Dimples the rescue dog.

     I’ve lived with my cousin Henry since my life burnt up in my apartment.  Henry is half Italian and half Puerto Rican. Both blood lines lean towards the dramatic, which makes him doubly dramatic. So when I approached him to take in Dimples, (at first it was until we found him a home) he waved his arms, screeched out how he never got on with dogs. Recounting the story of how Mary Margaret Filingero’s dog, from down the street in Jersey, chased him a mile trying to chew his ass off when he was seven. The whole incident scarred him emotionally for life. He left out the part where he teased the dog with a stick, but that was beside the point. I convinced him that Dimples would only be temporary, and I’d keep him out of trouble. With hands on swinging hips, he marched into his kitchen, yelling out, “Alright, but he’s your responsibility.” Turning he waved a hand at me, “I don’t walk, and scoop poop.”

     Henry’s new boyfriend, Kevin, loved Dimples, but wouldn’t take him because he claimed he was too busy for the little guy, but he loved visiting him. So Henry, now in love with Kevin, or thinks might be, started to pet Dimples. Next thing you know, Dimples is a high class groomer with some of the riches dogs in Manhattan, going through a beautification program. I agreed to it, with the promise that there would be no bows or painted toenails.  Kevin was the one who bought the first outfit. Henry didn’t miss an opportunity to see that the dog had no fashion sense, and soon little outfits were appearing on Dimples body, personally designed for him by Henry, who was starting his own doggy fashion line.

     Dimples has a coat for every occasion, with boots to match. His wardrobe is better than mine, especially when his glammed out in his doggy snow coat, boots, and goggles to go to the park. Yes, goggles. They usually match Henry’s attire as they prance down the street like two little ballerinas. Henry does do the poop scooping. He hates it, as he bends over, trying to clean up the little logs with a flare of dignity. Not much dignity in cleaning up dog shit, but Henry does try to put flare into everything. So a squeal, he manages to get the logs in a bag, as he dances to nearest garbage and dumps it with a huff. He eventually bought a pooper scooper, to alleviate the bending over and touching shit through a bag.

     Dimples, even sometimes goes to work with Henry. So for a guy who wasn’t much of a dog person, he certainly is now. In Henry’s office he has a special bed and bowls for Dimples. His secretary, Mean Park, (that is her name) gets to take Dimples out for doggy duty time, and hates it. She went on a rant the last time I called the office, about it. Half of the complaint was in Korean, regardless of the language, I got the whole jest of it. But she’s got a great job, one that is hard to come by so she does her poop scoop time, and complains to me.  

     I do my share of Dimples duty, since I brought him home. But it’s been easier than I thought when Henry fell in love with the little guy. The two have become two peas in a pod. Dimples even tried to hump the neighbor’s male golden retriever. Henry proclaimed Dimples gay, and we’re all happy as pigs in shit.

     Dimples has settled into our lives nicely. He’s even a little rescue dog in the sense he rescued me from hanging upside down for hours where my head would have exploded. Henry has one those back things that stretches the back by flipping back and hanging upside down. I went to the gym, and couldn’t get into the ab workout area, because every mom in NYC was trying to get back in shape after the holidays. So I come home, and think I’m going to do an ab workout on that stupid back thing. Henry does it all the time, and has a six pack. So I climb on, strap my feet in tightly, hang upside down, and do my sit-ups. I try to flip it back up, and no go. The damn thing won’t move. I try everything, bending my legs, try to slide up, you name it. I’m hanging upside down. Dimples is sitting there looking at me cocking his little head, with grin that said, “Hey sister, you’re hanging upside down! What an idiot.”  

     I call out Henry’s name. He’s door is closed, it’s early, and Henry doesn’t do mornings. When he has too, he doesn’t do them well.

     Okay, panic is setting in. I’m screaming for Henry, as I try to flip the thing up. I get one leg loose from where they are securely strapped, and now I’m hanging by one leg, screaming for help, afraid to break the other leg loose, to fall on my head and break my neck. So now I’m worried my head will explode causing me to fall to the floor, to finish me off with a broken neck. Not a very pretty scenario.

