My damn hand

“I hate it when I eat too much.”


“I noticed you were really into the groceries today, Wolf.”



“Thanks for sharing that, Minnie.  Now, I think I need to take a nap.  So buzz off.”



“If you do that, your rhythms will be shot, and your sleeping pattern will get hosed up.  Besides, it isn’t healthy to eat like an elephant and then go to bed.  The food will lay around in your stomach and blow you the hell up.”


“I am already blown up.  My only fear is that when I fall asleep, that enormous spaghetti dinner will weigh me down like a lead balloon, and I will be bed ridden the rest of my life.”


“How many times have I heard you say that you will never, again, eat like a maniac?  And it just keeps happening.”


“It’s my damn hand, Minnie.  I see it going for a fork and I try to slap it down, but it has a mind of its own.  There should be a law against those forks.”


“Oh for crazy.”


“Don’t even mention eating this weekend.  I am not shopping, I am not cooking and I am not eating.”


“What about our Labor Day picnic?  I suppose you will sit around on Monday and whine.”


“Exactly.  That is what I intend to do, sit around and wine.”


“You’re supposed to bring a dessert or fruit.”


“I am bringing a grape concoction. Quite tasty and no fork needed.”


“Hmmm.  That sounds interesting.  How did you come up with this idea?  Is this something you have tasted before?”


“On occasion, yes I have.”


“I guess that means you won’t be giving up food, after all.”


“Get the fork out, Minnie.  By the way, Happy Labor day weekend.”






“Good week?  Bad week?”


“No, Minnie.  Ugly week.”


“Care to recap?”


“May I pass on that?  It isn’t worth recapping.  I would prefer to focus on my present state of mind.  I am out of there.  I am off for 3 days.  Monday is Labor day, the day that celebrates the working world.”


“Just how many workers really reflect on Labor Day as the day to celebrate working?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.  All I know is, Monday is a day off.  And it’s about time.  I quit my job.”




“Yup.  At least 5 times today, I quit.”


“Wow. So today was your last day of work?”


“Not exactly. I have to show up Tuesday or I won’t get paid for Monday.

“What are you going to do, now that you quit?  Do you have to show up on Wednesday?”

“Of course I do. I have to show up for the next 5 years, or I won’t get social security.”

“Ok.  So you have to work for another 5 ugly years.  Is it worth it?”


“I don’t know, Minnie. This job is driving me to drink.”


“That settles it.  The uglier the week, the more you like it.”


“Hey, Minnie, you got that right. I hope the next 5 years are horribly ugly.  Cheers!”



Going to the dogs

“No one can write a blog every night of the week.  Writing a blog is like having an ice cream cone, and when you are not looking, the ice cream falls to the ground, and the dog eats it.”

“Who are you talking to, Wolf?  Yourself?  Again? And what’s with the dog?  You don’t have a dog.”

“Dogs sniff out ice cream, Minnie.  They can smell a fallen cone a mile away.  A pack of dogs came running when I dropped my last cone, and after they devoured it, they waited for the next disaster.”

“Much like your blog, eh?  The dogs wait for the next fallen cone, and when it drops, only the rabid dogs enjoy the spoils.”

“Even the rabid get tired of the same old ice cream, Minnie.  Variety is, indeed, the spice of the rabid.”

“Haven’t you learned your lesson, Wolf?  We are in the new age.  Nobody wants to read anymore. They want outrageous visuals and continuous entertainment.  You are competing with the masters of instant replays and viral u tubes.  Who cares what you did today?  Who really wants to read about a wolf named banana?”

“Yeah.  Maybe I will change my venue to recipes. People love to eat, even if they don’t like to read.  I think I will devote tonight with an amazing recipe.”

“Go for it.”

“How’s this?”

Have you looked in your food closet lately? I bet you have the ingredients to make a fabulous dinner.  And you can make it in just a few minutes.  Open those cans of caviar and spread on a plate.  Raid your freezer and boil the water to cook those lobsters.  And dig around until you find those packages of jello.”

“What the hell?”

“Wait.  I am not finished.  Get the vodka out of the liquor cabinet,  Make those jello shots, and throw 5 or 6 of them down.  By now, the caviar will be shriveled up.  Throw it out.  The lobsters will be tough and overcooked.  Discard them. Have a few more shots of jello.   If you are still conscious, call pizza delivery.  If not, go to bed.”

“Oh for crazy.”

