Remember in my last post I talked about that African American guy who took my picture and said that the whole Black Lives Matter thing was bullshit and that he preferred trump to Biden?

Remember when I said we hugged and I walked away?

I lied.

Number one I don’t hug anyone any more.

And number two if I was going to hug someone it wouldn’t be a cocksucker like that.

And number three when he took my picture he didn’t tell me that one side of my hair was all flat.

In actuality I just drifted away with my head down while he was talking.

Phew that feels better.

By the way, my niece Stephanie didn’t buy that hug for a minute.

And now,,, wait for it… ZEN

Nor an impending really bad storm could keep me from viewing the completed project on Fifth Avenue.

You people know I’m not one to complain, heaven knows, but don’t ask about my knees.

And this fuckin’ dog doesn’t know the meaning of saunter.  Pull pull pull that’s the only language she understands.

I mistakenly thought painting Black Lives Matter would take days to complete and because the weatherman said that by 12 noon it would be 55 knot winds I decided to interrupt Debby’s beauty sleep, she’s a late riser, and go look at the finished product.

It was beautiful.

I was standing in the glow of loving my City and just witnessing what I thought was history when I asked an African American man on a bike to take a picture of me ( see below).

He took a great deal of care in taking the picture. And as I was thanking him he said “You know this Black Lives Matter thing is bullshit, don’t you?”

I can’t remember exactly what he said but the gist of it is that it’s the rich people that are promoting this and that all this marching won’t do anything, We have to change the Constitution.  He also said that he’d vote for trump over Biden any day and thank goodness Hillary didn’t get in. If she had Jeffry Epstein wouldn’t have gone to prison.

I countered with the first people that marched in the sixties didn’t stop the war or get the civil rights laws changed it was the continued marching that made change,

But that went down like a turd in a punchbowl.

Remember that glow I had a few minutes ago…gone.

He and I hugged each other and wishing that I never met him I slowly limped or tried to limp slowly (remember that fuckin’ dog) home.

Here’s a picture of me before I lost all hope.

And some Zen of that fuckin’ dog and my Super.

I know this will be very disappointing to the people that sent me the $125 advance for my virtual dog training extravaganza but I must cancel.

This is as painful to me as I’m sure it is to you.

It seems that I have not only totally failed in training my own dog but I think she’s gotten worse since we became mostly homebound.

For example she no longer waits until I’m finished to eat off my plate.

Plus she’s taken to howling whenever I’m not paying attention to her or doing exactly what she wants.

For this reason I’ve had to stop some of my previous activities because the neighbors have been threatening to call the police  because they think I’m hurting her.

And with my Black Lives Matter shirts having a visit from the police is a no no.

It seems that brushing my teeth irritates her no end. I’ve had to cut that out.

She also has put a kibosh on any TV show or movie with Adam Sandler in it. So I can forget the hilarity of “Grown ups”.

And why she doesn’t want me to take her on walks without wearing a hat I have no idea.

So you see dear people that until I can get my house in order I have no right to teach.

True, only 19 of you have actually sent me money and I wish I could return it but if you listen to the virtual contract carefully you’ll see that in appendix IV,  I say, under my breath and in latin (the pig type),  that “down payments are not refundable”.

So sorry but anyway I can send you Zen at no cost.

At least I think she will still allow it.

Almost every YOUNG white person I passed smiled or said something like “I love your shirt”.

One white woman about 40 with her mask under her chin shook her head and tsked me.

African Americans generally didn’t look at me.

I went into Duane Reade to buy much needed ice cream pops and there was a big white cop there.  While I shopped he followed me around and made sure he was in my line of sight.

Conclusions:

1. The youth will save us.
2. There are shits all over.
3. I fear I am looked at as that white woman, Rachel Dolezal, who pretended she was black to be the leader of a local N.A.A.C.P.
4. I can’t prove it but he looked like he was trying to intimidate me which is 1: 1000th of what African Americans must feel every day.

Which is why I will continue to wear these shirts.

Now Zen.

I guess it started when I was in camp Highmount at about age 8 and went to the prom with 3 boys all of whom mutinied because I was “too bossy”.

If those little shits stood on top of each other they weren’t as tall as I was.

Of course I took command.

I did have a bit of a set back in the fifth grade when I was sitting in between David Gillis and Richard Sheslow and I farted during Assembly.

It was only temporary because I’m pretty sure I covered it up with a loud “Ahem”.

I was a bit slow in developing so in the seventh grade I wore a bra with blow up falsies only to discover due to Richard Rubin’s hysterical laughter while on the lunch line that they can dent.

Luckily I was able to wear my faux mink stole for the rest of the day.

My love of animals was not dwarfed by my sense of style.

I mean I was a trend setter. Practically no one wore fur in seventh grade.

High school was another place that I soared.

I was extremely popular and not just because I put out.

I went to Music and Art which was not only a hippy school but where I gained my first success.

I completed 3 years of french without being able to speak more than one or two words of it.

Obviously one of those words was “oui”.

Overcoming setbacks  is just a bit of what made me who I am today, a very beautiful and accomplished social drinker who is absolutely loving the fact that I can stay in my house without making up excuses to all of my fans.

Now Zen

BTW a tip to you gardeners. Do not plant mint. It is useless and takes over your garden.

Kisses.

As you know I have bought several Black Lives Matter shirts and I vowed to wear them whenever I walk Debby.

One of my worse traits is I’m always thinkin’ thinkin’ thinkin’.

I’ve done a lot of marching against the war and for equality in my youth.

But it’s clear I wasn’t about to risk my neck for the cause.

If I were to be honest I was afraid to go to the one in Mississippi in 1964 so I didn’t go.

I will say that the one in Central Park got a little hairy but I didn’t know that going in.

