I may be going crazy.

Yesterday once again something happened that put another nail in my losing it coffin.

Somewhere in my house is a necklace that my mother gave me that I always wear when I want to look nice. I keep it hanging on my bed post.

It’s nowhere to be found. I will search and search but I feel very hopeless. I know no one took it. I must have put it down someplace. I do that kind of thing all the time.

My sister is coming next week and she says she’ll help me look for it. Here’s hopin’

But that’s not the crazy part.

Here goes.

David dropped by this morning. He just got back from London and he’s leaving today for Toronto so I won’t see him until I get to Santa Fe.

He saw my giant suitcase on the floor with clothes spilling out of it and he started in on me.

“You’re going there for 3 days! What is all that stuff?”

“Choices. ”

I won’t go into the rest of the conversation about him saying that Santa Fe is a casual town and me answering that I only packed 3 gowns and one mink stole (like I would wear mink).

I told him that when I heard that he wasn’t traveling with me I thought, “What the  hell, I’ll check my bag”.

If you recall he said that if I checked anything he’d leave my ass at the airport.

In spite of that I told him that I’m so sad that I’m not traveling with him even if he was going first class and I’d be going coach.

Then he told me that since he had to change his reservation there were no first class seats on his plane and he will be going coach too.

Small comfort since I won’t be there to see it.

After he left I got an email from American Airlines saying that I can check in now.

I followed the instructions.

At one point I was asked if I wanted to upgrade to first class for $90 on the first leg of my trip. I didn’t even hesitate. “Yep” I said.

Another first. I never changed planes before. I never flew alone. I never went first class.

Only after I gave my credit card number did I realize how stupid that was. I almost never eat out any more.  I haven’t bought anything new in a year.  Last week I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner three times. And here I was spending $90 for a small part of my trip.

Then I started thinking of David crumpled up in coach and me stretching out in first and even without my necklace the day got a little sunnier.

Good day planned today.

Going to Brooklyn to have mani/pedi’s and lunch with Susan.

I’m going to the chiropractor first. I have a stiff neck. I’m pretty sure it’s tension because last night I took 1/2 a tranquilizer and I felt a bit better.

Why am I bringing this up? Because as a writer ( I call myself that now) I look at books where the author documents their deterioration from some dread disease and they get a Pulitzer Prize so I’m sticking my toe in that water.

I’ve mentioned my slow loss of marbles before but it’s moving forward at lightening speed.

I lost my chiropractor’s card so I went on line and tried to get his number there. I’ve been going to him for years but I don’t know his number by heart.

I googled Michael Fox in NYC.

Nothing.

I tried putting in my zip code to get nearest chiropractor named Fox near me. Nothing

I spelled it Foxx.

Nothing

My sister called and I told her that I was worried. Maybe he isn’t a real chiropractor and that’s why he doesn’t want to advertise.

I was stymied.

Before calling someone else I tried one more thing. Googling the address with Chiropractor and no name.

Michael Wolff popped right up.

Well Rupe and Liz have gone back to Santa Fe.

I miss them already.

I will see them soon though. In exactly one week from yesterday I’m going to Santa Fe for the weekend on American Airlines, airline to the stars who no longer have careers and don’t care that much if their plane doesn’t make it because the up side of a plane crash is that at least they’ll get in the news again. Does that make me sound negative? I hope not.

Starting today I will be planning my wardrobe. I don’t know, should I pack the black? Or mix it up a bit with the black?

I’m doing a few firsts.

1. I’m flying alone.

I really feel sorry for whoever sits next to me. I’m a nervous flyer, hell, I’m a nervous liver and when I get nervous I babble and say all kinds of crazy stuff. I’m constantly leaving people with odd looks on their faces.

2. I’m changing planes.

This kind of annoys me. I could see if I was going to someplace rare like Illinois but I’m going to fly into Albuquerque. Isn’t that a  big place that a lot of people go to? Why can’t there be a direct flight from New York? New Yorkers travel everywhere (not me but the others) Shouldn’t all flights from New York be direct? I’m just saying.

