My weenie is fried

“I wish I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner.”


“You are a weiner, Wolf. You have a weenie head brain, and your dysfunctional brain is weenied beyond control.”


“Start spreading the news.  New York New York!”


“I see that your Monday was not what you anticipated.  You are off on some offbeat tangent again.”


“My weenie got obliterated, Minnie.  I was out in space, like a rocket man, burning out my fuse out there alone.”


“What the hell happened?”


“It started out as a normal Monday, I was demure, floating on a cloud, and totally in control  Then it began slip sliding away.”


“At what point?”


“Oh, not until 8:10 or so. It was downhill from there. And the slide was steep, hazardous and fatal.  At 5 o’clock, my weenie was fried.”


“So your weenie died?”


“Death is like that Minnie,  a slow downward spiral, a loss of youth and expectations, the last dance, the final blow.”


“So who killed your weenie?”


“Customers.  They dipped my weenie in ranch dressing, and ate it for lunch.”


“That must have been painful.”


“Yeah.  Now I have to go to work tomorrow, with no weenie.”


“Geez, how are you going to deal with the challenges of tomorrow, weenieless?”


“Have no fear, Minnie.  I resolve to fight the battles with the beasts, with the help from my friends.  Don’t stop believing!”


“Wait.  An aging weenieless woman?  How will help from your friends get you through the day?”


“Friend?  Don’t take her, she’s all I’ve got.”


“Please! No country western b.s.  Are you shameless?”


“Yes. I love a rainy night, I am no stranger to the rain, and rainy days and Tuesdays always get me down.”


“Hey, not Tuesdays.  It’s Mondays that get you down.”


“That it  is, Minnie.  And for another week, Monday has left the building,”


“Are you looking forward to tomorrow, Wolf?”


“Yes,  I am taking the long way home.  They say the neon lights are brighter on broadway.”


“But what if it rains?”


“The sun will come out tomorrow. I will see birds of blue, red roses too.”


“But… but… your weenie?”


“Oh that damn weenie, nothing but a pin ball wizard, a shooting star.  Don’t worry, Minnie.  I never fear the reefer.”





I can’t wait for a miserable Monday

“I don’t want to do it.  I just can’t do it.  Not in a snowball’s chance in hell will I do it.”


“What in the world are you ranting about now, Wolf?”


“You know very well what I am talking about.  I can’t, I won’t and I have made my final decision.  Not gonna happen.”


“Guessing game again?  Ok, let’s see:  take out the garbage?”


“No, but I’m not doing that either.”


“Mow the lawn?”


“No, I am hoping that an elephant comes by and eats it.”


“Iron your clothes?”


“Iron?  Hell, Minnie.  What’s that?   I only wear wrinkled clothes to match my body.”


“All right.  I get it.  You won’t change the kitty litter.”


“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.”


“Hmmmm.  You aren’t playing candy crush anymore?”


“Please don’t mention that horrible game to me.  It is fixed.  You can’t destroy a dozen ticking bombs and keep your sanity, within 4 seconds.  It’s driving me crazy.   I am quitting that game, along with one other thing.”




“Don’t be an ass, Minnie.  My job, you idiot!  I can’t go in tomorrow.”


“Why not?”


“That job is driving me to drink.”


“Hold that thought.  If you aren’t quitting drinking, then the job could be a blessing.”


“Whaaaaa?  Hmmm.  I hate to agree with you, but you could be right.  I guess I might have to reconsider and go in tomorrow.”


“You know, Wolf, it’s the same old tired story every Sunday night.  The kicking, the screaming, the gnashing of the teeth, and then your thoughts turn to margaritas and you can’t wait to have a miserable Monday.”


“Thanks, Minnie, for putting things in perspective.   You know,  the more miserable tomorrow will be, the happier I will be, at 5 o’clock.”


“It’s so nice to see you think positive thoughts.”


“It’s not me, Minnie.  It’s what they call it, every night.”




“Happy hour.”





Fighting on the job

“How long does it take to recuperate from a week in hell, Minnie?”


“Don’t tell me it was that bad!”


“Worse.  Even the devil felt sorry for me. He said I had done my tour of duty and kicked me out.  He hates pitiful old bags.”


“If it was as terrible as you say, I am surprised you are still employed.”


“Who knows?  I may go to work Monday and find empty boxes outside my cube.  That is, if my badge still works, and I get in.”


“Empty boxes?”


