Intersections

We all know them, intersections where people meet, become friends, and sometimes family. I work in such a place. To some, it may seem a place of good food, a refuge where one can obtain a sweet, frozen treat on a hot day. To me, it is a place where I have found value again as a human, where I am needed, and I have found a new family there.

We are a unique bunch.

My Russia-obsessed comrade, who delights me with his knowledge of facts, and his wit, delightfully profound for someone so young. He is imposing in size, but sweet, and you know this if you look in his eyes. He's also good for moving heavy things, and sweet-talking an aging ice cream machine, or co-worker.

My youngest fan, who reminds me daily of how I struggled to become a woman, from a child, as I changed, and the world changed around me. A beautiful woman-child whose entire life lays before her. We must save the world, for her, and others like her. We owe it to them, this new generation of hopeful.

Our resident soccer player, who reminds me not to complain about my aging feet, as she stands tall on hers, once broken, now healing. A sweet girl, once too shy to speak to me, for she must have felt unworthy. She was wrong about this, for I am simply an older version of her. She has validated my worth, reminded me of how my contributions touch and touched others, at a time when I have nearly lost everything. In time, I have revealed my wounds to her, and it is in this way that we become real and human, to others.

The college bound high school graduate, who has restored my faith in the work ethic of the young. She wipes the counters clean, sweeps the colored decorettes (the official name for rainbow sprinkles),all the while dreaming of the days before her, as she charts the remainder of her life. She is uncertain, and while she may fail at times, she will grow from this, as we all do. I predict her successes will outweigh her failures, and she will open many a door with her beautiful smile and radiance.

The experienced twist maker, whose cones are perfect, far better than mine, who is patient as I learn the closing procedures, and soak myself with the evil sprayer in the dish washing sink. She will adapt to my bizarre sense of humor, and already I see myself in her, in her rare “Cat” moments.

The milkshake making man, the son of a single mom, who is proof that some men become good because they begin good. If your ice cream maker explodes, he is the man to call. Never stop smiling, or making me laugh. I so enjoy the hours I spend with you. Your “situations,” while heart-pounding, are manageable. I will always know to keep Bandaids on hand.

And then there is the walking work of art, tattooed, but more gentle than he'd admit, patient with my floundering, as I adjust to a new career, serving food to those happy, and those not. I am still searching for Abba's greatest hits for you, my friend. I promise it will be under your tree on Christmas morning.

And, our fearless leader, who is beautiful, even when she thinks she's not, and far more courageous than she knows. Our ringleader, a hero in my book, offering a job to a forgotten misfit, like me. She believes I am better than I think, in this time when I remain a bit broken by all that has come before. My scars are much likes hers. They are simply lines on a map of a journey that is our lives.

She knows this is a stop along the roadway, as I become what I have always known I would be.

Johnny Depp's wife.

Oh, right. We're talking about reality here.....

Okay. Okay.

I am a writer, a messenger, one destined to remind the world about joy in simplicity, and how tragedy, no matter how ugly, is sometimes beautiful in its aftermath. I accept how I differ from others, this unique, childlike woman who adores cats, dogs, the ocean, our walk-in cooler, and a perfectly made banana split.

While I have not become an overnight sensation, as I was once sure I'd be, when I was filled with optimism and vodka, I now realize how lucky I am.

Had I fast tracked to fame, I'd have missed this intersection and the opportunity to become part of this zany family, in the tiny building in upstate New York, part of a small miracle we call Big Dipper 2.

You should come see us. Our food is wonderful and, needless to say, so is our family.........

Plug us into your GPS. We're at 1167 Conklin Road, Conklin. You'll either end up with a great meal or frozen treat, or in the ghettos of Newark, New Jersey. Some GPS devices are tricky that way.

Just another manic Monday.....

So, here we are at Friday. And, with Friday in full bloom, I cannot help but reflect on Monday. Monday stunk, as Monday's often do, but with a little positive thinking, we can all have good Mondays. And, if I can say that, after the Monday I had this week, the rest of you have nothing to worry about.

You see, my Monday was Tuesday, proving Mondayitis is nothing more than a state of mind. This is a powerful truth. Ask anyone going back to work on Tuesday from a long weekend. Mondayitis is a result of the thoughts we put into the Universe about Monday.

So, my pseudo Monday, aka Tuesday, began like any other. The royal hounds deposited a veritable minefield in the front yard. The Queen Mother wobbled on her way to the kitchen, and grumbled about the sad state of affairs in the Universe, to which her daughter is in service, as its queen.

I took off in the Royal Chevy, with its broken gas gauge, destined for my fabulous job in the royal hamlet of Conklin. There are certain errors that are colossal, and create what is called an “epic fail,” and create an apocalyptic situation. What happened Tuesday morning was nothing less than absolute pandemonium. I ran out of gas at KAMIKAZEE CURVE. I failed to remember that the royal fleet needed to be refueled. And this isn't exactly and “oops”moment. This is an “are you out of your effing mind?” moment.

