The kitties that last forever,
Are the kitties that fall apart.
It’s the only way to start.
–Kitty Loggins.
Fibs with benefits.
A long time ago, you you were still around.
Hello. I’m just here to remind you that you don’t remember me. I’m a long lost friend. But I never left. I know you don’t remember me, but that’s okay–it was a long time ago.
I was the one who told you that it was okay to let one of the school mother’s know where you lived so that she dropped you in front of your shack, to your own Pyrrhic embarrassment.
I was one that told you to tattle on yourself when you broke those robin’s eggs during kindergarten show and tell. You did and you paid for it. Not for the eggs, but for you honesty.
I was the one that told you not to run away when you felt you might make go of it as a prostitute in Houston at the at the ripe old age of 14.
I stopped you from doing a lot of things. I meant well.
I was the one who told you to listen to Carol Brady and Claire Huxtable and anyone on television for that matter. I was the one who told you stay up all night to study for a test on a subject you had no interest in.
I told you to laugh at jokes you didn’t think were funny.
Now that you’ve tried to kill yourself, I realize the truth has clearly not set you free. I should have shut up. Or at least told you other things, or at least re-thought what it means to tell the truth.
I thought about keeping my mouth shut from now on.
But I can’t shut up. I got you in this mess. I want to get you out of it.
Why should you listen to me now? Because I’m no longer going to tell you to tell the truth. I’m here to tell you to lie. Fib your way to feeling better. Fake out to break-out.
Do you remember me now?
Fib Tip 1
Don’t paint with words. Pain with plurals.
A book of funnyish, fortyish, faggoty-ish essays is no longer something you want to help you explain to anyone else around you, who wants you to explain why you are where you are.
You are in a hospital.
Someone is here, a relative, staring at you, asking you to explain.
But keep quiet, because it’s easy and ohhhhhhh my God you are soooooo going for easy at this point.
And don’t put any words down on a letter, for them.
Instead choose a letter. There are many out there. Choose this one. And plural the shit out of it.
And give send it to someone to annoy them as they try to make sense of all the extra ‘s’seseseseses
Tos Whoms Its Mays Concerns
Is wants tos makes everythings plurals tos annoys peoples.
Thises includes my friendses, relativeses, ands evens thes orderlieses whos works heres ats thises institutions. I’lls nos longers takes yours words fors its. Is wills howevers takes yours pillses becauses its importants fors mes tos feels betters.
Theres. Dones. Backs tos singular.
You should nap now. You’ve done well. It’s been a good day.
Fib Tip 2
Make Love Like a Politician
Happy to tell you the good news about this, making love like a politician. You don’t have to get comb your hair, put on a three-piece suite, or even smile. You don’t have to get out of bed either. Just bullshit where you are. Romance the remote control. Sing to the bed sheets. Caress your own cheek. Kiss the back of your hand, and speak gently to yourself in the voice of Gollum from Lord of the Rings.
Alright, so maybe that last part is too much for you. But you need too much. An deluge, just enough to move you. Or at least tug you. It certainly got your attention, didn’t it?
You managed to focus a bit, didn’t you? The bullshit became just compelling.enough.
That’s what we’re after here.
And like politics, it was well meant.
Fib Tip 3
Make Love Like a Kindergartner
Create a slapdash a Show and Tell because you have nothing to show or tell. You’d meant to show your baby tooth that had fallen out the night before but when he went to put on his sink to brush his remaining teeth you accidentally knocked it into the drain.
So now you have nothing. So show that. Show the giant gap in your smile. .
Thats kind of bullshit I’m talking about.
And, by the way, look at you! You’re already sitting up on your bed and you didn’t think you would. You’re already looking out the window. You hear the chirp of a bird.
You’ve already smiled, only to realize all your teeth are there. You’re doing better. You’ll be out of this taco stand in no time
Fib Tip Number 4
Don’t fart where you are. Fart over there.
Remember when you used to jog? Wasn’t so very long ago when you ran the 6 mile loop in Central Park or ran all the way to the very lower tip of Manhattan. Sometimes you didn’t run back. You took a cab back or the rode the Number 1. Or you stopped along the way to get grab some Twizzlers or to pee in the bushes or to just stop and stare at the steely gray churning of the Hudson River.