     Dimples is still looking at me. He finally decides that maybe, I’ll make a mess, after all he is gay, or so he’s been christened. He takes off. Soon I hear him barking. Then Henry comes downstairs to find me hanging upside down. I’m looking up at him from my vantage point, to a man, with skinny legs, in a leopard print g-string, a t-shirt with Daisy Duck looking like hell, that says, “I hate mornings”, a pink silk robe, black eye covers, with purple lace trim, and ear plugs. Oh, and his dark curly hair was stuck up all over his head. Henry much to his disgust has a thick Hispanic beard that was grown out beyond the five o’clock shadow to midnight.

     He flipped me back up, before my head exploded or I broke something trying to break free, and had a few not so kind words to say to me. I was left with the sound of his feet padding across the hardwood floors. He scooped up Dimples, giving him you’re a good boy love, and went back to his room slamming the door. I didn’t see him for a while, when he reappeared, dressed to kill, not me, but for work with Dimples ready for his daily poop, it was like nothing happened.

     He did ask me, since he saved my life, if I could take Dimples to work with me, but on my way home, I’d have to drop him at the groomers, because he didn’t want ‘his dog’ smelling like shrimp chow mien.

     Since now I owe Henry my life, besides some rent, I take Dimples to work with me. It’s not like our office is that busy. Okay, it’s not busy at all. But on the day I have Dimples, in his little bed behind my desk a very fashionable woman walks in, reminding me of Anna Wintour, of Vogue. She had the bob and everything going on. I wondered what someone wearing her price tags were doing coming into our little crowded office, that smelled like the Chinese special of day, with a little dog behind me, who was growling. Dimples never growls but he did for a second or two at this very high class, probably a Daughter of the Mayflower woman. She wore black. Black hat, over coat, and whatever was under it, was black with black stockings and  boots.

     What did she want? To hire our ‘firm’ as she called it to find an old boyfriend, who she wanted to get in touch with. Sean was so excited to get a paying customer, he took the job. She said she’d pay all our expenses. I was wondering why she just didn’t try Facebook, but hey whose going to complain if she’s paying us or paying Sean who pays me, or is supposed too.

To be continued next week...

New Year's Eve. Not So Dream Date...Part II

Continued from last week: 

  I responded, “Oh per l'amore di Pete che posso pensare di cose migliori di fare di prende a prestito il denaro da lei. Come deruba una banca.”

            Delores looked at me. And put her hands on her hips. “Well, you don’t have to be so nasty. Get yourself out of the window.”

            “Okay, if you want any more free samples from Henry, you’d better help me, because I’m stuck.”

            I was stuck. My hips were caught in the window. It was small, but I was just a bit too wide. I’m sure if I stayed there long enough I could wiggle through, but I needed to get this job done. My sisters looked at each and other and pulled me through, before all the blood could rush to my head. Then how would they explain to our parents, I died in a night club window, in the ladies room hanging upside down. Another strange Russo death. I could see the headlines now. “Woman found dead in window, as she tried to sneak into nightclub.”

            They tugged and I broke free. They didn’t catch me as I came through, and let me crash to the floor. I looked up at them, and said, “Okay, which one of you is going to lend me your skirt?”

            Just then my BFF, Gabby came in looking for Delores and Jeanine, and she was wearing my favorite little black dress, which by the way looked better on her then me. From the floor, I also noticed she was wearing my favorite Sam Edelman Novato black and white striped heels. They made her legs look fabulous.

            I looked up at her stunned face, “You look great. You’ve obviously changed.”

         “Oh, when you left, we went back up stairs and I borrowed this because I didn’t bring anything for clubbing.” She smiled. “You’re okay with it.”

            I snorted, “Oh, yeah.”

          It was alright. We did that all the time as roomies. We trusted each other, but she looked so damn good in my stuff, it almost made me hate her.

            She frowned, “What are you doing here? And what are you doing on the floor? I thought you were working.”

            “As it turns out the person we’re following came in here, and as you can see I’m not dressed to impress.” Then it struck me. “Gabby I need to borrow my borrowed dress from you.” I stood up, and smoothed my rumbled appearance, “It’s just for a short while and then you can borrow my dress back.”

            She looked puzzled. “Sure. Where’s your boss?”

