Ashiksagirl's Blog

April 18, 2014

Busking Out All Over

Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 8:01 pm
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ImageMy oldest son never has any money. It’s not that he doesn’t acquire money, he just doesn’t know how to keep it. His list of wants changes from day to day and he mentally spends hundreds of dollars in seconds. If you give him $5.00 he comes back owing someone money or he talks someone into giving him something even though he doesn’t have the right amount. If something is on sale he will buy it even if he doesn’t need it and he will collect things to the point of obsession and then disregard them a week later. I don’t know where he gets this!  

A month ago he was on a harmonica kick. He owns four now. How different does one sound from the other? I’ll tell you…not at all! “My mom is gettin mad.  She asked me to put my harmonica down and go to bed.” Imagine this being sung to the tune of a harmonica. It was cute the first time, not so cute the fourth. I finally hid the harmonica and said he must have lost it. This prompted the purchase of another and another and another. 

Now he has decided that he needs an amp that is battery powered. I admire his ambition. He has got a ton of energy! Sometimes I think I live with a Jack Russell Terrier, until I have to wake him up for school. Then he’s more like a Bull Dog. We keep saying we are going to get one, but realized how ridiculous this was and settled for a Beta fish instead. We called him Bastante, which is what we would have called a Bulldog. I like him. He swims back and forth in his tank ( no bowl for us) and flits his tail like a flamingo dancer; he’s a real show boater. He has a lot of energy, too. But he stays up a little too late because my son forgets to turn his light off and he eats constantly; the same boring food! Hmmm…sounds like someone else I know.  

We spent the last two nights in the city together and had a lot of fun.  My son and I, not Bastante and me. Spencer is a terrific conversationalist, has a ton of passion, but is a horrible eater.  This really stinks since we are in New York City with the best restaurants in the world and sadly our menu choices are relegated to Diner, Mexican (this is huge) and Pizza. One time I took him to El Mitote on Columbus because I saw Chris Rock there.  In typical kid fashion he had to sit in his chair.

Yesterday, however the spotlight was on him and two of his friends, as they stood at the entrance to Strawberry Fields. At first they stopped at the Imagine circle but apparently there is a protocol if you are a street performer and the old guys who have been doing it a little longer than a few punky thirteen year olds needed to tell them that.

They opened the guitar case, set up camp and began to play next to a hot dog stand. Savvy!!! My son sings, hence the needing the amp now. I snuck over there for a few minutes and managed to snap a short video and a few photos before he gave me the eyes to leave. At one point when I was there a group of girls came up to them and wanted their photos taken with them. Ahh groupies!  Gotta love em!

What’s so funny about all of this is my son doesn’t even realize how cool this is. He seems so natural in this setting that he attracts people on that alone. Nervous? Not at all! Motivated by money alone, he has quickly figured out that the old saying is true; “Do what you love and the sheckles will follow” and when you watch him sing there is no denying he is enjoying himself.

He tells me he is returning Saturday to make more money, so if you happen to be in the park that day make sure you stop and listen. Chances are they will be by a hot dog stand so if three boys performing the Beatles, REM and Elvis Presley doesn’t get your attention, a good old greasy NYC hot dog should. 


April 11, 2014


Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 12:34 pm


Found a preview of this documentary.
Something everyone should see.

Originally posted on Ashiksagirl's Blog: When I read the email Tuesday morning that had been sent out by my son’s home room teacher at 11:00 pm the night prior, begging two parents to volunteer their time the next day, I knew I had to step it up and agree to do my part. Schlepping to Brooklyn again in one month was not my first choice, but every now and then you have to give back. Not to mention the fact that I am forever grateful that my son has had the opportunity to attend such an amazing school. This was his 6th or 7th field trip since he started there 3 months ago. I had a vague idea of what we were doing, but hadn’t really paid attention. Boy did that all change once we got there!

The Director of Education looked around the audience and said, “One more question.” He held his gaze…

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The Other Side of Me

Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 11:09 am
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They (whoever they are) say that the average person has as many as 7 different personalities. We all know there are 3 elements to the personality (thank you, Freud) which is something I am fascinated with. So much so that I am writing a book about it. It is creative non-fiction and a story that is really testing my writing chops but I am finding the words one page at a time.

