I like my chicken well done. Any sign of pink and I get the dry heaves.

When I go to any restaurant I always ask for my chicken burnt. They try but it’s rarely as well done as I’d like.

Some people are irritated by this. My nephew Terry, Stephanie’s husband, has requested that I don’t order chicken when I’m with him and since he almost always pays I’m more that happy to oblige.

There is one restaurant that gets it. It’s the indian restaurant on my block. I’ve been going there for years and  I even have them cater my Thanksgiving dinner (except for this year which was a mistake).

After a brief trial and error they finally made chicken exactly how I like it even though they are mystified by it.

One time the chef came out to see if I was actually going to eat it.

Last night Julie and I and Susan and Allan and their daughter Nicole went there for dinner. There was a new Maitre d’ who took our order so I told him that I want my chicken very well done.

When he came back to the table he said  “The chef says he knows the way you like your chicken”.

“Flattering” I thought.

Then  my chicken comes. It is so burnt that I could light it and cook a hot dog on it. It was a bunch of little black lumps. No there was no pink on it but was also no beige.

Now I’m in a quandry. They made it the way I’ve always requested it. So they went a little overboard. Can I tell them to dial it back a bit?

I’ll answer that for you.

NO!

In the spirit of the season I will still eat in this restaurant and order chicken.

Isn’t that what Christmas is all about? I may not be one of you but if I’ve learned anything in my 70 years it’s how to horn in on other people’s stuff. Oh yeah and that looking a gift horse in the mouth thing.

Now a seasonal present for all of you to thank you for reading my blog.

A picture of Ray and his brother Mickey

And a picture of my niece Stephanie’s horse and his cat.

Last night was David’s office party.

I actually wasn’t going to go because I hate talking to strangers. I only said I was going to annoy David.

I was peacefully watching a rerun of Love and Hip Hop Hollywood when David called. It seems that one of his guests wanted to meet me because David reads him all the disgusting things I write about him in my blog. NOTE: He’s proud of that stuff I say about him, go figure.

So I wiped the tomato sauce off the front of my sweater (from yesterday) and went over.

I remember that my mother always had stains on her blouses towards the end of the day. Maybe it isn’t wrinkles that show that you’re old but the fact that you don’t notice when your food flies out of your mouth. (Must tell AARP. Sounds like they ought to check this out)

Naturally Ray was ecstatic. He twirled all the way down the hall.

When I got there only David and this 23 year old kid were present. I’ve heard about the kid. David says he never even asks for the last names of the girls he sleeps with. No big deal to me. Unless he intends to monogram a sweater for them he doesn’t need to know it and cute as he is I’ll bet they pass on his last name too.

I grew up in the sixties. These kids got nothing on me.

Shortly after I arrived the others started drifting in. There were about 5 or 6 men and one woman. all of them quite nice.

I sat there thinking that this was not like any cocktail party I had ever been to and I finally realized why. It was all cocktails and very little food. David always has the best wines and liquor though.

Plus what measly food there was was at the other side of the room so people had to get up from where they were sitting to get a snack.

David had put about 4 or 5 lumps of cheese and a little salami (I do mean a little salami) and crackers on the dining room table. The salami went in the first 5 minutes.

You can take your WASP parties and shove them up your ass. These people were coming straight from work. They weren’t expecting dinner but puleeze. I decided to Jew the place up a little.

I got smaller plates and separated the cheese and crackers and spread them around the room. Then I  went into the kitchen and got some nuts and put them out. I also got a bowl of popcorn from my house.

They gobbled that shit up.

Everyone was having a good time. David brought out his hatchet to show his friends. Surprisingly they were intrigued. They also amused themselves by testing the young kid about how little he knows about the world which brought to mind the old joke from the eighties about a kid telling his friends that he had just found out that Paul McCartney played in a band before Wings.

I whispered a question to David, “Are you going to want to go out to eat when everyone leaves?”

He looked at me like I was crazy and glanced at his glass. And then I realized that the real difference between WASPS and Jews is the way they feel about food.

Unless I’m projectile vomiting I want dinner whereas David can get by on snacks and booze and be quite happy.

And I always thought the only difference between David and me was that I’m a saint and he’s a right wing stupid gun loving racist.

