag to Amy. If she was going to don bags in the office, she might as well wear a cooler, thin one.

jetBlog

I challenge Steven King & Anne Rice to come up with something more horrific than today’s air travel experience. Yet, this recent traveler has found an oasis in the sky.

You know the drill. You pay good money to be stuffed in a crammed seat that you need a shoe horn to fit into. But no matter how little leg room your row has, you’re happy to sit because you just participated in a re-enactment of the Oklahoma Land Grab, desperately trying to secure space in an overhead bin for your carry-on. (You know you’ll want to bolt out of the airport at the end of your trip. You don’t want to wait for luggage that didn’t make it on the plane because it was too busy frolicking with a set of golf clubs it met in security at your departure airport).

There you sit for a leg numbing long time, first waiting to pull away from the gate because those who weren’t as quick are still trying to squeeze their stuff in the overhead bins. Then you wait on the tarmac for take off. You’re unfed (no “meals” anymore & they’ve even taken the peanuts away), with screaming & kicking children surrounding you (or was that just a very short & short tempered adult?). Even Edgar Allen Poe couldn’t dream this up. And the airlines wonder why they’re loosing money?

But I got to fly jetBlue on my last trip. Not only is it a better experience, they’re profitable. I was observing the secrets of their success, some obvious, some, well, read on.

My flight, going from Ft Myers, Florida to New York was boarded from the front & back of the plane. The gate was near stairs that enabled passengers to walk on the tarmac & board from the plane’s rear door. Even with the overhead bin dash, the plane was boarded in record time.

A big part of jetBlue’s success is their flight attendants, especially one who was on my flight. They’re allowed to have personalities & joke around. Maybe it just comes with knowing you don’t belong to a union like other personnel in the industry. Darren was British, which is a synonym for funny. Southern Florida is hot & humid this time of year (I bet you knew that already). The clash between the humidity outside & the A/C in the plane’s cabin made the air coming out of the vents look like white vapor or smoke reminding me of liquid nitrogen. When asked what was coming out of the vents, Darren said it was laughing gas.

After everyone was seated, Darren announced, “this is flight number,eh, whatever number ya’ like - headed to Boston. If anyone on this flight isn’t headed to Boston, raise your hand.” Some people laughed, some where very confused and raised their hands. “Ah, just kidding. We’re going to JFK, New York. Our flight duration is scheduled for a very short one hour and 85 minutes.” Darren just warming up.

He got the job of reading the safety procedures while the pilot pulled away from the gate. He stuttered a bit and apologized, using the excuse that the instructions were in “American” (not his native tongue). He only knew metrics. “We’ll be ascending to… hmmm.” Darren started over, “we’ll be flying very high and very fast. Please take this time to familiarize yourself with the safety instructions…”

As he went on, I familiarized myself with the in-flight entertainment, besides him. There was a little TV attached to the back of the seat in front of me. I plugged in my earphones and discovered another one of the airline’s pleasantries: TWO cartoon channels! It’s too bad that laughing gas wasn’t coming out of the vents. What could be better than unlimited cartoons and laughing gas to occupy the children (and most adults) on the flight?

As we taxied towards the runway, the captain came through my headset with a deep southern drawl, in contrast to Darren’s cockey. “Ladies & gentleman…we’re number one for takeoff. We should be arriving in New York a little early.” I could almost hear a few “yippees!” rippling through the cabin.

I started thinking. Who decides which plane gets to go first? I found out. It sounded like the captain left on the PA system. I could have sworn I heard him talking to the pilot of the Delta flight behind us. He was being accused of cheating in poker. That’s it!! In the pilot’s lounge, they play poker to decide who gets to takeoff first.

When the TV sound came back, I resumed channel surfing. There was your standard cable TV fare: news channels, business news channels, home improvement, and also a few channels tailored to flying. One was a constant picture of billowy clouds with new age music playing in the background. It was the aviation industries’ answer to the Yule log that networks run on Christmas Eve. There was another channel that was a map of the Eastern Seaboard with a computerized plane in Florida. The top of the screen said “Mapquest”. Aha!! I discovered how jetBlue saves serious dough. When the cockpit PA was left on I heard some mumbling about Mapquest. The pilots use Mapquest to navigate. They use a free internet service to figure out how to go. And I thought they used OnStar!

As I was flicking the channels, it occurred to me that we hadn’t taken off yet. The captain came back on the PA with a somber tone. “Ladies & gentleman…due to weather conditions, all flights heading to New York are being delayed half an hour. Damn! Our early arrival in NY was vaporizing like the laughing gas coming out of the vents. I bet there was no “weather condition” up North. Someone in the JFK control tower lost a poker match to our captain as well and wasn’t happy. I’d bet on it. Quick, find the weather channel.

But then, the captain was back. “So we don’t loose our #1 position, we are changing our flight pattern. Flight crew, prepare for takeoff.” I bet that’s the last time he’ll cheat at cards. I also bet that jetBlue has a premium Mapquest subscription so they have the flexibility to change course, if need be.

So off we went into the wild blue yonder. Its always fun watching cable channels that you don’t have at home. I was happy to find one; The Game Show Network. But it turned out to be a letdown. The old game show I wanted to see wasn’t coming on until (hopefully) after we landed. So I dozed off.

When we were about a 30 minutes away from New York, the captain came back on. I sensed a little disappointment in his voice. “Ladies & gentleman, due to a foreign plane that couldn’t get out of our flight path, we’ll have to circle JFK and will be delayed another 15 minutes.”

The only reason he mentioned that it was a foreign flight was because it would be lower on fuel than us and therefore got priority to land. However, I was sure there were passengers saying to themselves, “damn foreigners!”.

But all I could think was that this foreign airline didn’t use Mapquest & therefore wasn’t as nimble as our crew at navigating the friendly skies. I wanted the name of that airline.

We did land late. Darren was about to announce the time in New York but instead said, “Well I don’t want to tell you what time it is in New York because we’re, eh, behind schedule. Please stay seated until we pull up to the gate. As you’ll notice, the tarmac here is a little bumpy. I apologize, though it’s not my fault….its not the captain’s fault either. It’s the asphalt”…

That’s all for now from your flighty friend.

Next blog: bad dates make good blogs. When I'm asked which was the worst date I was ever on, I ask for me or the other person?