When a person writes they are generally taking on several personalities at once. Some people might call it channeling, but I prefer to stay away from that word. It’s not like I’m going “Linda Blair” when I do this, but essentially I am imagining the characters so clearly, I can actually hear them and see what they look like. After awhile when you sit down to write about them they just appear. It helps to keep journals on the characters, too. The last book I wrote was really fun because the characters were nuts. They are the most fun to write. I like good nuts! That didn’t come out right. You know what I mean. Bad nuts are when people don’t know they’re nuts. Good nuts embrace it!

If you think about it, you will admit that you, yourself have different personalities as well. And yours might be scarier than some of the characters I have created. There is the person you are on the telephone, the one you are in person, the one at the office, the one with your friends, the one who is alone, the one with your other half, the one with your children, the one with your clients. The list goes on and on.

Have you ever had someone say to you, “Why are you acting so differently?” or “You’ve changed!” then you know the person you have originally shown them is far different than the one they are seeing at that moment. Generally when people say this to you it isn’t a good thing. I don’t know why people have to change personas, I generally try to remain the same person with the same values. The biggest transformation you will ever see from me is when I am quiet. If I am quiet that means you are not seeing the “real” me. It simply means I have shut down because quite frankly you are only as good as your audience and if I am around people who are self-absorbed, boring or don’t know how to have a conversation (I.e. I ask you something and then you ask me something back) you’re gonna get vanilla from me.

There are the personalities we use to impress people and the ones we do our best to keep under wraps. The shadow self, if you will. Eddie Murphy did a funny skit about women and the half you never see on a date. It was hilarious!

When I was younger my friends and I (Sue if you are reading this you will remember) used to make up names all the time! We never went by our real names. Sandy Beach was one of them. I can’t remember all of them. Perhaps Sue will comment on this post and remind me. We would laugh about all of our antics as we tried to recall them the day after an outing. I don’t think I ever gave a guy my real name. First of all they could never say it and second of all they could never remember it. Just like my friends at Starbucks. Which brings me to one of my new personalities.

Rachel first appeared last year when I ordered a drink from Starbucks and they heard Gretchen as Rachel. This was happening a lot so I just started using it. Problematic? Nah! I always get my drink, so what does it matter.

Generally when I spend my two nights in the city with our oldest son I go in Monday and Tuesday. Not always, but it seems to be the norm. On Monday and Tuesday I assume the name Rachel because naturally we have a Starbucks right on the corner of our block. Granted I have to cross the street but I’m not complaining.

When I walked in the other morning the young man behind the counter said, “Hi, Rachel! How are you today?”

I don’t know if it’s the actress in me or New York City, but I immediately went into character.

“Great! How are you?”

We chatted it up for a few minutes until my coffee was ready and I wished him a terrific day.

I laughed to myself as I left, thinking I should really tell him my name isn’t Rachel. Or should I?

Rachel loves the city! It’s like play time when she’s there. She goes for a run in Central Park, she goes to classes at the gym, she goes on auditions, she gets to go on great field trips, she goes to spiritual classes at night and she smells pot across the hall from her neighbors. She keeps thinking she should knock on the door and introduce herself, but would she say her name is Rachel?

Gretchen drives a mini van, writes on her computer, walks two dogs, cleans up after a cat, cleans a house, goes to the grocery store, the cleaners, returns things, buys things, returns them again, sees all the crazy Tiger moms micro-managing their kids again, hears the latest gossip from other mothers who find this crap news, wonders why the kid who keeps punching her youngest hasn’t been expelled yet and has commuter envy as she sees them pass by her house in the morning.

Rachel or Gretchen? Which one is real? Ahh…they both are! Two realities, one life. Maybe I need to invent a new character. How about Simone? Sienna? I need a name that meets somewhere in the middle. Or maybe I’ll just bring Rachel to the suburbs. It could use a little something.

How many personas do you have? Just make sure you’re keeping track. You wouldn’t want to place your order at Starbucks and forget you gave them your “real” name.

April 9, 2014


Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 8:26 pm
Tags: When I read the email Tuesday morning that had been sent out by my son’s home room teacher at 11:00 pm the night prior, begging two parents to volunteer their time the next day, I knew I had to step it up and agree to do my part. Schlepping to Brooklyn again in one month was not my first choice, but every now and then you have to give back. Not to mention the fact that I am forever grateful that my son has had the opportunity to attend such an amazing school. This was his 6th or 7th field trip since he started there 3 months ago. I had a vague idea of what we were doing, but hadn’t really paid attention. Boy did that all change once we got there!