“The kiss of death, Minnie.  Empty boxes are the precursor to doom and misfortune.  An empty box is suspiciously obvious.  Time to pack up and move out.”


“And the reason for your demise?”


“Simple:  I am a hosed up idiot.”


“Hell, that’s nothing new.  What’s the real reason?”


“My competency is seriously questionable.  And, I beat the crap out of Oscar.”


“Quit picking on Oscar.  She has not been feeling well.”


“Yeah, she says she has that Arthur disease.”


“What’s that?”


“Arthuritis.  Her head is messed up.  She sits at her desk and her head is hanging by a thread.”


“Oh for crazy.”


“And then I beat the crap out of Beaver, for taking Friday off.”


“No wonder you are getting canned.”


“Wait!  Then I beat the crap out of E for flirting with the Birdman and the Wizard of Oz.”


“Anyone else?’


“Yes, I beat the crap out of Carl when he refused to wear his baseball uniform to the office, and for bragging about frozen willies.”


“At least you spared Snow.”


“Snow?  I beat the crap out of Snow for having a name like Snow.  I am tired of winter.”


“I bet you didn’t dare beat the crap out of Pat.”


“Oh yes, I did.  She is way too happy these days. She walks around with glazed eyes and glowing cheeks.  There is nothing more annoying than seeing a happy person at work.”


“Well, it sounds like you are history, Wolf. You know better than to pick fights with your co-workers.  That is strictly against company policy.”


“I don’t think so.  Nobody is going to admit that a worn out old Ho beat the crap out of them.”


“So you are beating the rap?”


“Yeah.  You see, Minnie, that’s one of the few advantages of being ancient.  Who would believe them?”




Blaze of glory

“Looking back on your life, Wolf, what do you remember?”


“Please, Minnie.  There are so many memories. How do I begin?”


“Just recall those special moments.”


“I had a curly perm at age 5.  It was an abomination.  I had to go to school with that ridiculous hair do.  I hated it so much, I let the perm grow out, and went straight.”


“A hair do is a special memory?”


“Hold your horses, girl.  I was the 3rd girl in the family.  I got all the hand me downs.  Do you know how pitiful it is to wear your older sisters’ clothes? I was out dated before I was 10 years old.”


“What then?”


“I was a brainy child, Minnie.  I was smarter than your average 5th grader, so the teachers advised that I skip a grade.  I did, and was miserable.  There I was at 9 years old, wearing those damn old hand me downs, competing with the older crowd, and skinny as a rail.  I decided to retreat into music and practiced playing the oboe 8 hours a day.  The neighbors thought that we were raising ruptured ducks. Then I got the axe.  Back to the 5th grade.  “She is too small, doesn’t fit in, we should never have allowed her to skip.”


“Other than your childhood, can you recall anything more memorable?”


“In high school, I was nominated to be a candidate for the queen of homecoming.  I was astounded.  No way!  I declined.  I said, “I am honored that you have selected me to be a candidate, but I am a musician, first and foremost, and I regretfully must decline this nomination.  I have to play in the orchestra, the band and the symphony.”


“What was the real reason, Wolf?”


“I had no boobs.  How could I wear a homecoming gown? Besides, my family had no money. They couldn’t afford a queen’s gown.”


“Yeah, Ok.  So you made it through high school.  Then what?”


“Wait.  I started working, at 16.  I went to college, continued working, bought all kinds of clothes.  No more second hand clothes.  I got married.  My aunts were disgusted. They had wanted me to be a nun.  I was determined to make my career a success.. I rose up the corporate ladder, moved 8 times, across the country, and began to hate my job.  I finally quit:  My marriage, my job, and my life turned upside down.”




“And?  I retired at 48, traveled, got remarried, enjoyed life, and then the economy went beserk.”


“Retired?  You are still working, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.  I found a new job, struggled to survive, and here I am, 14 years later, still married, still struggling, and still working.”


“Sounds like your life has been full of ups and downs.  Aren’t you tired of it all?”


“Tired?  I am tired every night when I get home.  I think to myself:  You are getting old, girl.  You really should take it easy, leave the working world and let the young crowd suffer through the daily miseries. But I just can’t bring myself to that, Minnie.”


“Why not?”