“And for dessert, take a gallon of ice cream and pile it on a cone.   It will fall to the ground.  The dogs will come running, and will be back every night, waiting for that ultimate treat.”

“Is this really about recipes,  Wolf?  Or about your blog?”

“Simple, Minnie.  It’s a recipe….about blogs.”


That’s all folks

“Is it ok, Wolf?  Can I write your blog tonight?”


“Sure.  Go ahead.  I need a night off.”


“Ok, here it goes:


For those of you who are wondering, who the hell is Minnie, I do not exist.  I am a figment of the deranged mind of my invisible friend, Wolf.  I am her alter ego, her conscience, and the voice in her head. I am the logical, responsible side of Wolf’s life. . I ask the difficult questions.  I am the straight man….. well, woman.  Every drunk needs a sober reminder of the real world. Yes, my friends, Wolf is not right in her head.  She talks to me like I really exist.  I don’t.  I am the ghost of the past, the present and the future. Don’t read her blog.  She will warp your sense of reality and draw you into a world of magical nonsense.  That’s all folks.”


“That’s all folks?  Isn’t that what bugs bunny said?  Or was it Porky pig?”


“I think it was Walter Cronkite.”


“Yeah.  All those newscasters said the same thing night after night. Goodnight David.  Good night Chet.  And that’s the way it was.  You keep in touch, cuz we will be in touch.  Don’t touch that dial, we are the no spin zone. Good night friend.  Stay tuned, the Kardashians are next. Breaking news:  Miley Cyrus goes wild.”


“Knock it off, Wolf.  I am writing this blog.  Continuing on, did you know that Wolf is a pen name?  Wolf is really an old bag named Carol.  She had the audacity to write to Donald Trump today, to ask him to meet her and MCat in NYC,  in October.  What kind of ego does this idiot have?”


“Donald?  His ego is off the top, Minnie.  Mine is over the top.”


“Shut up Wolf.  This blog is mine. Now, I have a few things to say in my defense.   I am not invisible.  I am the wind.  You may not see me, but I exist.  I can huff and puff and blow your house down.  I climbed the beanstalk.  I am Rapunzel’s hair.  I am the wizard, with red shoes.  I gave Forrest Gump a box of chocolates.  I am the ice burg that sank the Titanic.  I am Scarlett O’Hara.  I am thrive in your dreams and haunt your nightmares.  I am your imagination.”


“Yeah, Ok, Minnie.  Real cute.  Done?  Or is there more to this rant?”


“Did you like my blog Wolf?”


“Let’s just say that it will be as popular as mine.  Nobody will read it… or get it.”





“Do you believe in luck, Minnie?”


“I never walk under a ladder when a black cat is perched on the top, foaming at the mouth.”


“I don’t mean superstitions.  I mean streaks of luck.  Do you believe that when you’re cold, you’re cold, and when you’re hot, you’re hot?”


“Not really.  As they say, lightning never strikes twice.”


“Of course it does.  Do you see that tree out in the yard?   It has had at least 3 strikes in the past year.”


“Yeah, but it is still standing, even if it is split in half and teetering on the brink of disaster.”


“That tree is an inspiration, Minnie.  In spite of the brutal beatings, there are leaves on it.  And it is getting taller.  I actually take the time to look at that tree, every day, and marvel at it’s resilience.”


“One of these days, Wolf, that tree is coming down.  It will take the other trees with it.  It has bad karma.”


“Just because it has been brutalized doesn’t mean it can’t survive. ”


“That tree is jinxed.  It is an eye sore.  The other trees probably wish it would just fall down, so they can breathe a sigh of relief.”


“I suppose if that tree grew money, it would be a different story.”


“Money doesn’t grow on trees, you idiot.”


“If it did, Minnie, do you think the money trees would survive?  They would be instant rock stars, hounded by the masses, chopped down while they were still young.  The money trees would attract the attention of the media.  They would need to hire security and build fences to protect them, prisoners of their own device.”


“What are you saying?  That a life of riches and fame and fortune is bad luck?”


“I am saying that an easy life is the path to an early demise.”


“Well, I guess that settles it. You are that old battered tree, an eye sore, surviving in spite of the storms.  When others view your precarious situation, I bet they are surprised you have not crashed to the earth.”


“Yeah.  I don’t believe in luck.  If you notice, I am leaning on the other trees.”