3. I’m going to a land I’ve never been to before.

Even though I just told you that Albuquerque is an important place.  It isn’t my final destination, and I’ve never been there anyway.  I’m going to Santa Fe. This is a place I’ve only seen on TV. What language will they be speaking? I only speak Bronx, will they understand me?  Will I be attacked by a rattler? So much to prepare for.

I think you can carry guns there.  I know David has some guns under his and Liz’s bed. Since he’s leaving town before I do I don’t think he’ll mind if I  just take one of  his guns and pack it in my suitcase. I won’t bring it in my carry on. That would be just asking for trouble. Although “Trouble” is my middle name, along with “Truth” and “Joan”

Liz told me that breathing may be difficult there because the air is thin or something. I wasn’t really listening. That won’t be a problem for me though because I’ll just wear my sleep machine the whole time I’m there.  Note to self: Bring backpack for the motor and some kind of small generator.

Ah what am I worried about? I got this thing aced.

One of the good things about writing this blog is that I frequently hear from people who say that they identify with my plight or that I amuse them.

Sometimes they disagree with how I’m handling stuff and I do give it some thought. I have to admit though that I’m always doing the best I can, trying to find my way in or out of a situation that I thought I’d never go through so probably I don’t take their advice that often.

Today I got a comment,  from someone who calls herself a feminist named “Sister”.

She apparently thinks I’m an asshole, mean spirited, not funny and a racist. I came to that conclusion because she said so.

This isn’t the first hateful letter she’s sent me . When I told Julie how much it upset me she said I can not approve her comments. I didn’t know I could do that.

But then I figured I let the kind comments in, it would be disingenuous of me to exclude the criticisms.

Now I’m thinking, this isn’t just a criticism of my writing. It’s hate mail.

There’s no way to defend myself. Am I sometimes not funny? Absolutely. Am I mean spirited ? I don’t think so but I probably have been, certainly to dave’s girlfriend and I don’t take back one word of it. Am I an asshole? Surely not, well maybe sometimes.

Am I a racist? No. I’m proud to say I hate people for lots of reasons much more relevant or petty than the color of their skin. And I’m kind of thinking that when Sister refers to my readers as privileged white people who want everyone else to “go away” so they can keep living without taking responsibility, I gotta think that she’s the one bringing race to the table.

Here’s what puzzles me? Why is she reading my blog? She truly likes nothing about me. She gets neither yucks nor insight from it.

I don’t think I’ll let it keep me awake though. I won’t answer her again and maybe I won’t even allow her hate filled rants on my comment page. I’ll just quote my darling extremely literate niece Julie in her reply to Sister.

“Go fuck yourself.”

I had a wonderful 3 days with my sister. We were all alone together. We shopped and ate and even went to the beach.

It’s such an important thing for us to do at least once a year.  We see much more of each other than that but this is with no one else there.

She’s my big sister so I feel a comfort from her that I don’t get anyplace else.

With all the aimless talking we work out stuff from our lives that probably needs working out.

For example I realized that I may not have been guiltless in this break up. I might have been a tad insensitive but never without dave’s best interest at heart..

It’s quite possible that I should have  known that introducing him as my meal ticket wasn’t the kindest thing. It came from a good place though. I was proud that he was able to make a good living. For some odd reason he didn’t see that.

And I admired his cleverness in a bind. I often bragged about the only fight dave ever got in.  After the first punch he pretended he was dead so the guy wouldn’t hit him again.

Can you imagine my surprise when he asked me to stop telling that story?

dave had an instinctual sense of how to behave in a pickle. He always made me feel safe but whenever I tried to explain why to people we knew he’d tell me to clam up.

One tale that he preferred that I keep to myself took place when dave was working for James Brown. He was leaving the Apollo Theatre with another musician late one night when they were accosted by some thugs.

While said baddies were pouncing on the other guy, my clever man was able to slip away and go for help which he definitely would have done if he had been able to find a working phone. By the time he got to one, in his apartment, he figured that so much time had passed that there wasn’t much point in alerting the cops possibly preventing them from going to the aid of someone in  real danger.

Obviously he was right because the guy did appear at the next show right as rain. If rain had a black eye and a fat lip.

Yep. He was a guy you wanted on your side in times of trouble.