The Director of Education looked around the audience and said, “One more question.” He held his gaze on a young woman sitting in the back row, who was waving her hand back and forth, anxiously awaiting the chance to ask Raymond Santana a question.  I hoped for a good one.

“Mr. Santana, what is it like for you to go to Central Park now?”

Mr. Santana paused and then said, “To be honest with you, I haven’t been back.”

No surprise there! Why would he? On that fateful evening of April 19, 1989, Raymond Santana and four acquaintances were accused of what was dubbed “the crime of the century.” The documentary currently being shown at BAM Rose Cinemas called, “The Central Park Five” is nothing short of tragic. Your stomach will turn and you will shake your head in disbelief, as you watch the story retold through interviews and on-camera confessions of five young boys who were held for up to 24 hours without food or drink, no parent present during interrogration and coherced into admitting to a crime they had nothing to do with.

At times the film brings tears to your eyes, knowing the inevitable outcome.  These boys were never treated as humans, only pawns in a system that needed a win. Aside from teenage antics, their only crime that night was having a dark skin color and trusting in several grown men who kept telling them they could go home once they were told what they wanted to hear. 

As Mr. Santana sat on the stage and answered questions, he maintained dignity and a smile and was exceptionally well spoken. He showed no signs of anger and quite frankly it broke my heart to hear that he lives very close to the park, has a 10 year old daughter who yearns to go there, but he is unable to return to the place that took his youth from him.

When this story first came out, much press was given to the convictions of these young men and the term “Wilding” found its way into every paper. Unfortunately the same amount of press was not given when they were exonerated from the crime. These men have a civil suit filed against the city and it has been going on for 10 years.  

If you have the chance to see this film I highly recommend it. You will no longer ask, “How could something like this happen?” Because through the brilliance of the film maker, Sarah Burns, you realize just how easily it can.   

Mr. Santana’s goal in talking to students is to keep them out of trouble and make them aware of their rights if they are ever accused of a crime they have not committed.  He is an avid supporter of the Innocence Project.     

April 6, 2014

Where Am I?

Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 12:40 pm

Yesterday I was relaying a story to my husband about something I had said to our middle guy and I couldn’t remember when I had said it. Was it yesterday? The day before? It was hard to gauge since this week I had been in and out of Manhattan several times.

Now that I’ve finally gotten the clothes situation, toiletries, shoes and reading material figured out, it appears that going back and forth from Manhattan to Long Island has its downside. I have to remember where something occurred, but I am starting to figure that out as well. 

Basically the job for me stays the same wherever I’m at, the only obvious change is the location of the laundry room. I resigned to bringing my oldest son’s home. When someone asked, “Gosh! What’s in that big bag?” And I had to answer, “My dirty laundry.” I heard myself and decided enough is enough. I don’t need the rest of the world speculating about that.

But I have become keenly aware that they do. Even if I don’t tell people my story or what is going on with my family, they all seem to know. It’s a bit off-putting and weird but it keeps me grounded in knowing where I’m at.

The other day I had my oldest at the grocery store and we ran into several people who knew about his moving into the city. “How do they know?”  He asked me. To which I replied, “It’s sad, but they make it their business to.”

The funny thing about gossiping is this: you generally never know that people are talking about you because they don’t come right out and ask you what they are dying to know. They just say it behind your back. Lucky for you! But when you’re a kid, there seems to be no rules that apply to this.  And I’m not talking about kids asking kids, I’m talking about adults asking kids.

The other day I was talking with a friend of mine who had seen my son on the train. She told me how amazed she was by his maturity and what a special kid he was. But then she went on to say, “You can’t worry about what people are saying about you.” What? People are saying things? This was news to me.  Why would anyone care what my husband and I were doing with our children? As far as I am concerned we are only doing what every parent should be doing; the best that you can to do within your ability, to ensure that your children are happy.   

It may not be conventional, but what is that anyway? I don’t think conventional applies to anything these days. It’s 2014! You have to do what works. And this situation works for us because there should be nothing more important to a parent than raising children who respect others, give back to society and have a good sense of self.

So just in case there is someone out there who is speculating about what will happen next, let me tell you. My middle guy took an assessment test for the Anderson School on Saturday. Will he get in? I hope so! You don’t turn down an offer that good. Does this mean we will all move to Manhattan? It means he will have an incredible opportunity and Manhattan sells bunk beds. 