But, after all that, you ended up in the same place: there in your psych ward’s issued bed, hugging a pillow. Crying. But that’s okay. That’s good. Go ahead and fart too, while you’re at it. I’m serious. You have to let go a little. Just a little.
And then…and then…
Oops, nevermind, you farted again. Not exactly enlightenment, methane. And that’s good!
Fib 5
Embrace being Fibbergasted by Naked Baristas
Mean to go somewhere, in your head. To some non-sequitur. Go to a hair salon. The chemicals, the patrons, the stylists–all of them look up from what they’re doing as you walk in. You look gorgeous. And so does your hair. You’re clothes sparkle. You say, or ask rather “Excuse me, do you have a training bra?” A non-sequitur question for the faint of heart. An opportunity to watch people’s face freeze in horror. Yes, sometimes these ice breakers have the added bonus of arctic terrorism. Cold, senseless humor. The manager of the hair salon asks you to leave, either way. I meant well, you tell the manager as she ushers you out with some coupons from another store, as a parting gift, her attempt at non-sequitur revenge. Thanks for playing.
Now, go somewhere else. Go with a friend. The both of you happen past a late-night coffeehouse, only to see, through the storefront, two baristas behind the counter. These two young men are completely naked. You look at your friend and say “I don’t get it.” She looks back at you and says “I don’t get it.” Yes, being flabbergasted works both ways. You too can be the butt of a joke, so to speak. But face it, nakedness is much more interesting than the non-sequitur shock value of asking for a training bra at an establishment that would clearly not have such a thing.
And it brings up stronger questions. Because you really want to get this all cleared up: why they’re naked, how can do this at a place of business, is anyone going to call the police, because face it: Isn’t nakedness just asking for trouble?
And the answer of course is yes: nakedness always asks for trouble. Adn at this point, going inside the coffeehouse to clear things up becomes so important. But neither you nor your friend wants to go in. Because you like the confusion. It’s fun to wonder why those young men are the way they are. You want to revel in their cool, quiet, sure, business-as-usual mischievousness of them. The two young men don’t even realize you’re there as they work the espresso machine and pour hot liquids. Finally, the two of you just walk on by, shaking your heads and head over to a Taco Bell where things make much more sense, even the classical music that plays over their PA system. Whatever happens today, my friend, you’ll find yourself shaking your head wondering, I don’t know how I got here, but I’m glad I’m here now. Yes, even here, in a looney bin.
Just for grins (since you are grinning now), here are some runners ups for fibbergastedness:
- Tell someone you ate an entire Edible Arrangement priced at 300 dollars. You use the skewers to hold up your hair.
- Refuse to give a child a “high-five” upon being prompted by their parent. But as soon as the parents turn their heads, then high-five them quietly; High-fives are private, between two people, not four people.
- Take a nap, my friend, it’s been a long morning.
Fib Tip Number 5
When Men had Cameltoes
A cleft in the crotch of your draw-string slacks, only becomes outrageous when the itch is strong. Only a catatonic state will prevent scratching. And you’re far from out to lunch. You’re slowly making connection with the outside and, baby, your body is outside enough. For now.
Fib Tip 6
Push Back on the Purell
Hands on crotch signals the use of a good disinfectant. Now that you are receiving visitors, you will want to wear better pants. Chinos for heartfelt confessions. Denim for divulging dirty secrets. One secret you must get off your chest with your kissing cousin is that you should have never kissed her. She vehemently disagrees, tells you that it was all part of the whole learning process. There’s nothing to forgive she says, I liked the kissing as much as you did. We were only 13 when it happened! The blowjobs were another story altogether.
Either way you reconcile. She’s willing to shake your hand and let by-jobs be by-jobs. Your hand is clean, gel-free. Forgiveness has never felt more cleaner.
Fib Tip Number 7
When Your Boyfriend Dies, Wear Blue Eyeshadow to His Funeral. .
Make-up becomes two-fold here. On your eyelids and then through your mouth as you deliver your mischievous line, because it’s never enough just to wear your heart on your eyelids. You gotta tell people.