High tech, low touch

“Silence, Minnie.  That was the day.  Silent.”


“Could be that everyone was wiped out from the weekend.”


“It used to be that in a customer service environment, there were phones ringing, chatter, and intrusive noise.  Not so today.”


“Things have changed, Wolf.  Now you communicate over instant messages and emails.  There is no need to talk.”


“I don’t like it.  At one point, I counted 31 emails about the same problem.  I think it could have been resolved in one phone call.”


“It’s the sign of the times.  Who wants to talk  when you can communicate without any real involvement?  It’s a high tech, no touch world.”


“Right, Minnie.  There are only a few high touch jobs left:  Hair dressers, dentists and bar tenders.  I called the Electric company today and got a voice who handled everything.  “Hi.  Thank you for calling.  Now, what can I do for you today?  If you have no power, press one.  If you want to pay your bill, press two.  If you have other issues, visit our website.”I mean, what the hell?”




“I pressed three and the voice hung up.  Seems that three is not an option.”


“Like I said, the world has changed.  You are a remnant of the old school.”


“I need to find a job that will give me access to people.  I thrive on people.”


“Why don’t you just pick up the phone and call your customers?”


“I do.  But they have voice mail.  And when I leave a message, they email me with a response. Doesn’t anyone want to connect?  Do we all live in an electronic bubble?”


“Sure.  Texting, emails and face book are the new social venues.  Some people meet their soul mates on the internet. ”


“Then why do people have cell phones? Doesn’t anyone talk anymore?”


“Sure. But only when they are driving.”




Live and let die

“We are not getting any younger, Wolf.  We are slowing down.  I know I have asked you this before, but is there anything you want to do before you pass?”


“Pass?  Why are you afraid to say die?  When I pass, it is when I pass on the dessert, or I pass the grey poupon, or I pass out.”


“I’m not fond of the word die, Wolf.  It is not a pleasant word.  You know what I mean.  What do you really want to do before you ….uhmmmm….. croak.”


“Let’s put it this way, Minnie.  Anything I want to do.  Just like I do everyday.”


“You want to go to work?”


“Obviously, yes.  Or else I wouldn’t show up.  So, why the question?  Is there something you are “dying'” to do?”


“I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise, to take a few weeks to sail away and see the world.”


“Hmmm.  Don’t you get seasick Minnie?  And you hate cramped quarters?  And from what I hear, if you hit an ice burg, you might have to jump in the ocean.  You can’t swim.”


“Don’t be an ass, Wolf.  There are no unsafe cruise ships today.”


“Right, Minnie, and I was born yesterday.  Go ahead, book a cruise.  Have fun.”


“I hear they have casinos and bars on the ships, and lots of food.”


“Yup.  Just like Pennsylvania, only you don’t have to fly to Miami, buy new clothes, sleep in a closet, and go to those damn buffets.”


“You’re a party pooper, Wolf.  You are going to live the rest of your life in Pennsylvania, and someday wish you had lived your dream.”


“A cruise is your dream, Minnie.  Not mine.  I am already living my dream.”


“What dream?”


“Living and loving my life….until I die.”




You are what you think you are

“What are you doing, Wolf?”


“Writing a children’s story.”


“What you got so far?”


“Once upon a time, there was a fat, little gnome of a girl, who grew up with curly perms and a dysfunctional family.  She was an anxious little goof, who threw up when she had to go to school.  She wore her sister’s hand me downs, and looked frightful.  She wanted a rabbit and sneaked one into the house, where it stayed in the closet and pooped in her shoes.  She was not popular at school and never had a boy friend.  She found her escape in music and reading and she practiced playing the oboe every day.   She went to the phone company when she was 16 and got a job. She had to work evenings and weekends.”


“Hey, this doesn’t sound like a fairy tale.  What kid is going to like this story?”


“Wait. She went to college, got married too young, and rocketed up the telephone ladder.”


“What?  A line man?”


“Shut up Minnie.  She moved 8 times around the country, traveled extensively and was a widow at 35.”


“Somehow this sounds familiar.”


“Then she went a little wild, and crashed.  She was in and out of rehabs and moved to New Jersey.”


“Geez, I guess rehab didn’t do her much good.  I mean, New Jersey? What the hell?”


“She met a screwy musician who became her soul mate, and they married. Then they moved to the Midwest and bought a race horse.”


“Where is this story going?”


