Monday, March 30, 2009

I'm not an Enabler!

By Cindy McTavish

My therapist tells me I am the enabler in the family and enable my husband to be an alcoholic and drug addict. She’s nuts. I lay the law down and get things my way. Why would I enable my husband to be an alcoholic? Is it the fact that he cheated on me 6 times? Is it the $4,000,000,000 life insurance policy he has? The prenup? Absolutely not. I love him. Wholly.

I went to my therapist to better myself, but then it got to be all about Todd. I had to mention he was an alcoholic and drug addict, right? She thinks because he has a long history of crushing up pills that it may have not been right for me to buy him a mortar and pestal on his birthday. I thought he enjoyed cooking and would use it to mix up spices and things!! How did I expect he would take it and mash up a bunch of OxyContin with it?

She also thinks that hanging neon beer signs in the bedroom isn’t too smart. What can I say? I’m old fashioned and it reminds me of my home back in New Jersey. There were bars everywhere. Oh the memories.

Just because he drinks, doesn’t mean I can’t. In fact, I think because he is the way he is I should be able to let off some steam. So, I have some drinks from time to time. And my back hurts so I just tend to leave the bottle of Goldschlager on the counter beside the fridge. It’s better than having to go in the cabinet to get it. And if I notice some missing, then it’s no big deal. It’s not that expensive.

She also says that symbols of drugs can cause him to relapse. Well, I mean, I didn’t know that putting our coffee creamer in individual baggies and tying them up real tight with a twisty tie looked like cocaine. I was trying to be nice. I even left straws beside them in case he wanted to drink his coffee without spilling it on his suit. I guess spilling the coffee wasn’t as bad as him driving to Newark to get an ounce of coke and disappearing to Atlantic City for 9 days. Because of coffee creamer! And I honestly was trying to help!!!

She also had something to say about my hobby. I took up wine collecting. I have a passion for wine. So, I renovated Todd’s gym into a wine cellar. Not all of it, he still works out there everyday, but I have about 1000 bottles of wine down there. I also decided to grow my own, so I turned our backyard into a small vineyard. Todd complains because he has to walk through the vineyard to get to his toolshed. To stop his complaining about it, I installed a fridge in is shed and a couch in case he gets tired from working out in the yard. And a TV.

And she even had the nerve to bring in my health condition into this. I received my first flu shot the other day. It was a pinnacle point in my life to better myself. So, I convinced the nurse to let me take the syringe home. I put it in a plaque and it’s displaying right there over the..

Oh, it’s gone. ..

Anyway, I don’t know what she is talking about. I am going to find a new therapist. Before I leave for my next appointment, I just have to take the brownies I made for Todd out of the oven.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

It Ain't Easy Wearing Green

Vic sat in his living room picking at his fingernails in frustration. He was so close. He had nailed the interview. It was a lock. How could something so silly cost him his first job opportunity in 5 months. Being laid off was hurting Vic. He was a Financial Analyst at a bank that tanked and left him with 2 weeks severance.

He decided this was it. He couldn’t take it anymore. Vic raised up looked in his immaculate backyard. The area had made his work since being unemployed. Trimmed bushes lined along the property line, green rye grass throughout, it was his best landscaping yet. Not bad for a city boy he thought.

Vic turned and moped up the staircase into his exercise room. The house was outside of his means and he knew it. It was for sale for a year and he had 2 people look at it. Vic just couldn’t believe what happened to him today. He wanted to take action. He had enough of people taking advantage of him and disregarding the good intention of his actions.

From the closet, he withdrew a 14 gauge shotgun. Only used twice on a company hunting trip, Vic was a good shot. He sat and turned on some Jackson Browne to calm his nerves. As he tapped his foot, he inserted the shells into the gun. He wasn’t changing his outfit for this occasion. In fact, it was the reason in the first place.
He wrapped the gun in some bath towels and got into his Malibu. He put on NPR since it ws playing classical music this time of the day. Something he shamefully knew all too well. As Vic turned into the mall, he saw the sparse cars in the parking lot. Mostly workers. Sad, he thought. But that was just the way it was. He transferred the shotgun into a large suit bag and zipped it up. He grabbed the clothes hanger at the top and straddled it across his back. He figured he’d go in through the west entrance. Where the food court was. The noise would motivate him. As he walked through the doors, he held it for the woman and her kids behind him. She walked in untouched and didn’t even pass off a thank you.

Frustrated and angry, Vic sat down near the Sbarro. Sbarro, what a joke. He looked over at the illegal immigrants who might pass for Italian to someone with limited eyesight and rage began to build up. He decided to go the Fry Rye Dragon and get a special. 7 bucks for a plate of rice. Whatever, Vic thought. He sat down at a different table and reminisced about the day. He had nailed that interview. Damnit he thought. He was oblivious what was going on the whole time. Only when he saw his reflection in the elevator afterward did he see it. Embarrassing.