But first. Go to CVS, the one around the corner and head toward the makeup aisle and look for bright blue eyeshadow. You’re surprised they still sell that color. They do. And instead of stealth of self-check out, bring up to the cashier and make sure it’s the only thing you bring–don’t downplay your strange selection with loud bales of Bounty or overblown organic potato chips. It’s just you and the eyeshadow–truth at it’s basest level. .
A woman is the cashier. She doesn’t give you any problems, but you do, asking for cash-back.
Done and done.
The funeral is fun, oddly enough. At some point during the services or the after-part reception (whatever they are calling it nowadays) someone will call you out on the eye shadow. Especially if you are male. And this will be your simple answer for them, which will be a lie but it will stop them dead in their tracks.
Tell them, “Eyeshadow is the least of my worries right now.”
They won’t be able to argue with that. Or if they do–and let’s hope some of the do so that there is “fun” in funeral then just repeat the phrase “Eyeshadow is the least of my worries right now.” Eyeshadow is the least of anyone’s worries, but wear it and worry others anyway.
Fib Tip Number 6
Compartmentalize God and You Will Find It Easier to Keep Track of Him
In a book that’s meant to celebrate lies, here is something you still think is true: God is how you ended up crazy.
Because you believe God is everywhere. And that, my friend, makes things pretty scary. Or just annoying. It’s like those pollyannas who say “Opportunity is everywhere.” Anytime someone says something is everywhere, you can bet your sweetlife that you are going to have a helluva time finding it.
And that’s what happened with God. You could not find Him. And Lord knows you looked.
You have to put Him in His place. Start by using lower case “h’s” for Him and His. A capital H is like trying to fit a gooseneck lamp into another perfect packing box–it will just stick out and annoy.
Next, remove His Dick. Sorry his dick. You can–and should–use a capital H for Her.
Put Her in the pocket of your pajamas. When you take a nap, put Her under your pillow. Put Her between the pages of an Anne Tyler novel.
And here’s the lie: When someone asks if you if you’ve found God. You say “Yes.”
Fib Tip Number 7
Tell Your Cat She Must Leave Martinique
So you’ve been released. You’ve come home. And who is there but your cat–who will treat you no differently than before. She walks up to you with her list of demands. “Feed me,” then and “Love me” followed by “pet me” and “water me” and “brush me.”
But these are no longer chores for you. Because Kitty loves you. Always has–by stubbornly being selfish. Basically your cat is saying Me-me-me-me-me, instead of me-ow.
Animals are a wonderful way to fake your way back into your new life.
But before you do, tell your cat she must leave Martinique. Why Martinique? Well it could be another place. Chicago. Oklahoma City. A kitty in anywhere is a like a dog in a bone. A kitty like a dog is stubborn. And stubbornness is the next stop for you, my friend.
Fib Tip Number 8
Seven things to know about Anne Tyler, 20 years Later
You’ve never been much on reading. It always seemed like so much work, just moving your eyes across the page, while waiting for the writer to pull the rug out from under you. Some people consider this chicanery a great feat good literature. You just never liked worrying much about people who you didn’t know, who weren’t even real, to begin with.
But you did put up with television. You did worry about those characters. Laziness helps. Television presents things so easily. Gratuity is the reward. With books, you have to delve in on purpose; you have to really want the payoff of ending flat on your ass.
But Anne never did this to you as far you could tell. In all the 18 books you read of hers, you were lulled, coddled, warmed-up to. In your opinion she was what a writer should be.
Well, let me tell some things about your precious author.
- She knows when to keep her mouth shut. She rarely gives interviews and even then gives you really nothing except “Why, thank you,” and “Well..” It’s the things she doesn’t say that are the most powerful.
- Her characters ran away lots of times, left families, spouses, children–things you wanted to do and, in a way, finally did.
- Home sweet home–she found places that called you, livingrooms with damask curtains, quivering buffets, and dainty chintz-skirted kitchen sinks. But the plots never involved hugging a pillow.
- She’s old. You will never meet her. Get over it.
- Her Pulitzer prize was given to her by making things up and writing them down.