“Because when I think of myself, I am still the 5 year old with the perm, the 9 year old who skipped a year in school, the oboist who wowed the music crowd, the wife who watched her first husband die, and the corporate woman who finally said enough is enough.  I am happy now, Minnie. I am only responsible for me.  I don’t have to move, to supervise others or to put on a mask.  And I don’t have to wear hand me downs.”


“And your job?”


“It is a wild one, Minnie, to be sure.  But I still love it.  And when I don’t, then I will move on.”


“To what?”


“To my dream job.”




“Quality control on a marijuana farm.”


“I don’t get it.  After all you have been through, you are dreaming about a pot farm?”


“Yeah.  Dreaming.  You know what they say, don’t you? Life is either a daring adventure or it is nothing.”


“At your age?  Get real, Wolf.  We should just kick back and let life pass.”


“Pass, my ass.  When I go out, I will be on the road again, rolling a joint, listening to Pink Floyd, and picking up pups.”


“What the hell?”


“I am a cougar, Minnie.  And in the spirit  of cougarism,  I intend to uphold our sacred oath:  To go out in a blaze of glory.  Oh, by the way: Hey you cougars:  Mark your calendars:  May 2.  Margarita time!  See you there!”



The movie never ends

“I think the last straw just broke the camel’s back.”


“How insightful, Wolf.  May I ask?  What was the straw and who is the camel?”


“I am the camel, Minnie, the egg man, koo koo ka choo, and the werewolf of London. My hair is perfect.”


“Were you in SoHo looking for a Chinese restaurant?”


“No, I decided to ramble and by the time I get to Phoenix, you will be a toasted marshmallow.  I have had it, Minnie.  The time has come for all good men to come to the aid of the party.”


“Ok, another bad day.  I get it. You took the sword, once again.  You laid on your back in the middle of the warehouse and bled.  Did anyone notice?”


“No. That’s just it. I am the albatross, the monkey on your back, the straw laden donkey, the ass of all asses.  I laid in the dumpster and got squashed in the compactor. And the worst thing, it is only Thursday.”


“Settle down, Wolf.  Tomorrow has to be better.”


“You don’t realize, Minnie.  The straw is growing.  It is hovering over my desk. Have you ever seen the straw coming down on a sunny day?”


“In times like this, Wolf, you need to take a mental vacation. Escape from reality.  Do something wild and crazy. Buy a horse.  Ride a cowboy.  Quit your job. Move to California, where the leaves are brown and the pot is green.”


“I can’t Minnie.  I am an 80 year old virgin.  I have a stamp on my forehead that says extra extra extra virgin olive oil.”


“May I ask?  Was it ladies night tonight, at the pub?”


“I thought you’d never ask.  3 dollar margaritas.  This EEEOO was in the spotlight, losing my sanity. Then I retreated to the corner and lost my virginity.”


“Oh for crazy.”


“But it was just a dream, just a dream.”


“Are you ok, Wolf?”


“Oh yeah.  Tomorrow’s Friday.  Everyone loves that movie.”




“The Friday movie, it goes on and on and on and on.”


“I don’t think I know that movie.  Is it a good one?”


“Yeah.  Playing albatross again.  Me on the stage. Playing star again.  Turn the page.”




Roll over Rover

“I took a break today and watched the landscapers shoveling and digging and mowing, and I marveled at their strength and endurance.  They didn’t even look tired, Minnie.  And then I dragged my fat ass back into work, sat at my desk, took the bullet for late orders, and when it was quitting time, I crawled toward the door, on all fours, barking and wagging my tail.”


“Did anyone throw you a bone?”


“Shut up Minnie.  This is a perplexing situation.  Why am I so tired, after an 8 hour day in customer service?  Something just ain’t right.”


“Then quit.  And try landscaping.  You wouldn’t last 10  minutes.”


“That is not the point, you idiot.  The landscapers think I have a cushy job.  So do the workers in the warehouse.  They think I sit around all day, munch on fritos, drink coffee, and schmooz with the customers.  They cannot understand why I look tired, haggard, and defeated.  What is it about this job that is taking its toll on me?  I come home at night, and can’t do a damn thing except gaze into space and drink beer.”


“You do have that glazed look, Wolf, very much like a dunkin doughnut.”


“This is not a joking matter, Minnie.  Today, I received some very nasty emails, accusing me of not communicating, not responding, and letting things slide.  Now, a normal person would get their dander up and fight those false accusations, but not me.  I get tired of the emails going back and forth:  I didn’t do it.  It wasn’t my fault.  Your instructions were crap.  It was your mistake.  So I bit the bullet and took the fall.  The only thing I didn’t do was ask for a crown of thorns and nails.”