Whenever I go to Costco I am attracted to those Giant stuffed animals. I always pick them up and hug them. I put them back though because, well, I’m seventy.

A few weeks ago I was there with my sister when I saw a big bin filled with person sized Mickey and Minnie Mouses. I mean they were great. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them.

A few nights ago I was at David’s house, having cocktails, as you might have guessed, and I mentioned them to him.

“It’s a shame I’m so old because I still want toys. I love dolls and stuffed animals but I never actually wished I could purchase one until I saw those giant Mickeys and Minnies.”

David didn’t look away from the TV where he was watching “Rawhide” or something like it. He just said “Why didn’t you buy one?”

I was surprised at this.

“What would I do with it? Where would I put it?”

“You could just sit it in your living room on the couch or in a chair.”

“My living room is kind of formal. It would look silly.”

“It’s your house. You can put whatever you want in it. You live alone. Who do you have to impress?”

I wasn’t used to his being so encouraging. I gave it some thought. Then I felt a rush of happiness come over me.

“I’m getting one, maybe Mickey, maybe Minnie. At first I was sure I’d get Minnie because I’m a girl but, as I explained to David “If I get Mickey I can dance with him.” This brought me back to my childhood when my mother would let me dance with a raw turkey before she cooked it.

I have to admit that for the next few days I got glad any time I thought of it.

Then last night my bell rang at about 9:30 p.m. It was my super, his wife and his two children. They had a Christmas gift for me.

I had mentioned at the building Christmas party that as a new alcoholic I was really enjoying my vodka. Their gift was a bottle of Grey Goose. Tres snooty.

Their little boy, Christopher was so excited to be giving a present that he wanted to say something nice so he yelled “I miss you”. I guess that was the nicest thing he could think of saying.

I assured both kids that their gifts would be coming soon.

Lightbulb! I realized that I could kill two birds with one stone (I just realized what a disgusting saying that is).

This morning I rushed off to Costco to get presents for the kids and Mickey for me. I could barely contain my excitement.

But when I got there not only didn’t they have Mickey any more, they didn’t even have the giant bears which would have been second best but acceptable.

I got presents for my super’s kids and went home.

When I got in the car I called David. “There were no Mickeys or Minnies” I was really feeling low.

“So what.”

“You said it was a good idea. Were you just saying that to goof on me?”

“Of course I was, although I never thought that you’d take me seriously. How stupid would you have to be to buy a giant Mickey Mouse at your age?”

“Kinda stupid I guess”

(That’s what I said but what I was thinking was “Fuck you you fucking fuck. I’m getting me a giant soft stuffed  animal and I’m going to hug it and dance with it and you can shut your fat pie face”)

I went to the dentist the other day and my face is all swollen and black and blue. I would post a picture but I don’t want to disappoint those of you who want to imagine that I look like Angelina Jolie.

Since I’m mostly a shut in now I’m using my time well by planning my holiday festivities.

Christmas- Chinese food with Julie – check

New Years Eve- Still open but if Susan comes back from Florida I may be with her and Al in Montauk.

David mentioned that he’s having a party next weekend for the people from his office.

Naturally I  assumed that with Liz being in Santa Fe he’d need me to help him host it but when I asked him about the dress code he said “Why would you want to know?”

“Well I don’t want to embarrass you”

“Oh you won’t because you won’t be there”

“What? Why not?”

“Because you might say something stupid and, oh yes, because you aren’t invited.”

That got me thinking. A guy who never hides his hatred of all non WASPs, tells anyone who’ll listen that people  should be able to pack heat, especially if they’re white and called my sister an idiot to her face because she’s against fracking, I could go on and on. That guy says he’s worried about something I might say?

I’m sure he’s just joking. He probably does want my help but he’s too shy to ask.

I think I’ll wear my dressy black.

And if he was serious about my not being invited, I’ll simply walk in during the party and tell them to keep it down.

There’s no way they won’t offer me a cocktail so I don’t call the cops. At least that’s what I’m guessing. I’m pretty sure they won’t get rough. I’m seventy.

Yep my holidays plans are falling into place quite nicely.

So I was talking to Susan this morning and she said  “Any interest in coming to Brooklyn today?”