My youngest is losing interest in the Catholic school he goes to. Will he leave? Will he go back to the public school? Will he move to the city? To be continued… 

My husband and I see each other every Friday. We have rekindled our fondness, love, affection whatever you want to call it for one another and we couldn’t be happier. So no, there is no divorce on the horizon. As a matter of fact we think we are onto something. We know tons of miserable married people who don’t hesitate to tell you how unhappy they are and if they aren’t telling you, it shows in their faces. Another words, don’t knock our arrangement until you’ve tried it.

You see we’re really not that exciting. The only thing that changes is the location, but at the heart of it all we’re just two parents trying to nurture our children’s gifts and individuality and in doing so we have come to realize that the game changes every day. So if you have any further questions, concerns or speculations that you need confirmation on, please refer them to me and not my boys. They’re too busy trying to be happy and don’t have time for your negativity.   

March 28, 2014

The Teacher’s a Punk

Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 8:28 pm
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Being a teacher is not a role I would have seen myself in, but every day that passes I find myself taking more and more of a step in that direction. Oddly enough I am enjoying it. Aside from using my brain, it’s making my heart open. I literally find myself smiling for no reason other than pure joy and endless possibilities.

Today I was grateful to get a phone call from my friend, Saigon who had taught with me at Aveda. He has moved on and asked me to come and teach for him at his new school. I was so excited to hear from him and it made me realize how much I missed teaching. I didn’t even hesitate when he said the school was in Brooklyn. Shortly after that I got a call from the home office of the one and only…Aveda. I have a meeting with them on Monday to also teach but in a different role. This one is as a color specialist. You’d never know my vast knowledge of it by looking at my own hair color!

I don’t think becoming a teacher is something we choose. I’m quite certain it chooses us. I cannot imagine a person taking on that role/job unless they have heart. I think teachers have a huge heart. They have enough heart for an entire classroom, parents, politics and the few students who don’t get what they’re trying to teach. And I’m not just talking about practical in the classroom teaching here. For anyone on a spiritual quest, path, road to enlightenment, working through your stuff, facing the demons journey…there are plenty of teachers out there for you as well. Email me-I can give you a list of them and great books to read, too.

Teaching comes in all forms. When you become a parent you inevitably become a teacher whether you like it or not. It’s not a role that should be taken lightly, although I must admit, the times when I enjoy being a parent most, are when my kids and I are talking freely and expressing ourselves without a filter.

I hate filters! I think they are frustrating for most people, but for a writer they are the kiss of death. If I have to filter what I write, then I may as well write for someone else other than myself. Sure there are times where I might write something which pertains to someone else, but ultimately I am writing for me.

Which is why I love music. Lyrics are an artist’s way of expressing every emotion they are feeling. If we don’t like what’s playing on one station we can switch to another. There are times when we want to hear something that makes us move. Other times we want to hear something we can cry our eyes out to. Other days we wish we could stop crying but no matter how hard we try, every song on the radio reminds us of that thing/person we are trying to forget. You gotta love the Universe for that one.

Today I got a rare moment to relive my youth when I spent the afternoon with a handsome young man who goes by the name Sawyer.

Just as I was sitting down to my computer to try and knock out a few pages on a book I am writing called, “The End of Id”, I got a call from the school nurse. I’m starting to think she has me on speed dial. While I appreciate the lengths they go to to ensure that Sawyer is comfortable and taken care of , it is my opinion that they go too far.  

“You probably want to pull around to the circle drive.  I have to wheel him out.” Pardon me? Wheel him out? I never knew there was a circle drive. Had I been given access to some secret coven? This was not good.

Last week I got a call that he had fallen on his arm and cut his chin. When I went to get him he was lying down in the nurse’s office, ice on one arm, chin bandaged like he had taken shrapnel.

I don’t know why this kid gave up acting! He’s got it down pat. The looks, the moans, the tears, the chicken soup when we get home.  I’m not saying the pain isn’t real, what I’m saying is, I think the school goes just a smidgen too far. Like not letting the children go outside for the past 4 months. They did let them out one day last week but they were not allowed on the field. Don’t ask, cause I don’t know.

When I drove up to the circle, after having called Grandpa (thank God he’s an orthopedic surgeon!) I waited in the car until I saw the doors open and the unmistakable sight of Sawyer in a wheelchair, beaming from ear to ear. I got out of the car and walked towards him and smiled, although honestly I wanted to laugh. This prompted a comment from the nurse. “You have the same smile!” Yes, and the same drama factor. 

