Drainage Martinis

Winter will resume its frigid course tonight but we had a cooler, grayer version of yesterday in which to hope and act.  The garbage trucks were out in fleets today and I saw a sanitation inspector pull up to the curb of a neighboring brownstone, one of two derelicts left in a neighborhood whose gentrification has been gentrified several times over.  He was peeking in a box left on the curb, looking bleak, and I said, "You have a job now, with everything under the snow coming to light."  He laughed at what could only be laughable because the sidewalks and gutters were so despicable as the ice receded.  Later I noticed that Hicks Street, except for that house, had had a good cleaning up, and even that brownstone was slightly tidier than in the morning.

My action was to have a pedicure, sorely needed because my toenails were catching in the loose weave of one of my blankets.  Actually, I was verging on looking like a Chinese scholar when I took my socks of and got a good gander of what's been happening since Christmas.  I'd intended to just get them hacked off and maybe varnished but a dog had cancelled, I had 600 pages of Hans Küng in hand, so I went for some frosting that is exactly the shade of slightly too-strong Crystal Light Fruit Punch.  (God, I love fruit punch.  Send over some fruit punch, onion rings and a lotta ketchup, wouldja?)

I'm quite proud of myself even though I was so anxious that I forgot to look at the name of the polish, which is half the attraction.  For a while, when I was a Worker Bee, I wore a color called Pepperoni.  It was a good color but it was always a joke when I went it and got re-colored.

Coming home, a man was hacking up ice and sending it skittering to the drains on either side of Love Lane.  He was really whammin' and I laughed and said, "Die!  Die you dirty evil ice and never resurrect yourself again!"  He grinned and said he liked the way I think but I couldn't help looking at these chunks of ice on the grates and thinking of a nearby sushi restaurant that advertises "Tuna Martinis".  Bafflement and repugnance vie every time I walk by.  It seemed to me my neighbor was making Spring Martinis, on the rocks.  Talk about asking for cirrhosis...

Getting that pedicure was a big deal.  Getting my toes dyed was an even bigger deal.  The only person who'll see them while in good condition is me.  I don't expect flip-flops for a good five weeks.

Speaking of drainage, I'm in charge of Emmett, the paranoid schizo-affective for a number of days.  I have noticed that the more highstrung a dog is, the more he pees.  Emmett is about every two standing or stationary objects.  The other thing about schiz-boy is that he looks behind him.

Daisy isn't exactly easy-going on the street.  In fact, she is Joan Rivers with Tourette's Syndrome set on speed dial for suspicion.  But once I get her behind a car (a joke with other walkers when they see me pause behind a car as they pass on the sidewalk with their crews: "What dogs?  I don' see any dogs, do you?") it can be her worst enemy and it's sight out of mind.  If we can't make a get-away, I cinch her to my side and once the dog passes that's it.  End of wackiness.  Not so with Emmett.  He hums, turns back, walks on a forward diagonal of paranoia, whimpers, has to pee on everything, and bounces around like Tigger.

Unlike the jackal who broke my face, however, I can put Emmett on a gentle leader without getting puncture wounds and I can control him well with it.  The worst is that Daisy, who talks for the sake of talking and has never heard of an indoor voice, gets him all riled up and out of control.

Three months out from the pub date of Love Sick.  My agent, editor and publicist need to have a conference call.  Some things my publisher didn't do for me with Angry Fat Girls really hurt my feelings.  I'm saving money to publicize and wonder if I should pull a Joe Kennedy and buy all the copies I can afford.  I wonder if I'm welcome in Seattle and, more importantly, Missoula, or if my publisher can set up signings.

This is a little bit of revenge for me because I've learned a lot from working for the Other Side of My Life. 

Today I went through all the posting sites and copied them down as places to try to get the book a mention.  I need to sit down with someone and brainstorm what I can do, which will essentially tie me to the same places and actions as I do the other half of the day as Dr. Jekyll.  But at least I have some skills, some specific things and places to try, some requests I won't back off on.  I decided, walking home from being declawed, that I might send a free copy of Love Sick to each person who shows a recent proof of purchase for buying Eating Ice Cream with My Dog.  A win-win, albeit an expensive one.  And I have an idea for a web `zine column I need to muster the courage for, which also means reviving my Psychology Today presence.  I'm turning into My Other Self, into Mr. Hyde, but at least it's in my own service.

Anybody got any ideas?

This blog is brought to you by rain.  Had Daisy not been wet when we came in from our walk, I'd have gone back to bed to wallow in the dread of the last season of House.