“Ok.  So, you are the new martyr in town.  And then what?”


“Nothing.  No more emails.  No more pushing back. Nothing.  The silence of the lambs.  The head hunters scalped me and put my skull on the barbecue pit.  And backed off.”


“Hey, you may have found the secret to success.  Take the sword.  Kiss their rings.  Fall on your knees.  Oh hear, the angel voices!”


“Sure. Make fun of me, barking on all fours, crawling out the door, haggard and worn.”


“And when you drove home, did you manage to stop for a refreshing beverage?  No, wait.  When you stopped for a beverage, did you crawl through the bar room door?”


“No, of course not.  I walked proudly through the door, to greet all the other losers of the world, and toasted to our miserable existence.”


“I pity the bartender.”


“Don’t.  She understands us.  When we left, she threw each of us a milk bone.”



Not for nothing

“I see you are writing again, eh, Wolf?”


“I need to write, Minnie.  I need to express these pent up feelings, these world class ideas, these meaningful memoires of my esteemed life.”


“Not for nothing…. but…”


“Quit saying that Minnie.  Only New Yorkers say not for nothing.”


“Ok smartie pants, what else do New Yorkers say?”


“Knock it off, Minnie.  New Yorkers exaggerate up their asses.  And they hate losing an argument. They live to argue.  They have a deep seated desire to win, to be right, to beat you to a mental bloody pulp.  That’s why I love New Yorkers.”


“I prefer Iowans.  They are gentle, kind, giving and friendly.  They don’t care if they win an argument or a softball game.  They congratulate the winners and they would rather agree with you than to argue.”


“What about Californians?  Laid back, carefree, anything goes, liberal, easy going.  They worship the sun and the ocean.  And they cannot for the life of them understand New Yorkers or Iowans.”


“Then there are the Texans:  Independent, conservative, gun toting, hard living, and proud.  As they say, everything’s bigger in Texas.”


“So here we are in Pennsylvania. What have we got that’s so special or unique?”


“History, Minnie, from the liberty bell, to Gettysburg, the Amish, the steel mills, the coal mines and the poconos.  And some of the greatest scenery in the world. There isn’t a better place to live.”


“Better than your birthplace of Minnesota?”


“Don’t get me wrong, Minnie.  I love Minnesota, almost as much as I love Texas, Iowa, New York and California.  However, the weather…..well, it’s just too damn cold.”


“Come on. What’s the real reason?”


“Those damn Vikings.  They just can’t win a super bowl.”





“I think I will quit dying my hair, Wolf.”

“Figures.  In this day and age, hair color is the fad. Why the change of heart?”

“I am tired of going to the salon every 3 weeks and getting the blues.”

“Why don’t you go with the dreaded shoe polish look, Minnie?  The black angus, the bingo player’s remorse, the black hole?  Now that your face is disappearing, black is back.”

“I think I will take the lazy woman’s out and be like you:  the dead mouse sitting on top of an abandoned bird’s nest.”

“Hold that thought Minnie.  I happen to like grey hair.  I don’t have to pretend like I am thirty years old, I don’t have to long for my youth, I don’t have to give a damn if anyone likes it or not.  Old age is glorious, in some respects.  After all, who desires an old bag?  Who cares if her hair is yellow, purple or white?  A rose is a rose is a rose.”

“Are you saying that I have lost my sex appeal?  How dare you.  I happen to be a sexually active 70 year old.”

“Sex has nothing to do with hair color, you idiot.  In the dark, your hair is still blue.”

“Don’t you care if you look old, Wolf?  Have you lost your drive?  Are you giving up?  What happened to your pride?  How can you ignore the fact that only those who look young will rule the world?”

“I’m not looking to rule the world.  My wish is to give the world a gift:  Me.”

“Nobody wants an old lady as a gift.  Get with it, Wolf.  You are bombing out. You have reached the age when you are invisible, a non entity, a has been,  a strange old bag with a penchant for craziness.”

“Wow. Thanks Minnie.  That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.”


“I always wondered why people gravitate towards me.  It must be my undeniable zest for life, in spite of my age.  Or it could be something else, I guess.”

“Like what?  Your grey hair and wrinkles?”