We drove right to Grandpa’s office (which is not close by) and they offered to get him a wheelchair there as they saw me struggling to carry him in. He’s a boney kid, but still weighs 85 pounds. “Lean into me!  Lean into me!”  I kept saying, as he squirmed around.

The x-ray showed a contusion (same diagnosis as the week prior).  Grandpa said something about seeing him next Friday. I told Sawyer we are not going back even if the school brings him out an a gurney.

On the way home we listened to the radio. We both love techno. I told him when he is older he’ll go to clubs and dance to the same beat for hours on end and only stop to re-fill his drink. He smiled at this, mentally counting the days until he’s 21.

He switched the channels back and forth from Martin “Animals” to Heavy D and The Boyz – “Now that We Found Love.” He got a kick out of the name of the singer. When Sugar Hill Gang came on I told him I used to listen to that in junior high. I also know the lyrics to “I Wanna Rock” by Doo Doo Brown. Sawyer thinks this is hilarious. He likes the song by Sir Mix A Lot “Baby Got Back”.  We both sing the words to the entire song and he laughs hysterically.  

When the song, “All of Me” by John Legend came on he got quiet. We both listened to the words of the song and he seemed to go off into another world, as did I.

Then all of sudden in true Sawyer fashion, he turned to me and said, “Something really disturbs me.” “What is it, Saw?”  “You ever wonder why they give convicts sticks with pokers on them to pick-up garbage along the side of the road?  I mean, what’s stopping them from poking one of the guards and going rogue?”

Hmm…either too much Call of Duty, a vivid imagination or brilliance.  I don’t know about you, but I always opt for brilliance.



March 27, 2014


Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 7:07 pm
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Love this song! Haven’t heard it in years. Think it’s very appropriate for anyone walking to the beat of a drum that isn’t their own.

The Blame Game

Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 3:13 pm
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“Alea iacta est” The die has been cast, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” “God only gives you what you can handle.” “Things get better in time!” People love these little phrases because they are easy and once said, relieve them of any obligation whatsoever. They think they’ve done their duty by acknowledging the incredible devastation, sadness or loss that someone is feeling, but what they are really doing is showing their lack of heart.

Every day someone goes through some sort of tragedy or sadness in their life. The news will report it like it’s nothing, as they show an entire apartment building burned to the ground, an airplane that has literally vanished or children dying in the streets from hunger. We flip off the television and go make ourselves a nice meal and forget what we have just witnessed. We might say “Those poor people” but how many of us actually do something about it? We tell ourselves that our input won’t matter, someone else will help them, they’ll be fine, it’s not such a big deal, it was nothing, there’s nothing I can do.

We have become so numb to showing and sharing our feelings that we go through life on auto-pilot, foregoing connections that have the potential to be life altering for those we meet and ourselves.

I get an email almost every day from three animal organizations I am a part of. Two of them are always looking for people to foster a dog from another situation that is heartbreaking to read. I generally read the email a few times and then think logically about what I could do to make a difference. Sometimes I go on line and post the article. Other times I email my husband and ask if we have room for one more.

But there are so many people who are content to do nothing. How is that you can rationalize buying a dog when there are thousands put to death every single day? I don’t get it! You can tell your story over and over again about allergies, etc.but all you are really doing is showing your ignorance and your inability to do do your part and consequently 20 more are put to death. This is one topic that gets me really mad. There is no rationalizing buying an animal, especially one that has been bred to your specifications. It’s just plain gross!

There is no such thing as a perfect animal, perfect person or perfect anything. Except nature.

We need not look to the news to report how our world is becoming more divided. We only need to look around our own homes and our lack of connection with those we say we love to see the tragedy. When was the last time you connected with someone you didn’t know? Held the door for them? Let them go ahead of you in line? Helped someone in need? Admitted your wrong doing? Said I’m sorry? Made a call on someone’s behalf? Listened to what someone was telling you without feeling the need to interrupt and talk about yourself?

There have been plenty of times in my life when things didn’t turn out the way I had planned. A lot in the last year! From jobs to relationships, to trips and the like, our lives are constantly being bombarded with change. Refusing to accept change is like refusing to live. And blaming someone else for those changes is counter productive.