He threw his Styrofoam container in the trash and walked down the hall past the eateries. His senses were heightened. He smelled danishes, coffee, chicken, and hot dogs. He felt like he had entered another dimension. He turned left and walked toward the anchor store, Hechts. The sign became blurry as he stared at it and drew closer. At the entrance, he stopped for a moment and looked at all the perfume counters and smiled. As he proceeded through the zig zag of glass cases, he looked up and saw a sign that read Menswear. He followed the arrow and saw the person he was looking for. The guy who sold him his pants.

“Hey, David, is it?” Vic asked.

“Yes, sir. Oh I remember you. How did your interview go?”

“Not good. Actually, that’s why I am here.”

“Oh, too bad. Sorry to hear that. How did those brown pants treat you.”

Vic paused and looked down at his pants. You see the pants were the whole cause of the demise that occurred today.

“That green shirt looks good on you. Knew it would go well with the pants and tie.”
Vic looked up and was astonished at the guy’s comment. He stared at him with rage.
Vic looked back down at his pants, then his shirt.

True, the pants did look brown here in the store. You could not deny that. But, that didn’t matter. What matter is how they looked in the lighting in the interview room earlier today. There, these pants were green. Together with a light green shirt, he looked like a giant pea pod. He heard the secretaries snickering at him as he left.

“David, these pants are green.”

“Hahaha. That’s funny. They’re brown sir.”

“They’re green.”

“Brown.”

Vic unzipped his suit bad and drew the shotgun.

David became awestruck and pale instantly.

“You’re coming with me. I’m gonna show you.”

Vic pressed the barrel against David as they left the store together. It was amazingly easy to get out of the mall without anyone even being suspicious. They got in Vic’s car and headed to the office where Vic had the interview.

“Sir, maybe they didn’t care about the color of your pants. Maybe you’ll get the job.”

“Shut it. It’s over.” Vic punched David in the mouth. It felt good to Vic. He wanted to do that to someone for a long time. Mainly, his old boss, but this guy would do.
They entered the parking garage and got past the security attendant. He still had his parking pass from earlier in the day.

He parked in space 158 and the two of them entered the building via the stairwell. The echo of their footsteps was eerie to Vic. It was as if he was entering the end.
They go to the main floor and signed in. Vic had his suit bag and no one asked any question. They entered the elevator and a woman entered and pressed Floor 12. That’s where they needed to go. They exited the elevator and Vic pointed to his pants.

“See?”

“Yes, they are green. Full refund. Buy one get one.”

“Too late man. Let’s go.”

Vic walked down the hall and entered the interview room. There was another candidate in there. Vic looked at him in his beautiful suit. Perfectly matched and well groomed. Vic in an furious fit began to unzip his bag. In walked Charlie Powell, the hiring manager.

“Vic. What are you doing here. Actually, I am glad you came. Can I see yo for a minute?”

Surprised, Vic replied, “Sure.”

The two left the room. Vic could see David pleading his case to the other candidate waving his hands in the air and making a gesture with a gun. The candidate looked like he believed him and got up.

Charlie noticed what was going on and became distracted from what he was going to tell Vic.

The candidate stood up and exited the interview room.

“Mr. Powell. This guy is a killer. He came here to kill us all because of the color of his pants.”

“That’s absurd. Don’t try to downgrade another candidate. That’s unprofessional.”

“But Mr. Powell, I am serious.”

“Get out of my office right now. And you too. Is this guy with you Vic?”

“No. He jut got off the elevator with me. No idea who he is.”

David looked at Vic as if he was totally insane and ran off.

“Well Vic, I was going to tell you that this guy in here was going to be our man. But since he just flaked out, I guess you’re our man. I had you as the #2 candidate and it looks like you moved up to #1.”

“Oh, Mr. Powell, I can’t thank you enough.”

“By the way, what’s in the bag?”

“Oh, a pair of brown pants I was supposed to wear today but they got stuck at the cleaners.”

“Glad to hear. I knew there was a reason you were dressed like Guido. See you Monday”

“Thanks!”

Vic got in the elevator and threw the gun atop the elevator shaft. He exited the elevator to see David and a security guard waiting for him.

“He has a gun in that bag!”

“Open the bag sir.”

Vic unzipped the bag and it was an empty hanger.

The security guard looked at David, “Sir, what kind of demented clothes salesman are you?”

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

A Review of the Inaguration Speech By Moderator and Gene Shallet

Today, a day after the historic speech of President Barack Obama, we’d like to look into its success. I have here Gene Shallet, a world-reknowned movie critic to get his take on it.

“Good Morning Gene”

“Good Morning Vietnam”

“My name is Tom”

“My Name is Earl”

“But your Gene..”

“Ha. And your Nobody’s Fool”

“Ok. Let’s get started. What did you think of President Obama’s speech yesterday?”

“It was Definitely, Maybe the best speech in the History of the World, Part I.”

“What did you like about it so much?”

“I loved how he started strong and began Breaking Away from the usual rhetoric and Made the crowd so part of it. Noone felt like a Cast Away.”

“What would you have done differently?”