“No. It’s just that I gravitate towards others.  And I truly enjoy all those I meet.  Who cares how old I am?  Or how grey my hair is?  I find everyone fascinating.  And I never, ever, lose an opportunity to tell them how they enrich my life.”

“Here you go again, grandstanding.  I am asking you if I should stay blue or go grey and you turn the question into a thesis on relationships.  Who do you think you are, anyway?”

“A grey haired, aging, nincompoop, Minnie, with wrinkles and no face. I get up in the morning, put a smile on my face and do what I have to do, to survive.  The girls at work say I will die at my desk.  They ask me if there isn’t something more to life than working, hoping they don’t end up like me.  But ending up like me isn’t all that bad, is it?”

“Why do you do it Wolf?”

“Because, Minnie, because.”


Snoring and other oddities

“What causes snoring, Wolf?”

“I wouldn’t know.  I never snore.”

“Ha!! Are you kidding?  I heard you this morning and swore there was either an elephant loose in the house or a tornado was on the way.”

“Shut up Minnie.  Did you know that you snort when you laugh?  Such a tasteless habit.  And you are awake when you do it.  At least, if I snore, which I don’t, I am not conscious when I do it.”

“You are rarely conscious, Wolf.  And while you are so rudely pointing out my habits, it sickens me when you eat soup.  You slurp.”

“It’s better than blowing on my food.  You think that blowing on a hot potato is going to cool it down?  If anything, with all your hot air, the damn thing will start boiling again.”

“What’s really annoying is when you take a sip of wine.  You hold the wine in your mouth for several seconds before swallowing.  What’s that all about?”

“You wouldn’t understand, Minnie.  You are not a connoisseur of fine wines.  Wine is for classy people.”

“And another thing:  Why do you torture the cat?  You are always picking her up and holding her above your head, while she squirms and thrashes and shows her claws.  Don’t you know that she doesn’t like that?”

“What gives you that idea? Did the cat tell you?”
“Sometimes I wonder why we are friends, Wolf.  You irritate the hell out of me.”

“Ditto, Minnie.  It’s no wonder I drink.”

“I am going for a walk.  I need to get some fresh air and get the heck away from you.”

“Hey, can I go with you?  We could walk to the dairy queen and get a hot fudge sundae.  My treat.”

“Yeah, ok, I guess.”

“But you have to promise not to blow on the hot fudge.”


Control freak

“What are we doing tonight, Wolf?”

“Why are you asking me?  I don’t decide what we do.”


“The hell you don’t.  You always call the shots.”


“Not you too, Minnie.”




“Just like Oscar.  She accused me of being a control freak.”


“What brought that on?”


“I called her a control freak first, and then, being the ultimate copy cat, she told me I was the freak.”


“She got the freak part right.  Do you really think Pat is a controller?”


“She claims that all customer service reps are control freaks.  She claims it’s the inherent nature of the job.”


“Do you believe that?”


“Yes.  No. Well, maybe.  I listened to my co-workers as they were working, and yes, they definitely are.  But not me.”


“Then what are you?”


“A collaborator, a negotiator, an arbitrator and a bitch.”


“You forgot manipulator and instigator.”


“No, I didn’t.  You constantly butt in while I am talking.  I wasn’t through, when you rudely interrupted me.”


“Come on Wolf.  You are the biggest control freak on earth.  The only thing you can’t control is your drinking.”


“Shut up, Minnie.  Don’t you realize that today is a national holiday?  We should be happy, carefree, giggling and eating our asses off.”


“What holiday?  Don’t change the subject.”


“It’s 420 Minnie.  My favorite holiday.”


“Oh for Pete’s sake, not that weed thing again.”


“Go ahead.  Laugh about it, but it’s coming.”


“You think the president will declare a national weed holiday?  You are nuts.”


“If he really cares about the rising costs of prescriptions, he will.  Weed is cheap, easy to grow and is a great healer.  It’s the drug companies who don’t want it.  Hell, no one would buy any pills.”


“Why don’t you run for office and legalize it then?”


“I think I might get elected, Minnie.  My campaign would be smoking, so to speak.  I would save the country millions in prescriptions, encourage gardening, cure the sick,  and bring laughter back into our lives.”


“So, are you thinking of running for congress?  or what?”


“Hell, no.  I am calling the white house now.  I need to talk to the president.”


“About what?”


“About his next appointment.  I can see it now:  Wolf Buttafucco,  the new director of HGP.”


“What’s that?”


“Home grown pot.”