When things don’t go our way it’s pretty easy to  blame the other guy/gal. This is true because it’s so much harder to look at ourselves for the answers. God forbid we do that! That would mean we might be…dare I say it…responsible for the way things turned out. 

It has taken me a very long time, but I have finally realized that when something doesn’t work out for me or go the way I had anticipated, it generally has something do with my half of my involvement or lack of. Often times we wait for the other person to make a move, make a call, do the right thing, when in reality it would be much easier for us to do it instead. We tell ourselves it’s an admission of weakness; we don’t want to remove our masks and put our heart on the line. That would be too risky. So instead we complain about the system, our partners, our friends, our jobs, our bosses. We concoct scenarios in our heads and let our imaginations get the best of us, instead of doing something about it.

Silent and Listen are spelled with the same letters. Listen to your inner voice and that place in your chest also known as your heart (it never lies). You might be surprised at what you hear.

It’s 11:11…all is well, if you make it so.

I Want To Play…In Bed!

Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 12:27 am
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Got your attention there, didn’t I?

Years ago when we lived in Boston, we met this couple who was going through birthing classes the same time we were. They were very friendly and very at ease with the whole process. He actually went into detail about symptoms she was having as the time grew closer, which made my husband cringe. He didn’t even want to hear about my body, let alone someone else’s.

The wife was a bit of a…she wore the pants, okay. I mean if she told him to wear a skirt he probably would have. He had actually taken her last name when they got married and they hyphenated it.  I’m all for women’s rights and being unconventional in a marriage, my husband and I see each other three times a week, but come on! If a woman wants to keep her last name, fine. But him taking her name was just plain weird.  Maybe if she hadn’t have been such a ball buster it wouldn’t have bothered me so much.

At Christmas time she had bought him a baby jogger and wrapped it, only to return it the day after. “I want him to have something to open.”  She said. “It’s not practical for us to have right now though.” But having a new car was, which is what she wanted.

I have a hard time with couples. It’s not that I don’t want to be friends with them, it’s just that I barely find a man and a woman who are together, that I like. There is the exception of course and also two women that I enjoy being with as well. But for the most part, I like the men better then the women. They don’t have an agenda or all of the issues a lot of women do, like being bossy, negative or boring. I can laugh with the men, tell inappropriate jokes, drink with the best of them and I basically feel like one of the guys. If I have to hear from one more woman about her renovations or how much driving she does since her kids play lacrosse, I’m never going out again.

Can’t people have a real conversation anymore? Are they incapable of laughing? Being real? I think the next time someone asks us out, I’m going to suggest Chinese food.  

The one thing I got from that couple in Boston was this little game they played whenever they ate Chinese food and cracked open their fortune cookies. Every time you read the fortune, you end it with, “In bed.” It absolutely never fails and it’s funny!

Example:  “Eat your spinach and you’ll be as strong as Popeye” (in bed). This was my husband’s fortune the other night. Mine was, “Getting the right answers is only possible when you have asked the right questions.” (in bed) Hmm…is there something I should be asking? 

This is so fun in fact, that I saved a bunch of fortunes and am going to post them now so you can see how this works.

“Your eyes will soon be opened to a world full of beauty, charm and adventure.” (In bed) Intriguing!

“Guard yourself against evil temptations.” (In bed) I swear I didn’t make that one up! 

“The fates advise great care today don’t risk a cent in any way.” (In bed) No hookers!

“Everything has beauty but not everyone sees it.” (In bed)  No kidding, that’s why we turn the lights out.

When you think about it, they are all quite sexual. I wonder if this is what the Chinese had in mind when they rolled those fortunes inside those cookies.   

March 26, 2014

How About an Open Bar?

Filed under: Uncategorized — ashiksagirl @ 12:57 am
Tags: ,

I would like to see doctor’s office start serving liquor. There are a few reasons for this.

First one: they never run on time. When was the last time you made an appointment at a doctor’s office and actually saw the doctor at that time? I had an appointment at 1:15 today and left at 2:40. Last week I saw my internist for a yearly visit and I waited 45 minutes to see her.

I don’t mind waiting if I am prepared to do so. But let’s face it…most doctor’s office have old magazines if they have them at all and they are boring. They obviously don’t get good ones like The Enquirer or Us that I read at nail salons or only buy when I am on vacation (probably because people take them), but I’ve never heard of the ones they do put out and most of them are 6 months old.