“She quit her job and had no money, so she had to go to work.  She found a job in a warehouse, and turned into a princess.”


“What?  Did she kiss a frog or what?”


“Shut the front door, Minnie.  The princess works every day, pushing a cart through the warehouse, and waves her magic wand over all the workers, scattering fairy dust on all she meets.”


“How did she manage to transform from a gnome to a princess?”


“That’s the secret to life, Minnie.  You are a gnome, if you believe you a gnome, even though you may really be a princess.”


“No way, Wolf.  A princess is beautiful, young and privileged.  Certainly not an old bag working in a warehouse.  How can you call yourself a princess?”


“Who said I am talking about me?  I’m no princess.”


“Well, you got that right.”


“I have moved up:  I am now a queen.”




Is bald sexy?

“Some things don’t make any sense to me Minnie.”


“I’m listening.”


“Old guys hate it when they lose their hair and are bald, yet lots of young guys shave their heads.”


“Yup. Bald is sexy, but only when you deliberately lose your hair.”


“Why is it that when we bring a lunch to work, when noon rolls around, we prefer to order something from the deli?”


“Everything tastes better when somebody else makes it, Wolf.”


“How come when you have to pee, really bad, the bathroom is full?”


“Have you considered bringing a coffee can, for these emergencies?”


“Why is it when you buy a new sweater, the next week, the damn thing is on sale?”


“Uhmm.. Bad timing?”


“It seems that when I have a really bad hair day and look my worst, I run into an old flame. What’s that all about?”


“It reinforces the reasons he is an old flame.”


“I could never understand the Little League World Series Championship game.  Why is the USA always in that final game?”


“If not, who would watch it? ”


“I meet a friend and she asks me for advice.  I give it.  She ignores it. Why ask?”


“Your friends know you are an idiot.”


“Why do cats look so cuddly, but when you get too close, their claws come out and nail you?”


“They hate you.  Well, at least until it’s time to eat.”


“An average wedding costs thousands of dollars, for one day.  Why even bother?”


“Exactly.  Never get married.”


“How did Christmas get to be so commercialized?  Can’t we just forego the presents and enjoy the holiday?”




“Ok, Minnie.  One final question:  Why do we get enraged when an animal is abused, but we glaze over when it happens to a person?”


“Animals are easy to love.  People aren’t.”


“Yeah, Ok, Minnie.  Thanks for sharing, but I still have my doubts.”


“About what?”


“Why are you such a potato head?”




Pavlov’s wolf

“Question, Minnie.  Which is worse?  Having too much to do?  Or having not enough to do?”


“Stress is stress, Wolf.  If you are overwhelmed, you overlook the obvious  When you are underwhelmed, you get sloppy.  So it’s catch 22, a trick question.  In my opinion, I would rather have not enough to do.  I can amuse myself.”


“Needless to say, it was a slow day.  I was perched, on the edge of my chair, waiting for the usual madness. I am Pavlov’s dog.  I am the ultimate martyr.  I thrive on the impossible.  And today, I fizzled.”


“Conditioning is a common madness.  You are brain washed.  When you have a day that doesn’t drive you to the brink of madness, you bomb out.  It is a sad commentary on the work place.  You have to live with the guilt that you are not tearing your hair out.  And don’t forget, tomorrow is the end of the week.  In spite of what everyone says, Fridays can be grueling.”


“It’s crazy, but I prefer the wild and wooly days.  I like the excitement and the never ending problems.  What the hell is wrong with me?”


“Nothing.   And everything.  You are an American worker.  Productivity reigns supreme.  If you aren’t busy 100% of the time, you feel worthless.”


“I just wonder why the problems didn’t surface today?  I have been busy all week chasing rainbows and problems and now today:  nothing.”


“Think about it Wolf.  If you spent your week addressing the problems, maybe there weren’t any today. Isn’t that the way things are supposed to be? ”


“Geez, Minnie, when you put it that way….”


“Don’t get too complacent, Wolf. The last time you felt this way was 14 years ago when you worked late on Christmas Eve.  There weren’t any problems because the rest of the world was on vacation.  You really should have kicked back today and relished your day.  I have a feeling that tomorrow night will be a different story.”


“Relish?  I am starving for a hot dog Minnie.”


“Oh for stupid.  We were having a serious conversation.   How can you talk about wieners at a time like this?”


“I like wieners.  For your information, I wish I were an Oscar Meyer wiener.”


“Wish granted.”