Flirting is a fine art.

I think women are either born with the talent or not.

I, for one, am a champ.

My first subject was my daddy.

If I wanted him to take me with him to pick up the Sunday paper and bagels I’d look up at him with my cute little smile and he was putty.

When I was going  to summer camp we went to the store that the camp recommended we go to to buy clothes. I just blinked my baby hazels at him and he not only got me what I wanted but he bought me the full camp uniform, neckerchief and hat included because,  “I don’t want  anyone to have anything that you don’t have”.

Interestingly I was pretty much ostracized for the first week of camp just for putting said outfit on when we lined up for breakfast on morning one. It seems that the camp “suggestion” was pretty much ignored by everyone else.

This taught me that you have to use this gift judiciously.

As I got older, a raise in my allowance? Piece o’ cake.

When I went to college I needed a car? Lo and behold, a Studebaker Lark was mine.

I haven’t done it in 40 years but I learned last night I haven’t forgotten the art.

Miss Liz invited me to go with her to a restaurant in Brooklyn to sample the wares of a chef from Rome. The food was free but you had to pay for your wine or beer.

We met two of her friends there Tiz and Jessica. They were beautiful and funny and even though they were very young, they made me feel welcome.

The chef, Stefano, made a variety of different little sandwiches and you were able to sample some or all. He suggested that I try the  meatball.

“It is my grandmother’s recipe, I think you’ll like it”

He had an adorable Italian accent.  When he came around and stopped at our table he asked how I liked the meatballs.

“The best I ever had. You did your grandmother proud”

“Then we should go out”. ( His english wasn’t very good but that’s what I think he said)

From a far off memory I pulled a flirty response out and flashed my eyelashes .

“You put a meatball in each pocket and I’m there.”

I keep saying that I have to pin down what to do with the pension for both dave and  myself. It’s keeping me awake nights and making me shake during the day.

Neither one of us have ever made these kinds of decisions.

All my life either my father or my brothers in law helped with any financial choices dave and I made so this falling on my shoulders is extremely hard for me.

I keep asking questions but I don’t always know the questions to ask and I frequently don’t understand the answers. I don’t have one person to tell me what to do.

At Liz’s suggestion, I wrote myself a letter this morning.

I’ve determined that I only have two choices. I wrote down what they are and what I need to know to chose that option. Then I wrote to both the people who would have the answers.

As long as they write something that I understand I will make my decision next week. Only then can I start my new life.

I think I feel better already, that is if none of the answers have the word “lizard” in it.

Well I believe I’ve been saved by my sister Marcia fasting for my soul yesterday. I start the year with a clean slate sin wise.

I was a little worried because late last night my newly fixed TV went black for a minute. I wondered if it was God’s way of saying you can’t send in a sub for Yom Kippur but my friend Susan said not to worry I’m okay. She speaks a lot of Jewish so I trust her.

Now that the holidays are over I am expected to take care of any business that has been put on the back burner.  It’s making me scared because I’ve gathered many of the facts and it’s almost time for me to make a decision that will affect me and dave for the rest of our lives.

I think I’ll need help with this. A money person.

I  feel that I’ve been writing too much about David. I do this mainly because he’s someone I deal with a lot and also he’s kind of a colorful person.

Liz who’s much smarter, nicer, prettier and funnier than David doesn’t get written about much because number one, she won’t let me  and 2. she’s got a 24/7 job of protecting me from David and that crowds out many of her bon mots.

Why just last night I got an email from David that put me in a state of panic. He said he may not be able to travel with me to Santa Fe because he could be away on business. He added some stuff about it being safer if we travel separately so at least one of us would reach our destination.

Liz was forced to yell at him because she said quite rightly that since the chances of his not traveling with me were remote there was no reason to worry me. (She knows me very well and has been present for many of my dithers). She reminded him of what he always says “What’s in it for me?”. He should have known full well that I would drive him crazy until the day of departure if he scared me.

Also, she continued, saying he’ll throw me a croissant is one thing but joking about the dangers of flying is not acceptable.

“I just won’t talk” he always threatens this but never does it.

“Oh Bunny” she comforts him “Just be more sensitive”.