The other thing that bothers me about waiting are all of the people sitting around you who are really sick. They’re sneezing, coughing and quite frankly look like hell. I don’t need to breathe in their illness when I’m there for a routine visit. What ever happened to a sick area and a healthy one? If there was a bar there I could sit up there and get sloshed. By the time I saw the doctor I wouldn’t care how long it had been. No one likes to drink when they’re sick, so the sickies would stay clear of the healthy people. Unless of course they drank something really strong like whiskey, which would kill whatever was ailing them.

The other reason they should serve liquor is because it might make the routine visit a little more enjoyable.

I don’t know why it is, but every year I schedule a mammogram, pap smear and an internist all in the same month. I think my original thinking was that I wouldn’t forget them this way, but I have to tell you, it really stinks. Week after week for the entire month I am at a doctors office looking through junk magazines, being coughed on, avoiding the ill and being poked and prodded without the courtesy of a drink first.

Some men cringe at the meer mention of the word gyno, but mine is great.  She’s so fast I barely have that little smock on and I’m taking it off and putting my clothes back on. Although this time she said, “Everything looks good.”  And I sat with that for a moment. It made me a bit uncomfortable. Yes, every now and then things make me uneasy. Looks good? Hmmm…It’s a good thing she’s a woman, if a man said that to me I’d probably take offense. Or would I? 

Today I braced the offices I have frequented for over 10 years for the mammogram. I don’t know why my gyno wrote down that I needed a sonogram in addition to having my boobs smashed to a pancake, but she did. I think it was from the time before when I had soreness and she wanted it checked out. The sonogram revealed nothing but sore muscle tissue from my having lifted weights. Who knew a wine bottle could do that!

When it came for my turn to have the sonogram, I casually went in and undressed as was told. I remember the woman from the time before but sadly I had forgotten how thorough she was. I think she thought she was back in pre-k, playing with play doh. I watched her lips purse like a fish and then her tongue came out at one point as she manipulated the thing around my boob. She pressed and pressed like she was making pizza, the gooey gel she had put on me squishing all over my chest. It was disgusting and reminded me of…well, it was gross. I turned from side to side, laid back and gritted my teeth (dentist will not be happy) until she finally stopped. And then we did the other side.

At the end of the procedure she said I could wipe my chest with the paper she had given me. It wasn’t enough so I used my robe and then I had to sit and wait until she went down the hallway to see the doctor.  This is when a woman could really use a drink. There are so many times when I have sat in that waiting room wondering how many of the women sitting in there with me have cancer. I hear statistics at times but honestly I don’t focus on them. I am lucky. I’ve never had to.

But some people are not so lucky.  Like the women I met while waiting to be called for my appointment. A mother and daughter made the trip every year together they told me.  Her mother had had a double mastectomy 24 years ago and two of her sisters had died from breast cancer so they made sure they never missed an appointment. Today they had the mother’s aide with them. The mother was 82 years old and lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.  She was originally from Italy and spoke mostly Italian. I nodded appropriately when she spoke to me in English, although I could barely understand her because her accent was so heavy.  Her daughter was lovely and did most of the talking. Apparently the family owned a store up where I live and they had been in business forever and had been written up in The New York Times. I promised to go there tomorrow and check it out.

It was so Moonstruck! I just saw it last week and I couldn’t help but laugh when she told me about the whole family owning the place. I said, “Do you always get along?” “Nah! We say what we have to say and then we move on.” I love Italians! If only all of us could do just that.

The daughter would turn to her mother and speak to her in Italian after she had spoken to me, relaying what I had just said to her. “They’re feeding the chickens too many chemicals.” The aide said. “My sister raises chickens in Delaware and she don’t give them none of that. People are tryin to make too much money and not thinking about the health of people.” We all nodded in agreement.

I learned all about their medical history, that the 82 year old woman lived in a five-story apartment building without an elevator and that her son was a wonderful man who married a horrible woman who only wanted a career and no children. Yikes! A real no if there ever was one with an Italian mother in-law. The daughter lived on Staten Island and had a daughter who was 16. They had already started looking at colleges. “$42,000.00 thousand dollars, if you can believe that!” She said to me, hands raised in the air.  

This is what women do. We tell each other our histories, exchange stories and information we would never tell to those that are closest to us and then say with the greatest of ease, “Have a nice day!”

Imagine how much more fun that exchange would have been with liquor! The elderly woman would have been dancing on the table, new hip and all, I just know it!



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