And, you Binghamtonians know the power of this error. Let me tell you, sitting on the shoulder at Kamikazee curve is the equivalent of the theme park ride from hell. You keep your hands and feet inside that ride, unless you want to lose them! Eighteen wheelers tear around the curve in a race to see who can get to Pennsylvania first. And let me tell you, you know when they've passed. The royal Chevy shook like Santa's belly, and your Queen just about crapped her royal knickers. And, as much as it pains me to speak of anything intestinal in this blog, I must. If you can run out of gas at Kamikazee curve, sit there for over thirty minutes, and arrive at work without needing clean underpants, you've got bowels of steel. Plain and simple.

Eat the burrito grande, because nothing can touch you!

So, I sat there, praying for my life, until my brother's car filled my rear view mirror. I had been saved! This man is my hero, and if I'm Queen of the Universe, this strapping (soon to be available) man is the Duke of Hillcrest. I have never been so happy to see another human being.

I finally arrived at work, grateful for the sheer pleasure of being alive, and thinking nothing else could touch me on this, the most powerful of pseudo Mondays.

I was wrong......

Check back to find out why..........

Being royally screwed.

So, like all world officials, sometimes the Queen of the Universe makes a cardinal mistake. I made such a faux pas last night, as I was looking ahead to what today might bring. I knew it would be one hell of a day, and I happened to say that out loud. Words are tough; it's hard to take them back once they're out there. If you doubt this, ask Mel Gibson, Rush Limbaugh, or even the notorious Anthony Weiner. You can't unring a bell, or unpost a picture of your weiner.

In my state of being royally exhausted, I slipped. I voiced, aloud, my fear that today might royally suck. And, as the Universe would have it, I am not left disappointed.

But, like all humans, those royal, and those not, I have the opportunity to redeem this day. And, I plan to do just that.

After all, why not?

I woke up on this side of the dirt, and that alone is an opportunity.

But, before I move to redemption, let me share with you, my loyal followers, exactly how I managed to screw myself royally. This should serve as a lesson to each of you. Be careful what you tell the universe, because it is always listening.

If you tread carefully, in your Jimmy Choos, certain you will step in dog shit, pack some paper towels, because, "step in dog shit," you will certainly do. You have, by the magnetism of the Universe, drawn the shit into the radius in which you plan to meander. Such is the law of attraction. Think of shit, worry about shit, step in shit. It's not a twelve step program, it's only three. Easier to remember, and it doesn't require you to hang out in a church basement that reeks of Mister Clean and old-lady perfume.

Disclaimer: The Queen of the Universe means no offense to those older red-hat-wearing divas. You ladies rock! Keep up the good work.

So, remember these three steps. Memorize them, and use them wisely. But, if you do step in shit, call me, email me, Facebook me, Twitter me, text me, mail me a letter, or stop by the royal palace. I've spent years picking up after the royal hounds. I have more methods for cleaning shit out of Choos than we have philandering senators.

Impressive. I know.

So, back to getting what I wanted. And, you all need to read this, take it in, process it, and treat it as gospel. If you tell the Universe you're going to have a bad day, you'll get exactly what you wanted. Because, it's what you asked for.

Exhibit A: Your Queen was up until about 4:00 AM, bawling royal tears. This isn't a royal thing, it's an estrogen thing. Sometimes the floodgates just open, and it's best to let it all out. I left no one disappointed. I sobbed until I couldn't breathe, and when I was done, I looked like hell, and felt fabulous. Then I did it. I said it, I thought it, and I was royally screwed. I said I was going to have a bad day.

And, I have.

The alarm rang at 8:00 AM. I dragged myself from my queen size bed and shuffled to the loo. I passed the mirror, and turned. It's true what they say, we can't just pass by a train wreck, we have to look. So, I looked into the mirror, through swollen eyes, and the thing I saw there grimaced. Trust me, it was frightening. It made Linda Pearl, in full Exorcist throttle, look like Miss America.

I spit up some pea soup, dragged myself into the shower, righted myself to where I wouldn't get busted for crimes against humanity, and left the safety of my temporary home to face the world.

That's pretty much when everything went to shit.

I might have broken the law. It wasn't intentional, but I knew I was doing something wrong, and in my state of royal desperation, and with only three hours of sleep under my belt, I made an error in judgment. On this, I will not elaborate. If I'm arrested, convicted, and thrown in my sister's pod - God forbid - we'll call the press to do an article, and then you'll know the details. For now, take my word for it. I almost landed my royal ass in the slammer.

And, just when I didn't think things could get worse - despite the fact that I'd asked for it - I noticed the car keys in the console of the Chevy Blazer - part of the royal fleet - and, of course, the doors were locked. Thank God for Roadside Assistance. If you're a royal idiot, like I am, get Roadside Assistance. Two three-minute calls, forty-five minutes of standing in the hot sun, one fully-equipped tow truck, and your Queen was mobile again. And, in the interest of saving time, I asked the guy if he was interested in putting the royal Chevy on the tow truck today. This way I don't have to call him again next week.

So, moral of the story, my minnions.... be careful what you ask for.

Surely, you will get it....