Cemeterial Musings

I eat tofu, walnuts, steamed vegetables and quinoa for lunch and dinner.  I never take vitamins because doctors have told me that it isn’t necessary as long as you eat the right foods.  I was washing my hands after every handshake.  I opened doors with the sleeve of my sweater and stood three feet away from sick people.  So why should I be sick?  I was taking precaution against getting sick while working two jobs – I was trying to help my immune system.  It didn’t work.

In my twenties and thirties, I rarely got sick.  I had the immune system of an Olympian. Then five years ago I started getting a couple of colds a year, which I think might have been because of my hormones shifting.  This last year I didn’t have a cold except now and I’m sure it’s because of the stress of learning a new job and not sleeping, fuck the fact that I was eating very healthily.  Now I’m just pissed and I’m in the pity pot.

It’s Halloween and I wasn’t even able to invite anyone over because I’m sick.  This is the first Halloween in a couple of years I didn’t do anything special.  I have to go to works tomorrow – yes “works” – I’m going to my gallery job, then I have to do two tours at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.  My jobs are great and I feel settled in at the cemetery now, but I suppose it is strenuous.

I usually never buy cold medicine, but I have some now – people at work told me to get Airborne.  I also have Robitussin and Echinacea.  At the cemetery, I have to be hearty to do two 1.5 mile tours, check people in, light kerosene lanterns and direct traffic, so it’s necessary.  Because of these two jobs however I wasn’t able to plan to celebrate Halloween except for decorating my apartment and purchasing a new set of purple creature horns which I wore during my tour yesterday.  A couple of people complimented me on them and I think I looked sexy but I had no takers, oh well.  This year I thought I might be the “Henry:  The Portrait of a Serial Killer” character for Halloween and walk in the Halloween Parade in Greenwich Village, but I didn’t have time to buy the male wig or the extermination can.  Henry had a distinctive walk.  It would have been great to walk like that in a parade.

So I’ll just sign off now and prepare to watch Fright Night and eat some of the Halloween candy that I bought for the trick-or-treaters who usually don’t come anyway except those couple of times. I wait for them every year like Linus waits for the Great Pumpkin.  And since none of my measures to prevent illness worked, I’m eating Chinese food for dinner, bleh.  On the plus side I guess is that I think I lost weight from working in the cemetery — Happy Halloween!

Ohhhhhhh baby this is so wroooong!

What do you weigh – five-hundred?  Love.  It.  Six-five?  You’re really very big, and the pleasure of your, imagined company, your slow, flirty humor — it works.  Quite nicely.  Sounds like you’re really paying attention when you say my name three times the way you say it when you come fix things in my apartment.  But I know you’re full of shit.

In “reality” your weight’s a non-issue.  You’ve compensated for the “short-coming,” as people do.  Hilarity is how I’ve compensated for mine.

So, as I’m sketching it, you sit on the sofa while I smear your ass from different angles.  From your position, you can gaze at the mark on my back that I got from my surgery, and I call you names when I twist to see your face — a beast — a fat fucker – maybe I’m the ‘fat fucker’ whatever — names Lil’ Kim calls Biggie on that track when she accuses him of eating different foods, and they break the bed down.  Then I might flip around and face you, bite, smell you…

You’re inappropriate, but somehow you’ve gotten your cue from me.  I am the lonely middle-aged broad in the ‘penthouse’?  Why should I be embarrassed that I enjoyed your company when you tried to fix my DVD player?  Maybe you are a clever abuser of vulnerability, but remember this Big Daddy — if I do you, I’ll know exactly what I’m doing, because I’ve got you by twenty years, and I didn’t get this old for nothing.