Gibson Guaranteed

Regis turns to the audience, then to his quiet contestant gleaming his perfectly polished smile.   “Terrific, you’ve made it to the final round with only one life line left. Are ya ready? Hang on tight, because this is your next question.”

The lights dim and Regis begins.  “It is a fact that you have been in a funk for the last three months. The questions is …  what is the cause of your funk?”   A.) Depression  B.) Boredom  C.) Lack of Sugar  D.) Lack of Patience

Hmm, good question Regis. Well lately, I feel as though my motions have been a carbon copy of yesterday and the day before.  I use to be able to fill those voids with a few glittery dinners and a couple martinis with friends. But, currently my change in life style has utlimately caused me to put a muffle on those wild and crazy nights. I believe I’m quite stuck in the middle of nothing. Regis, it might be Boredom.

Regis peers at his lovely contestant deep in thought.  “So you think you are bored, ay? Why don’t you be a doll and give me your final answer?”

Well… I’m not positively bored. Surely, it is very possible that I  am in a rather fundamental tranisitional period of my life and nervously picking at my scabs of fear. Which does not constititue as boredome. Because my fear of boredome derives from the trigger reaction of depression. The painful repetition of a motion that continues forever, no change, predictable, uncontrollable, one big boring unbearable loop.

With a quick wave of his hand, Regis interupts.  “Folks, its depression! I think she’s got her final answer!”

Not quite. I’m not done. I’ve seen depression before, the ugly truth. You see this is why I took acid only once in my life, Regis. Once and done, never again. Because, on that night of curiosity I looked up at the stars and went on a journey into space. This ride took me to place I never want to go again. Flying through space I noticed how it continued forever, undiscovered, pitch black, desolate, endless, with out time, with out reality, because reality is only what I know and what I know might not be real   …if we’re not real … then… WHO THE HELL ARE WE?!! 

Completely aggitated, Regis takes matter into his own hands.  “Alright kid, phone a friend.”  He motions to connect the phone line.  “Yes! Good! We’ve got Lincoln on the phone and he’s from … from… Uranus? Ok. What ever. Hi, Lincoln, you’re ON live from New York.”

Bursting with excitement, Lincoln regirtates his enthusiasim to the world.  “Heyyyy, Regis! How’s it going?! I just want to say… you-are-so-awesome! Always had, always will! Love ya! Absolutely! Soooooo Awesome!”

Regis straightens his peach colored tie.  “That’s grreaaat, kid. What chya’ got?”

Lincoln suddenly becomes serious and pauses for a moment of clarity. “Regis, she takes prescription drugs.”

He chokes in amazement. “What?! Alright, folks. Apparently, he thinks we are on Dateline.”

Becoming completely appaled in Regis’s amuzement, Lincoln testifies the truth. “But, she took acid only once!”

Forgeting himself, Regis shouts.   “Freak! Forget it! What is this the Twilight Zone? For Gods sake….”  He disconnects the line and stares at his completely self indulged contestant. In his last effort to keep his composure, he speaks slowly through his clenched jaw.  “What-is-your-final-answer?”

Well… Persitently I trend to desire things immediately. Since, I am in a tranisitional period of my life I believe I am confussing boredome and depression with my utter desire for answers right now. And not having instant gratitude puts me in a funk! I guess that is my final answer Regis.  Patience.

Alright, get your ass of the show.

~ revised version of strange humor~

   This morning began like all others, waking up to the repetitive sound of the persistent alarm clock buzzing in my ears. As always, I roll out of bed, stretch my arms, yawn yawn and casually make my way to the el bano rubbing my blurry befuddled eyes. But, this time in mid-route I noticed that my blackberry was blinking red “check me, check me.” In a half asleep stance, I ran through the words like a computer elit’, reading a few times over …. wait… did I get that right? …. wait. What? “Uhhhh yeah!!!!”

 ~ The sunshine has come! She said:  ”I’ll be back east for business, meet me in nyc.”  …..  OH KIMMY! How I love you so!!! You’re time is impecable! Perfect! We have soooo much to catch up on!!! ~

  A quick visit home! Gee, How do our lives seem to cross over and over again in this intergalactic planetary mess of adulthood? From the roaring twenties, to the teetering twenties, to the cross me thirty mark approaching… we’re like that movie about the ya ya’s… or pants hood … or something like that?      States away, we’ve managed to grow together, grabbing any moment … like this.

 Now, plans must proceed…

  Anyhoooo - Ironically, last night I was talking with M about the future and our lives together… as a married couple, as parents, as home owners. I just don’t want anything to change, I want us both to respect each others time and wishes. l want him to still do guy things when he wants to go do guy things and I’ll continue to have my girl time when the Trippin’ Jimmies are jiggling. It is a part of staying sane. As a matter of fact…  another spontaneous opportunity for some very much needed “girl time” has just beckoned me. I shall not waste another moment! I must tell M my plans!

  Like he said …. “Only brats drink chocolate milk in the morning.” he smiles and pats me on the ass.

  I reply  ”Its soy milk.”

   I had never thought I would hear those words come from my own lips. To gasp and place my hand over my chest, mouth turned down, eyes wide and say “Me? Smug?” Never had I ever thought I would be one to be considered… smug.

  But, apparently I am. I’m the exhausted neighbor in heels, tapping her foot in annoyance at the sound of yappy yap yap in the hallway. Periodically peeking out the blinds to see some man in a hippie hair-do helping the third floor girl move bulky furniture up the stair case.  Watching them, I noticed that the man looked strikingly familiar to me … my mind was flipping through names like a Rolodex. Flip flip flip… “oh yes, he’s that waiter in that Retro Sushi place down town!” Are they both servers? Hmm? Explains the late night entrances.  Interesting.

 Six years ago I would of probably befriended them, hanging out late nights, living as night dwellers do. But … today I’m tired. Today, I come home from work only to want to rub my feet that fit into those oooohhh so cute heels that hurt my feet ooooh so much. I like a little solitude after the work day is over, but don’t think I’m a recluse. Occasionally my second floor friends will come down for a glass of wine on the porch, then bid “good night” and retreat for bed. Ahhhh so, nice… we live in perfect harmony. “Our house, a very very very fine house. With the two cats in the yard …”.

 I believe I have become quite smug to change. As I become extremely irritated when I hear a unfamiliar noise that interferes with our house harmony. Tsk Tsk Tsk. I know I should be open to the fact of a new third floor person, new feet, new schedules, new sounds. But … come on now … must we really drive nails into walls at 10:30 pm? Don’t you know that my second floor friends wake up at 5:45 am? Don’t you know I’m in bed by 10 pm, reading a book? Don’t you know it is a week day?

 Gasp! Like a smug.

 Yes, smug.

 I hate the thought of being … smug.