- You love her so much. She probably never wanted to change anyone’s life but she did, from her home, all cozy and sure in her abilities, as a writer. She taught you funny words like “all and sundry” and “by and by.”
- Her bangs are luminous.
Fib Tip Number 9
Be a better five year old.
The Sky tells you that you belong and other stupid things you believed when you were five. Santa Claus never crossed your mind as it did other kids. You had no chimney growing up and you never got what you’d asked for anyway. This is fantastic because for the most part you couldn’t be fooled by lies. Your mind wouldn’t let you imagine stockings hung anywhere with care.
It’s incredibly easy to be five when you’re not really five. Because chances are you can read, and you have some money, and you can make some smarter decision making skills. Not always, sometimes you find yourself here, where you are. And your potty trained. Barely. But you wipe your ass (barely). But you do.
You’re old enough and evidently sane enough to sign your own release papers and you’ve agreed to see a psychiatrist whom you will be lying to, no doubt.
You are home now. Kitty didn’t leave Martinique and is incessantly underfoot. The furniture is a little dusty, the curtains a little musty but that’s okay, that’s fantastic because you now have a trove of lies at your disposal.
And here are some more…
Fib Tip Number 10
Do Not Kiss Your Kissing Cousin
Your cousin is the first to visit now that you are home. She helps with the kitty litter and even makes a go of it in the kitchen, a quick wholesome chicken chili with extra chives. You want to kiss her, maybe even more. But frankly the pills you’re taking won’t allow much and even if you could your belly would get in the way and then there’s the whole will-she-even-let-me? bit and so you say thank you for the chili and ask her to pass the chives.
Fib Tip Number 11
Ignore that Stunusual Man or Woman that you see running in Central Park
Your first jog in central park in what feels like years. None of you wants to go. Your legs pretend. Your heart aches. The lie is this: it will be good for you to get out. But as soon as you start to trot down the bridle path, there is the Stunusual man you’ve seen before. He’s impossible to look at. You remember him from your daily runs last year. It’s like he never left and fermented into something even more potent, intoxicating. Gorgeous, shirtless and focused. It’s the focus that annoys you more than anything. He can’t be dissuaded and you can’t help but wave your arms wildly as he runs by.
And the ironic thing: he ignores you.
Now that’s focus.
Fib Tip Number 12
Post Shit without Reading Shit
You are boring. Thank God. Do you know how many fascinating people there are out there, doing interesting things, inventing things, changing the world? So many that they’ve all melded into a broth that is no longer palatable to you. Well, it wasn’t like anyone was holding the spoon up to your lips. In Manhattan alone, there over 825,000 interesting people., some of them souping it up. And that’s fine, leave them be with their soups. But you’ve tasted boredom, and at first it tasted like cardboard, then plain Chapstick, then maybe the least mintiest of the toothpastes. But then, today–while brushing your teeth you looked in the mirror and saw me looking back at you. It was still you. But you felt me. With your mouth still foaming from toothpaste, you stared and smiled and cried. Right then and there you wanted to tell the world–but who is there to tell other than Kitty and Cousin?
Facebook! Of course!
Fib Tip Number 13
Masturbate now, not at age 14
There are some things you cannot tell social media. Or your cousin. Or you cat. But there is always something you can tell your parents. Tell them you’re fine. Even if they’re dead,. ’ll admit, it isn’t an easy thing to do, given their status, but it can be done. Here’s how:
Go to the kitchen and open the cabinet next to the fridge. There, grab the two set of chopsticks, the ones paired in their paper sleeves. Now begin tapping the top ends of them together–click!click!click! This is now how to call you parents, by the way, but only to get your attention. Click!click!click!
Soft taps now. Tap, tap, tap.
Well, now. Looky there. You’re bored. Fantastic! Don’t you know what this means?
It means you’re not depressed. You’re feeling boredom. You’re feeling something different.
Tap, tap, tap?
Exactly!
Tap, tap, tap…click!click!click!
Now, hold on. Don’t get carried away. Before you know, you’re cousin will come in and think you’re hungry for chinese and–too late. She’s here. She’s calling for take-out.