She’s leaving for Florida tomorrow and I won’t see her for weeks yet I could feel myself freeze.

Sue heard the silence and said “Forget I said that. I don’t want to make you feel guilty. You do so many things from guilt. I don’t want to add to it.”

“Thank you”. We talked awhile and then hung up.

“Why did I say that” I asked myself. I love to be with Susan. Was it because I didn’t plan it? I truly have nothing else to do.

Then my eyes shifted to the nose sticking out from under the blanket. Lightbulb.

I didn’t want to leave my dog. Since I got Ray I hate to leave my house.

Too bad he isn’t one of those cute little fluffy things that you can put in a bag and take with you.

He’s kind of a prick.

I realized that I was being crazy. The little bastard was in the pound with one foot in the gas chamber and the other on a banana peel. I’m leaving him home with a fluffy couch,  food, an open terrace door and toys.

I called Sue back.

“I’m coming”

I’m turning over a new leaf. A slightly less nutty leaf.

Here’s the list of people that I will always leave my dog for.

my family

Susan

Liz

Ronnie

Probably David

Lance from NSync

And of course President Obama.

Who am I kidding? I’d leave for ANY member of NSync.

Don’t anybody talk to me I’m in a really bad mood.

I was supposed to go to Brooklyn and play with my friend Susan today but it’s going to be bad weather, torrential rains and high winds and flooding. Seeing Sue is my favorite day too.

I tried to take Ray out so he could do his morning ablutions. I put his down jacket and hood on but when we got into the lobby he refused to go out. He just gripped the ground.

I picked him up and put him down by a tree but he was too much of a pussy to pee. There is no way he felt any rain on him since he was covered from head to toe. He ran back in the building.

When we got back upstairs I tried again on the terrace. No go.

So not only am I not having fun with Susan, I’m going to be worried all day that he has to go to the bathroom.

Then as if I wasn’t low enough, my health insurance person called for the 100’th time telling me that they want to schedule a home visit.

Now let me tell you how I feel about that. I like to let sleeping dogs lie (there seems to be a theme to this post). I don’t go looking for trouble.

If I feel fine I don’t want anybody (namely a doctor) lookin’ at me so they can find something I didn’t know I had. And don’t be writing to say stupid things like “early detection”. I ain’t interested.

But this guy wouldn’t let up. He even said if I let someone come I get a $25 gift certificate. I will admit the Jew in me perked up at that but then I realized that I’d have to use the 25 bucks to get TV in the intensive care room that I’d be in when they discover that I have some rare something.

I finally folded. I said they could send someone. I’m already sorry.

I don’t know what I was thinking. They said the person will be here for an hour. I hate people I don’t know. I’m going to be nervous and yapping and saying crazy things because that’s what I do when I’m nervous.

They said it would be a nurse and his name is Doug Something.

They want me to have all my medications ready. I don’t have any medications except my crazy pills and Doug’ll figure that out after 5 minutes of my Jimmy Durante impression. No need to see the pills.

It’s only 9:32 a.m. and my day already sucks.

How’s by you?

In the eighties dave worked for CTI Records.

One of the people he worked with there turned out to have a serious drinking problem. Let’s say his name was Lance Quintet. dave and I were friends with him and his girlfriend who by the way gave me the tools to tell one of my all time funniest jokes.

She was a nurse and she gave me about 10 rectal thermometers. I don’t really remember why she gave them to me but you know the old “gift horse” adage. We Jews live by that.

Years later dave had the flu and he wanted to know what his fever was. Men love to know their temperature.

The only thermometers I had were the ones that this girl had given me that time so I popped one in dave’s mouth.

“I hope this works. It’s a rectal thermometer”

With it still in his mouth, dave mumbled “Where’d you get a rectal thermometer?”

“I found it on the street when I was walking the dog. Don’t worry I wiped it off”.

The look on his face still gives me a chuckle.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Lance and his drinking problem in the eighties.

One day he called dave up and said he had fallen and he thought he broke his shoulder. I could tell he was drunk and somewhat disoriented. I offered to go over to his house and take him to the doctor. He sounded relieved.

When I got to his house he was in his pj’s and drinking a glass of vodka. He appeared uninjured and chatty but I wasn’t sure he wasn’t hurt.

