Another Year

Well it seems that the way I keep up with the passage of a new year is that once again Sandy refused to allow my presence at her place of employment's annual Christmas Party. It's not exactly like I've been excruciatingly bad; maybe 6 on a scale of 10, but that is fairly good for me. She let me accompany her to the Soap Babe's open house and I did pretty well until they told me that the Babe rented a Billy Goat to keep with the nanny goats, and maybe I did draw a little analogy to my own place in society, but hell it wasn't all that bad. We're all adults. A friend happened to mention that "It's easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission" and I suddenly had one of my infrequent revelations. That has been my mantra, since it seems someone is always begging me to ask for forgiveness. I think the old girls had a brunch today as well, and I think they deliberately time the occasion at 11:30 AM in the hopes that I won't happen to pop in. I've known these three friends of Sandy's for over 30 yeares and I'm still struggling for some common ground. There are probably inmates on death row that I could communicate with easier than these three former English teachers. I guess I made too much fun of them years ago when they were constantly pregnant, and wanted to talk about their babies. Regardless of that, I wander from my story of utter desolation. What other man has been banned from Holiday gatherings? I bet even Ernie Fletcher has probably gone to a couple of social soirees. I thought about some of this yesterday on my way home from Hyden, Kentucky. It seems that I can only get along with myself and sometimes even that is a struggle. I was leaving home the other morning and realized that as always I did not have any money in my possession. I did the honorable thing and shouted up the steps to Sandy, asking if she had any bills. She waltzed over the landing and nonchalently dropped a handful of tens and twenties into thin air. Being the realist that I am, I missed every bill and spent five minutes grovelling on my knees as I searched form them amongst furniture and flower arrangements. I think I know how the the French peasantry felt with Marie Antoinette gave her cake speech. Don't get me wrong--I stached those bills in my shirt, thinking how good that Large Coke was going to taste in less than five minutes. Speaking of Drive-up service, I always go and order my morning coke, and the little woman always asks me if I want two apple pies for a dollar and I always answer no. I'm afraid to go nasty with this woman because she holds the key to happiness in her hand. Someone once told me that while working in a restaurant the workers would put Murine in the drinks of rude people and this caused immediate diarrhea. Lord knows I've got enought trouble in my life without that. We were in New York a couple of weeks ago and Sandy and I were walking toward Sachs, and there was an expensive black leather boot lying on the sidewalk in the rain. Now I thought some young lady has partied too much and went home without her boot. Well on our way back we were on the opposite side of the street and came across the other boot about a block away. Now that would have been my kind of girl about 35 years ago. Not now though-have you ever priced ladies shoes in New York? One thing is certain: it wasn't one of those old previously mentioned English teachers hurling her black sexy boots in Mid Town. Did I just say that????? I'll be crying about ostracism this time next year. Olive brightened my day with Christmas gifts as she sent 6 or 7 tubes of castoff hand lotion that must have been molding under her bath vanity for the past two or three years. She didn't have the decency to clean the nasty tubes up. I asked her about this and she said my hands needed lotion since they're always chapped. I guess I'll go on construction sites smelling like Bath and Body Works Vanilla. Won't that create a memory?