Tell her nevermind, you’re not hungry. You were just calling your parents. She puts down the phone, with a look of concern.
Don’t assure her or anything–that’s too exhausting. Just tell her that it’s your preliminary form of jacking off. You’re too tired for the real thing.
She’s horrified.
You laugh. Tell her masturbation comes in different forms and modes of expression, just like communication with your parents does.
She sighs.
You tell her your parents always knew you masturbated–they even caught you a few times and your mother even threatened to tell her personal clergy.
You dared her too. And so of course she did not.
But that’s all in the past, back when you were fourteen. Tell her things are just fine now with your parents and you’re getting to know them or at least appreciate them for what they did and now that you think about it, you’d like an egg roll after all.
Fib Tip Number 14
Go to Duane Reade with this Fool (Me)
You’re cousin leaves in tears. She’s had enough of your nonsense. But you’re feeling much better and that’s what counts. You’re at boredom. A very nice place.
But that’s also a problem because, well, you’re bored.
Click!click!click!–nope, that’s not working anymore. But something that boredom taught you is focus. The tap, tap, tap of the chopsticks brought you out of your funk–crazy as that sounds but now you’re ready for something else.
You’re still ready for your parents, I know. They’re on their way–or rather they’re right under your nose. But don’t look for them. Just leave them be, for now.
With your cousin gone for now–you need to go shopping. Not for eyeshadow. You want something else and you don’t know what it is, and that’s fantastic!
Finding your parents will be like being discovered having an illicit affairs–it will be the small things that will get you caught. You want to be caught, by your parents. Your captivity by them will be comforting. Nevermind that they’re both dead.
Your at Duane Reade. Heaven, really. So much to choose from even though you are not in the mood for choosing. But just walk around, slowly, unassumingly, with no agenda. It’s a nice drugstore chain. It means well. You stop in front of the enemas. Enemas mean well too. This makes you laugh. Glad you are laughing. That was the whole point of this trip.
Really? Enemas was the whole point of this trip?
Just keep walking.
Now you are at the sunglasses display. I don’t even have to say anything at this point. You find the perfect pair. You don’t them and buy them and while you walk out of the store, you notice your eyes are covered, not with make-up but by the lens of your parents.
They were always fun-loving interesting people. They loved mischief remember?
And as you turn the corner heading into the Shampoo and Hair products, you see him.
The short guy from tech. The programmer. He’s really short and yet you are amazed his clothes fit perfectly. No baggy cuffs or sail-like flaring of shirttails. This goes far beyond Gap Kids and Little Mens.
He’s darn near perfect. He’s standing there holding toothpaste.
There’s no escaping him. So you wave. He doesn’t recognize you at first, because of the sunglasses. So take them off and begin the fibbing:
You say you’re on vacation, for two weeks.
Life is treating you well.
You are cooking for your cousin.
You’re parents are visiting.
Wow, I’m impressed. So many fibs in a row. Good for you.
He seems to like the answers and smiles. When he speaks he has an accent but you’ve never asked about it. What is so amazing about this moment is just occurred to you that he’s had a crush on you. You only notice it now, because he’s out in the real world, holding a box of toothpaste.
You have your parents to thank for that. I sent you here to find your parents but it was really only to find this short guy–as short as he is.
Don’t ask him for a date. As soon as hear me say that you giggle.
What? The short programmer says.
Nothing. But then you follow it with a bark of laughter–you are that one audience member in a sitcom that’s being filmed in front of a live studio audience that is the first and loudest to laugh at the joke. You are the one that says “Right on, Wilona!” during a taping of Good Times.
Okay that’s not who you are but you’re starting to get this, aren’t you.
“Ahem,” you say. “It’s been one of those days.”
He nods and throws the box of toothpaste in the air, it somersaults a couple of times and lands effortless back in the hand.
And you are in love. You buy the sunglasses and you don them again–and you really need them because you are crying, trying not to but crying on your way back home. You make it too the elevator, you hold on as much as you can–you walk–no, run–down the hall and burst into your apartment and let out the most delicious sobs. Tears taste good.
Thank you Mom and Dad, you keep saying as you double over on the floor.