That’s like asking a pig to wear high heels.

I had a pleasant surprise the night before last. My kitchen light didn’t work so I couldn’t see to make dinner.  I was invited for pot luck at Liz and David’s. I donated what I had planned to eat and we had a lively political discussion during dinner.

David, that scamp, mentioned 2 or 10 times that since I knew nothing about nothing he wouldn’t bother explaining whatever idiot point he was trying to make. Did I say “idiot”?  What I meant was “in depth” point.

Anyway a good time was had by all.

This morning Liz told me that she didn’t want me climbing the ladder to change the bulbs in my kitchen light so she would do it for me. She took down the bulbs and since I didn’t have replacements I went to Home Depot and bought them.

Although Lizzie insisted that I wait until she got home to put in the new bulbs I’m far too independent for that so I climbed up and changed them only to find that  it wasn’t the bulbs.

I called my super who immediately came up and let me know I had to replace the whole fixture which I did. Now am I going to dwell on the fact that I had to buy a light fixture out of my measly money stash or  delight in the speed at which it was fixed?

What is the title of this blog?

Then I decided to check the shows I had taped the night before and was disheartened to see that  the Real Housewives of New York wasn’t recorded . Rather than getting all upset (see title) I recalled that my fairly new replacement of the box had been acting up since I got it so I took this opportunity to get a new one.

I unplugged said box and told Rupert that I wouldn’t be long and made the 2 bus trip to Time Warner Cable. I always like traveling by bus because I get to rub elbows with my fellow New Yorkers, something that rarely happened in my previous life when I would have taken a 15 minute cab ride instead of a 45 minute bus trip.

It actually would have been a bit longer but, silly me, I misremembered the location of TWC and took the crosstown bus on 86th Street instead of 96th Street. That meant I had to lug that fucking, I mean informational, box 10 blocks to trade it in.

I got there and as luck would have it I only had 34 people in front of me so I was able to use that time to fight whatever disease the woman next to me had that results in a hacking cough.

My number was called and I explained to the very helpful guy behind the desk that since this was the third box I’d had in the past 2 months possibly he could give me a new one rather than a refurbished one. This man really knew his business because even though he was playfully teasing the girl standing at the next register the whole time he was helping me he was still able to reassure me that a refurbished box  was every bit as good as a new one.

I left feeling more than satisfied.

I got home, greeted Rupe who had made me some origami out of a tissue box, clever pup, and set up the cable box.

Now, funny story, the box didn’t work. It played but it didn’t record. Did I laugh.

I called Time Warner and was lucky enough after talking to a disembodied voice for 20 minutes to speak to a real person named Gail.

She was just terrific. She restarted my box for the third time and had me read out the numbers that came up. None of which should have been appearing. Gail and I cracked up about this.

She made an appointment for the next day for a repairman to come after I told her , with a smile in my voice that if she thought I was going to shlep up to that shithole they call a help center to speak to another know nothing idiot she can think again.

I’m Jewish, not a saint.

I wrote a Facebook entry today to my cousin Maxine reminding her of the time that she and I were sitting on the beach at Eldorado Beach Club when I called her attention to Morris Levy’s balls sticking out of the side  of  his bathing suit.

Now why did I remember that?

Maybe it’s her daughter Tracy. Sometimes I look at Tracy’s website just so I can admire her paintings.  I was doing that today and so it’s likely that that made me think about  her mother.

When I think of Maxine, it’s always with her laughing. She’s an easy laugher. I don’t see her and her sister Barbara very often but whenever I do I feel such a rush of love for both of them.

It has to be Maxine that brought this long forgotten memory to mind because it simply couldn’t be Morris Levy. He was a friend of our parents who, let’s be honest didn’t wear his bathing suit or his age well.

It wasn’t like seeing Tom Cruise’s balls. No sirree.

Now that I think of it, I was pretty young and I come from a family of all girls and a modest father so it’s entirely possible that since my slut years didn’t start till much later, Morris’s balls might have been the first balls I every saw.

Hmm now that’s an unfortunate blip in the Mattie Joan Smith timeline. What started as a fond cousin memory has ended with me having a severe case of the icks.