Leave Me Alone!

I can always tell when I get up on the wrong side of the Memory Foam and this weekend was no exception.


I woke up wanting to be left alone.

I was loaded with an extra dose of PMS infused snark and nobody need bother me. I showered and put on my rebel outfit (no bra) and left for the coffee shop. Any guy who stared down my nipples I wanted to flip off and it felt good.

I’m at one of those nasty crossroads in my life when everyone either pisses me off on a regular basis, or I just want to hate but can’t because they are too damn good looking.

This weekend was not the weekend to get a call from my “potato-salad- eating- spray- on nylons- in- a- can- skin- tag- infested- hair- on- my- face ex-mother-in-law” either.


I want to be left alone.

The last time I saw Lillian, I was privy to overhear her wicked remarks through a closed door after paying $900 to fly her alcoholic ass to darken my doorway in the first place...then try making a beautiful pancake breakfast for her the next day, complete with a light dusting of powdered sugar, strawberry’s, a perfect cheese omelet with an orange garnish while smiling.

I deserved a damn Oscar.

I sort of regret the spit thing though.

When I feel like this I know I need to depart town and swiftly. "I need to get away" I say. My friend curls her lip and says… “OMG…. you just got back from NYC…!!!

“That was work” I snap as I stir my giant mug of coffee shop tea. Bagged crap tea. I own a tea company and I drink others junk. Whats up with this? I stair into my mug...this is like drinking wine from a box and calling it a wine collection. Bagged tea is dust from the floor. I saw the film so it must be true.

I am pissed about tea today.

I know what I need to do. The ocean. Now. I need to load my car and drive 3 hours due East until I see water and old men in ass floss. I need 12 Zone Bars, Diet Coke, my laptop, yoga clothes, i-pod and scads of Kleenex.

Crying. There will be tons of it..

It happens at any moment these days and for no apparent reason.....or when I am feeling sorry for myself. I cry while walking, eating, reading in public, on fountains ledges, on airplanes, in car ramps, at Target, the vet, doing laundry, yoga, writing, driving (real bad there) while peeing (maybe it’s the water sound that triggers it) and at the dentist while watching the fish in the scummy lobby fish tank next to a pile of Lego's.

I cried last week on a subway in NYC, from Grand Centeral to Columbia station.... and was horrified to see some guy is sketching me. He puts his hand up when he discovers he is caught and says “Please, continue, you are beautiful….”

I will no doubt run into this sketch of me crying as a astounding watercolor when I am 50, hanging In some art gallery in Manhattan entitled “Sybil Rides the Subway.” It will win scads of awards and a postage stamp will be created after me in honor of all pre-menopausal 40 year old women suffering hormonal shifts world wide.

I will then try to prove it was me in the picture, and how I deserve some of the money. By then I will have undergone another one of my transformations and nobody will believe it is me because I will probably have hacked my hair short or dyed it black.

I love to cry in hotels best because nobody knows me, and I can get it all out.. and when I pay $300+ a night I can do what I damn well please. I cried last week when I heard the girl in the room next to mine, screaming with body smacking pleasure with cocoa -the- pool boytoy, shrieking and yelling.." hurt me-yes-there-oh Gawd-don’t stop..oh….. God….. I’m coming-yes-oh gawwwwd…spank ..yeessssss, yessss…yessssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I want this. I hate her.

As fate will have it, I ran into her all weekend in the elevator. She has great shoes and smells good. By night three I wanted to crash through the damn sheet rock and watch what the hell she does to get this sort of hot and sticky consideration.

I cried at Rockefeller Center, fifth Ave and at The Gap, sat in bed later in my underwear and socks wallowing in self pity while eating a bowl of cold chicken noodle soup from the 24 hour deli next door. I watched FOX News and cried, drank wine and cried, Did 100 sit-ups and cried, until the pleasure couple next to me begin to bang on my wall to shut up already.

Apparently I was disrupting them with my sobbing and honking.

Never mind that I may be in the midst of a violent gang rape; although you may not hear me complaining about this after the through-the-wall-foreplay I was so cruelly made subject to all weekend, or I could have been drowning in the bathtub.

Noisily.

I bang back and start to moan and rock the headboard in simulated raw sex. They suck.

I smiled and went to bed.

I will get over my sobbing sessions, I will change my hair, I will change my life, goals, outlook, and decorating styles a zillion times I am sure….but for now people, just leave me alone.