Fib Tip Number 15
Love Beverly Cleary
Face it: it’s easier to love a complete stranger than a short programmer. You know a little too much about him, the way he walks, how he looks up to you, literally, and how vigorously he shakes his wang once he’s done peeing–something you saw accidentally and regretfully.
But you really know nothing of Beverly Cleary, aside from her books. She lived in Oregon. She was a librarian. She seemed to understand kids.
Ramona was your favorite. You identified with her, wanted to be her, say what she said and get into all sorts of mischief. Her troubles were gentle. Fun, even. Even comforting.
Damn. Comforting trouble? Who knew? It’s the delicious invention of core truth.
Fib Tip 17
Dick Clark: In the Shadows (But in a good way!)
Youtube finds You. You find old episodes of American Bandstand. As soon as you see the kids dancing, a piece of you leaps forward a bit. You get to your feet. You want to dance, inexplicably want to shake your ass. But you’re bashful. It’s inappropriate because you’ve been sad, institutionalized, bored (you’ve giggled a few times). But…dancing? You think you don’t deserve to dance.
Well, that’s just plain stupid, my friend. Notice Dick Clark there, right after he’s announced the song that the kids are going to dance to. Notice how the lights dim and he’s in the shadow and you really tell but it looks like he might be dancing. Or at least moving his arm around. That is the ultimate Safety Dance.
Isn’t it fantastic when a mogul needs shadow to enjoy himself. Because he wants to be the leader and appropriate and a mogul all at the same time. You’re not Dick Clark, child.
Your shaky ass won’t allow it. Is this making you feel better? What I mean to say is–
You cannot possibly see how moving your body even just a little can help change your life–but you thought the same thing about the chopsticks, didn’t you?
This can’t be enough, you think. This can’t be what your life is going to be for the next few years. Chopsticks, Youtube, boogying, listening to my silly suggestions.
And so you drop the floor, sort of slide down to it, and you melt there, face on rug, heaving with nothing coming out. Not a thought.Only pain.
And then, soft, sure, quiet and quick, you hear “Agoo, agoo…agoo.”
Your mother is calling. You know it in an instance because it is so soft, sure, quiet and quick.
You sit up, astounded. You have not heard “agoo” in so long, in fact most Mexican adults never remember hearing it as babies–but you certainly have heard mothers say it to their babies all your life.
And you hear now. Why now? Why now that you’ve melted on the floor.?
Because your mother always has your back.
Fib Tip 18
Your office is always on your back
You got a card from your office. People signed it and told you to get better. Lots of smiley faces. Yesterday, this card would have brought you to tears. Today, you can sort of relate to the smiley faces, can’t you?
Now that you heard your mom’s voice–or felt it rather, you are ready to dive into receiving more thoughts. But really, receiving is where it’s at.
But so is giving. So give a fuck. About yourself. And accept the giving of your mother as you melted and your co-workers as they wrote those words.
Fib Tip Chapter 19.
Happiness will make you a Billionaire.
You were the fourteen year old who would not shut the fuck up.
And for that reason, I have to say:
At fourteen you hid in the boys’ restroom during lunch. Junior High was not hell, let’s get that straight (or gay as your case happened to be). You were really talkative during that time, had always been, had always been told to shut up. But you couldn’t stop yourself. You had your opinions about everything. Even about sports. Which you sucked in. Which you were glad you sucked in because it gave you a chance to rant. Unfortunately You ranted yourself out.
I mean out, out. Coming out at age 14 was not a good idea in 1985. Contrary to popular belief, AIDS did not stand for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome–it stood for something more personal and private. And let’s just leave it at that.
But you won’t shut up, will you? On you go. Blah, blah, blah…
Not only did you talk a lot, but you were wild with the hand gestures, still are and you still flail about even at 40 years old, as you karate chop your way through more truth.
The truth back then was this: Hiding in the boys bathroom was the best thing you ever did/ Here’s why:
You approved of yourself, hiding there. That’s key. Without approval from yourself, you’re just a pathetic kid hiding. Icky Thanks. Approval, makes a restroom stall a place to imagine a great life (which all ended up coming true). You dreamt of moving to a big city, falling in love, feeling free and having fun. And yes, talking on and on.
