Buddy, Dawn, Howard, Me.
October 11, 2008
It’s wonderful that my friend, Buddy Cianci, comes to see me perform at The Sidebar, with his beautiful girlfriend, Dawn. I like to have my picture taken with celebrities, don’t you? It makes me feel special. And make no mistake: Buddy is a celebrity. Of course, my dog, Howard is very well known.He is welcome in every home, theater, restaurant, doctor’s office, in town, except Down City Diner. Some people have no sense of humor, worse yet, they suffer from a condition I call “over-earnestness.” Let me explain something to you. Howard is a service animal. What service does he perform? Emotional support. I have the papers to prove it. It is a federal offense to deny me entrance into any public establishment. My doctor told me to call the police if I am ever turned away from a bowling alley or YMCA, pizza joint or tattoo parlor. Thanks to the Americans With Disabilities Act of 1998, I am able to be with Howard 24 hours a day. I kid about Howard. I tell people his service vest is a joke, because it started out as a joke. But after a year or two I began to depend on Howard in stressful situations, i.e. any situation happening outside my bedroom door. When I lost my mother, Howard was with me, in the hospice. He was with me, also, when friends, lovers, employers and family relations abandoned or betrayed me. Howard is my constant. For this middle aged, lonely woman, Howard is a comfort and a life-saver. You see the photograph. Buddy is with a blonde. I am also with a blonde. If you can’t beat em, join em…..
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There is somebody in my house in Vermont. A nice man is renting my house and I am thrilled because that man is renting my house and sending me money so that I can rent an apartment in Providence. Now, wait a minute. Does this make sense? I thought so, a few weeks ago, when I was working here, singing, planning, organizing, hob-knobbing, but as of today, as I lugged a bunch of my crap up two flights of stairs on the East Side, all the while knowing I would have to lug the crap back down the two flights of stairs a few months from now— as of today, I thought to myself, “Gee, I don’t feel very good in my head” I sat on the stairs, dirty stairs, very dirty, and considered my situation. I blamed the town of Bridport , Vermont, for not having a Dunkin Donut’s or a Cafe, a bar or a nightclub, a college, tennis courts, health club, movie theater. Then I blamed myself for wanting those things. Then I blamed myself for having those things here in Providence and not taking advantage of them because I like staying home and reading in bed. Now, if I like staying home and reading in bed, why don’t I just move back to my own home, in Bridport, and wait out the winter with Charles Dickens and Mark Twain? Now that I have rented my house, I miss it. It is not available. That is why I was so sad today, moving into what I thought was a nice apartment on the East Side. It is somebody elses house and always will be, no matter how many knick knacks, rugs, paintings, books, personal items I stuff into it. Renting makes me feel insecure, more insecure than worrying about how to pay my property tax. It’s silly, because none of us own anything fully. Still, sombody is in MY house and i am in somebody else’s house, and it’s ridiculous in a way that I can’t quite comprehend and it is making me very very sad.