“Well, it’s Funny Farm that you mention that. I actually have written my own version of how I would address the nation.”

“Really?! Please do share.”

“My fellow Americans. I know some of you have some Fear right now. I know that many of you have lost jobs Out of Nowhere and are Living in America wondering what will happen The Day After Tomorrow. Some of you are Waiting to Exhale by yelling out a Scream of “Oh God!” to those around you. But Only You can help rebuild this country. When our forefathers like washington and Hancock developed this government, they had the Wisdom to know when it was time for a Quick Change. JFK stood here, made his speech and took this nation to the next level. Even Nixon took us to a foreign land to take us from that Big Trouble in Little China. But I stand here before you to tell you that America is Hard to Kill. And I, with your help, will take us from the Abyss we are in and send us to the top of the world so that we are once again a prosperous and great country. I am not a Liar, Liar. I am no Illusionist. And to be honest, it will take some Dirty Work. But I am speaking to you now from my heart and promise to take us Back to the Future where we belong. But we must be strong. Just because you are a Pretty Woman doesn’t mean you can be a Cry Baby. We need you to be solid like The Rock that stands over there. If you do, I will ensure I will protect this country and its citizens. If someone attacks, I will send All the Presidents Men to take care of whoever those Goonies are and let them know that we are Out for Justice.

Over the next 4 years, I will do whatever takes. I mean, What’s the Worst That Could Happen? All of Me is dedicated to this task and promise it won’t be another Neverending Story. So, continue Keeping the Faith and I will do the same. God Bless You and God Bless America.”

“Well done, Gene. Have you ever thought running for President?”

“I am not a Running Man, but if I was, I would be Gung Ho about getting into the Election. It’s not for me though. I prefer to be Behind Enemy Lines in the movie business, which is what we call in Hollywood can the Monkey Business!. I think Barack will do a good job. Thanks for the interview but I have to leave, my granddaughter, She Is Having a Baby and I have to Quicksilver over there since it’s been 9 Months since my grandson in-law gave her the ‘ol Dead Bang.”

“Good Night”

“ and Good Luck.”

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Penpal Letters from C. Everett Koop

In 1986 I was a 4th grader attending John F. Kennedy Elementary School in Blackstone MA. Our teacher had assigned us the task of writing a letter to any member of the U.S. government. Most kids wrote to President Reagan, but I wrote my letter to Surgeon General C. Everett Koop. In response to my only letter I received a letter from the Surgeon General at least twice a month for the next 21 years. I have decided to publish the one sided correspondence in a segment I call:

PENPAL LETTERS FROM C. EVERETT KOOP

January 1st 1988

Dear Jeremy,

Well let's get the formallities out of the way and let me say Happy Fuckin New Year Man. Now with that being said, I think it's time to discuss a situation that's really been pissing me off. It is now 19 hundred and 80 fuckin' 8. We have been penpals since 19 hundred and 86. Since then I have mailed you over 250 letters and you have mailed me JACK SHIT. Now do I gotta keep wasting my time here or what? I mean I'm the one trying to feed a young mind some wisdom, teaching you how to throw a cheapshot into a motherfuckers throat and telling you the best city's to find Korean poontang. But hey, if you don't want to hear this old fool from the Sea tell you how to score, then what the hell did you write me for anyway?

Ahh fuck it, Jeremy. I can't stay mad at you. You'll write when you want. You're probably a busy little motherfucker anyways. What are you like 10 now? Man when I your age I was shaking down paperboys in the neighborhood for payoffs. It's a good racket for a young entrepreneur. That and selling cigarettes. It's a little tough to get 'em off the truck these days (believe me I just unloaded about 3 grand worth last week). But for a young kid you can probably do pretty good if you get a few of your buddies together and tip a cigarette machine on it's side. You'd be surprised how easy they break open. It's not just a money maker, but it's almost like a science experiment-you know, taking apart a big machine like that. Just don't let too many of your buddies in on it, they eat in to your profits. And by all means Jeremy, don't cut into your own supply. Especially with Cigarettes!! You know how the Koop feels about those fucking things!! I catch you smoking cigarettes I'll break your fuckin knee cap with a zippo,just like my old man did to me. Yes sir, old man Koop (the Admiral as I had to call him) didn't take no candy ass approach to parenting. There was no smoking a box of cigars to teach this kid a lesson. The Admiral says to me, you think you're a man now, smokin' fags huh(His old man was British and he never shook the British terminology). So then he sits me down and bashes my fuckin knee caps with his zippo til they were shattered in 6 places. They still crack when I do arobics.

So anyways bud, I gotta run. I'm meeting McCallister behind his deli in an hour, we're gonna CRANK some Roy Orbison and pound Rolling Rocks until the old Korean who runs the Laundomat next door to the deli comes out and tries to fight us (that motherfuckers crazy). It's a New Years tradition of me and McCallister.

Happy New Year Buddy. Here's to 1988.

Your Pal,




Cool Everett Koop

P.S. I was thinking me and you could start lifting weights as a new years resolution. I can bench 250. What are you benching?