“Get dressed and let’s go” I sat down on the couch and waited.

He came out of the bedroom still holding the vodka, stark naked with a towel in front of his wiener.

“Cut the comedy Lance. Get dressed or I’m leaving”

He just stood there chatting away as if he were in a 3 piece suit.

“You seem greatly improved, Lance, I’ll be on my way.” and I left.

If that wasn’t the last time I saw him it was very near the last time.

So here it is about 30 years later and I’m admiring my dog’s handsomeness and playing solitaire on my iPad  and the phone rings.

I look at caller id and it’s Quintet, Lance.

I pick up the phone. “Hey Lance how ya doing?”

“Mattie! Great to talk to you mumble mumble” he was clearly loaded.

“You’re calling for dave?”

“Sure but I can talk to you awhile” I think that’s what he said. It had some words with an ish at the end.

“Well dave and I are divorced and he moved to Japan. Let me give you his email address.”

“Oh no, oh no. When did this happen? I can’t believe it.” Imagine him saying this in a slur.

“About 3 years ago, let me give you his email address”

“I can’t believe it. That’s terrible. Was it friendly? ”

“Very friendly, we talk every night. Got a pencil?

“I wanna come up and see you. Still on the 18th floor? I’ve thought about you a lot throughout these years”

Then I got the creeps. How could he remember that I live on the 18th floor. He’s a drunk. How could a drunk remember what floor we lived on. I  only hope that that’s all of my address that he remembers.

“If you can’t find a pencil give me your email address and I’ll send you dave’s address”

It took an eternity for him to spit out his email address then he said “I have a pencil. Wasn’t I supposed to write something too?”

“No, Gotta go” I hung up.

The last thing I want is some naked 70 year old drunk coming to my door with a towel on his dick.

I got too much class for that.

I’ve been getting comments recently that show that not everyone knows who’s who that I’m writing about.

For those of you who are relatively new to my blog and either haven’t read it from the beginning (which is stupid because you’re missing some of my best stuff) or just forgot what they read(still stupid), I’ve decided to list the people I write about most and state their relationship to me.

I know this is a good idea because I consider it a teaching mechanism which enables me to list “educator” in my bio.

Some of you only see me as the strong, clever, beautiful, well adjusted and successful darling of a certain age. If you go back and examine the beginning of this tome (it’s a tome) you will be shocked to learn that I was once a whiny, angry, sobbing noodle of a person. And bitter, did I say bitter?

Here goes, mostly in order of appearance;

1. This would have to be dave, my ex husband. NEVER TO RECEIVE A CAPITAL D

After almost 40 years together, 34 of them married, he up and left me and moved to Japan with…

2. Nameless slut

Never met her so can’t describe her but she’s probably shitty looking.

3. Liz, my close friend and neighbor. She lives across the hall with #4.

Liz and I are closer than neighbors. For 16 years we’ve shared a dog, Rupert, together. She and her fiancé (#4) helped me through very hard times.

For the past few years Liz has been spending a great deal of time in Santa Fe. Her fiancé…..,

4. David goes back and forth to Santa Fe to be with Liz but since he works in NYC much of his time is spent across the hall from me.

David and I have become very close friends. He’s not a nice person but he’s nearby.

He has a CAPITAL D on his name and is NEVER TO BE CONFUSED WITH dave.

5. Susan   My best friend in the world. She is kind and lovely and she has supported me through thick and thin. Plus she knows when I’m dying and when I’m not dying

6. My family ( I have a huge family so I will only name the one’s I write most about.)

a. My sister, Marcia.  The best person in the world.

b. My niece Julie.  She is my BFF. She always makes me feel better.

c. My niece Stephanie. She is my darling girl who is forced to be mean to me if I appear weak because she can’t stand the thought of losing me.  I feel the same way about her but I’m sweet about it.  She always speaks the truth.

I have lots of other relatives that I love just as much but when I write about them I usually specify their relationship to me so I don’t have to list them all. Same with other friends (actually I only have one other friend, Ronnie)

7. Raymond is my 11 year old  dog that I saved from death row. I originally bought him for my cat Elvis but when Elvis died he became mine.

So that’s the gist of it.

So if one more of you nitwits asks me why my ex husband lives across the hall from me it won’t be pretty.