But I bought these shirts to show that even though I can’t march any more I support the cause and I am horrified by what I’m seeing in these phone videos.

At least that’s what I told myself.

I’v we been wearing these shirts for 3 days.

Here’s why I hate myself.

I saw very few African Americans and the one’s I saw just walked by me and didn’t even look at me.

Again I’m thinkin’ thinkin’ thinkin’.

What was I expecting?

A thumbs up?

Am I just a poser?

I’ve come to the conclusion that I am a despicable person so any of you that are now my friends drop me like a hot potato.

I would.

But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy this moment of Zen.

I was walking Debby yesterday and I passed a woman about my age not wearing a mask.

She smiled sweetly at my dog.

I smiled back and pointed to my own mask.

Her face immediately changed and into a snarl she said “Why SHOULD I wear one?”

I said “To protect me” but she just walked away.

I’m beginning to see not wearing a mask as  political. Probably not completely but sort of.

I also want to say something about being old.

I find that most people are nicer to me.

Almost like they were when I was in my twenties.

Don’t think on any way that I am embracing old age. That couldn’t be further from the truth. (Is it further or farther?)

I am in constant shock when I happen to see myself in  a store mirror.  I was always the youngest in my family and it’s so hard to believe I’m this old.

I remember visiting my grandmother. She wasn’t really my grandmother, she was my grandfather’s second wife.

We were alone in her apartment and she was showing me all the bright color dresses she had in her closet.

“See? In my mind I’m not old. I”m seventeen in my head”

Years later she was in a home way out in Long Island and she asked to see her sisters.

I offered to drive them out.

I had a Studebaker Lark.  A really little car.

One of them smoked and both insisted on sitting in the front seat with the windows closed.

We were squeezed like that for almost 2 hours.

When the three of them got together they were no different than my sisters and me, laughing and talking.

Just before we left my grandmother asked me to give her the picture of my grandfather what was in the dresser.

It seems that the nurse had taken it away from her because they felt it made her sad.

I gave it to her and we left.

It was the last time they saw each other.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I haven’t thought about it in years.

Old age I guess.

Now Zen

I was walking Debby yesterday and I passed a woman about my age not wearing a mask.

She smiled sweetly at my dog.

I smiled back and pointed to my own mask.

Her face immediately changed and into a snarl she said “Why SHOULD I wear one?”

I said “To protect me” but she just walked away.

I’m beginning to see not wearing a mask as  political. Probably not completely but sort of.

I also want to say something about being old.

I find that most people are nicer to me.

Almost like they were when I was in my twenties.

Don’t think on any way that I am embracing old age. That couldn’t be further from the truth. (Is it further or farther?)

I am in constant shock when I happen to see myself in  a store mirror.  I was always the youngest in my family and it’s so hard to believe I’m this old.

I remember visiting my grandmother. She wasn’t really my grandmother, she was my grandmother’s second wife.

We were alone in her apartment and she was showing me all the bright color dresses she had in her closet.

“See? In my mind I’m not old. I”m seventeen in my head”

Years later she was in a home way out in Long Island and she asked to see her sisters.

I offered to drive them out.

I had a Studebaker Lark.  A really little car.

One of them smoked and both insisted on sitting in the front seat with the windows closed.

We were squeezed like that for almost 2 hours.

When the three of them got together they were no different than my sisters and me, laughing and talking.

Just before we left my grandmother asked me to give her the picture of my grandfather what was in the dresser.

It seems that the nurse had taken it away from her because they felt it made her sad.

I gave it to her and we left.

It was the last time they saw each other.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I haven’t thought about it in years.

Old age I guess.

Now Zen

I was sitting in my living room having my cocktail and reading my book when I heard “Black Lives Matter” shouted from the street.

They were marching up Third Avenue.  I live on the corner of Third Avenue and 58th St.

As I’ve mentioned before I’m 76 and I’m terrified of this virus.

I haven’t touched or seen in person any member of my family or friends in months.

I haven’t gone to any marches because I’m afraid of being with a lot of people in crowds.

But this was different.

They were coming to pick me up.

I could matter again.

I tried to convince myself that I had done my part in the sixties facing police on horses in riot gear with no fear in my heart.

(Actually that’s a lie. I was scared to death and I seriously thought of running home.)

I looked at Debby.

“We’re going out to join the March !”

But first I had to put on pants.

And shoes.

And a mask.

And Debbie’s halter and leash.

My BLM shirt has not arrived but I was wearing a Hillary shirt so that would have to do.

I got in the elevator and went down to the lobby.

My doorman pointed uptown and said “They went that way”

I ran outside.

(That’s a lie. I never run anywhere anymore)

The March was about 3 blocks uptown.

I tried to catch up to them. I really did.

Debby peeing every few feet didn’t add to my speed.

Finally I gave up and  went home.

Black Lives Matter but maybe I don’t matter any more.

Anyway…Zen

Since the Black Lives Matter demonstrations there have been no trash cans on NYC streets.

For someone who has to pick up doody twice on any walk, not mine, Debby’s, I took notice of that.

It was a slight inconvenience but not one I couldn’t handle.

I could dispose of my little bags in trees limbs, the shopping bags of someone staring at their phone while walking or even the gaping pockets of someone I’d ask for directions or the time.

I thought I missed them but today the trash cans returned and I was upset.

I guess they think the demonstrations are over.

Is it because they think that Black Lives really mattered when we had nothing better to do but now that some people are back to work not so much?

If that’s what they think they’re wrong.  I saw people from all walks of life on those marches, determined people.

I know I see George Floyd’s anguished face in my dreams and I’m not alone.

No one knows how to be pissed off like our youth.

Very many of those marchers were young and they won’t let it be put on the back burner.

Neither will I.

Now Zen