It was better than chopsticks, remember?
Recall that your mother handed you a dollar every morning, assuming you’d buy lunch. You pocketed the whole thing. The decision to hide in the bathroom, occurred right before the Christmas break (we called it Christmas back then), and My first day back was January 5, 1986. You do the math. Alright: I will. I saved 145. 67 cents.
The numbers don’t lie. Depression was (and still) is profitable.
You would have made more but you had to splurge, at that time, on a subscription to Soap Opera Digest. The challenges of supercouples was fascinating to you. You imagined you were in a soap opera while in the bathroom stall. Occasionally someone would enter, and use the restroom. Remember that chilling moment when you realized another boy was attempting to do the same thing? It was an awkward meeting. He was more gayer and quieter (an even worse combination in your opinion). You gave him some pointers. You told him what to do and how to do it.
But you never saw him again, after that conversation. You don’t know if he ever made to his destination.
But, you–you managed fine. You were happy to hide and took your yearnings and earnings one dollar, one day at a time.
Fib Tip 20
The Lady Doth Tryeth Me
Still on fourteen, still won’t shut up.
Neither would your mother, at the time. She was your drama. Your soap opera. And you tuned in every week for the continuing story of The Lady Doth Tryeth You–that would have been the name of your soap opera. It would have been set in your hometown of Caper’s Babe, Texas and would have revolved around an a very poor Mexican family. Rich with love. The titular character would have been you Mother. And believe you me, she tried you. But she meant well, you knew even then.
Fib Tip 21
You say potato, she says masturbation
Back then, these were your Soap Opera Mom’s rules:
- No masturbation or anything resembling that. She caught these suspicious holes cut out of valuable potatoes. You say potato, she says masturbation. It was then that your entire family knew for sure that she went through the trash for evidence of any wrongdoing.
That is a Soap Opera Mom.
2) No reading the bible–she was a Christian, but she felt such things should be led by our
father. Only his version was Spanish and you wouldn’t say anything was lost in
translation but God seemed more angrier in Spanish that English–but it could have been
the way he read aloud. Very fiery–like a Mexican Telenovela. Including his fiery use of
“Lagrate!” when speaking of casting Satan out of various scenarios like the holes in the
potatoes
3) No Cursing.
But now let’s talk Current Mom. She understands you 100 percent now. That’s what the looking-in-the-bathroom-mirror episode was all about. It should have been a two-parter, but the powers that be didn’t see a good thing when they had one. But all is not lost. Your Dad is Part 2. And he’s not saying Lagrate anymore. He’s saying bienvenido.
He understands you too. And he looked back at you, in the mirror.
And that, my friend, is not a fib. That is Soap Opera-duh.
Fib Tip 22
Listen to your Exterminator because he only has one thing to say to you.
Or any serviceman who visits monthly, energy man, psychiatrist. As Anne Tyler famously said in one of her novels “Service man talk a blue streak.” Mine is a 67 year old from Weekhawken.He’s had a vasectomy, he’s told you and God only knows why. He still has sex, God only knows why. With women his own age. That’s the beauty of the exterminator. You just never know why? But you do know he does what he does.
And since he hasn’t seen me in awhile he asks what I’ve been up to. Now he knows, why.
He hugs you and says “Been there, done that.”
His eyebrows shoot up as if to add more but he just turns and goes back to spraying pesticide in the nooks and crannies of my kitchen.
Hey, I say.
He stops turns and says “Hey.”
“Hey,” you say. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You said ‘hey’” he says.
“Oh,” you say. “I guess I did.”
Fib Tip 24
Leave a voicemail without a voice
God, how you hate promises–is there nothing worse that the shackles of a schedule? But you promised you’d call them, the people who are worried about you living in New York who have no clue that the city was never the problem.
You call. But instead of talking to them, just leave play music. Your favorites. The theme from The Breakfast Club. Or 99 Red Luftballons. But also play some new things but kids who are saying thing you mean to say but are too tired to say. Something from the Martian kids.
Or just white noise.
Who What When Where Why Us? 