            I pointed a thumb in the direction of the window, “He’s in the alley getting dirty.” 
            My sister Lucinda came in and stopped. She just stared at me as Gabby and I started to strip down throwing clothes at each other hurrying to change. 
            "Block the door." I said. No it was more like a order.
            "Why?" Lucinda asked. She was always one of those annoying children who asked 'why' a dozen times like a broken record, before some one hit her upside the head. Adulthood or loosing her virginity in a very public way in the back of Vito Greco old bright pink Gremlin, did nothing to change that habit. 
            Lucinda guarded the door by telling girls to wait just a minute unless they wanted to be fumigated by a very sick person, who stunk up the place. It worked for the five minutes it took for us to swapped out clothes. 
          Delores and Jeanine went and got Gabby a drink to keep her company while she hid out in the restroom. I went out on to the dance floor and tried to hide the mini video camera in my and hand, as I danced through the crowd to find our blond bombshell. It took almost an hour to find her. When I did she was dancing her heart out with some really good looking dude. I started to dance, with no one and bring the camera up and down in an effort to catch her. When a light flashed on this good looking guy, and I realized it was Fireman Frank. Shit. And he was dancing with the blond bombshell! He must have been in the city already when he called! Another missed opportunity.

            He turned and caught me with the camera looking right at him. He stopped and stared at me like he’d seen a ghost. The blond started to scream and point at me like I was some diseased crazy. I tried to turn around and dance my way off the floor when I found myself face to face with the very big chested bouncer. I looked up at him, and could only see angry eyes squeezing through his very round face.

  He grabbed my arm and said roughly, “Come with me.”

  Of course I argued, “WHY!?” I was turning into Lucinda. 

  “Because we don’t allow cameras.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Oh am I going to hell for that lie.  

I tried to pull away, to escape. I slipped from his tight hold and ran in my Sam Edelman Novato heels towards the bathroom camera in hand. Do you know how hard it is to run in a tight short black dress in those shoes!? When I realized there was a big ruckus behind me. Fireman Frank had tried to keep the bouncer from following me. I tripped, over a waitress carrying a tray of drinks. Booze went everywhere including all over my favorite little black dress and down my legs into my way to expensive heels. Me, the waitress and booze were rolling around on the floor. As I scrambled to get up, I was apprehended by another bouncer, who definitely needs to go on a diet. He roughly pulled me up to stand on my feet. I slammed my pointed heel into his foot, he hollowed like a little boy, and I ran. Do you know how hard it is to run in heels!? I was certain I couldn’t keep it up long. I was yelling out for my sister’s names, giving them instructions to tell Gabby to meet me at home, when out of nowhere another bouncer stepped in front of me. This guy grabbed me around the waist and lifted me off the ground as he tried to wrestle the camera out of my hand.

            The Russo’s always stick together. Delores came up and threw a cosmo in the bouncers face, and down she went by way another bouncer. Lucinda was hitting the biggest bouncer. She had to jump up and down to continue to slap him in the head with her little clutch purse. The problem, her cell phone flew out and hit Fireman Frank in the eye, causing him to go to his knees. Soon we were surrounded and being dragged out of the club. The camera was confiscated, all the contents erased and the police were called because Lucinda caused an injury of a not so innocent bystander, Fireman Frank, and Delores' aim with the cosmo was pretty good. Jeanine just fought with everyone. She's quit the scrapper. The threat was to charge Lucinda with assault with a deadly cell phone and me with deadly Sam Edelman Novato heels, because apparently the bouncer was now limping.   

           It didn’t take long and we were on our way to the Manhattan Precinct, handcuffed in the back of a patrol car. Unfortunately it was my cousin Natalie Boyle, who cuffed me up. She's never forgiven for dying her red hair, bright pink one summer  in a attempt to make her blond, when we were thirteen. She was getting way to much pleasure out of cuffing me tightly.  I prayed my brother was working, because I was certain Natalie would have the biggest organism of her life, doing the paper work to see me sent up the river for the rest of my life, for crippling a bouncer’s toe.  

P.I Sean followed with Gabby riding on the back of his motorcycle in my original outfit. Fireman Frank was let go at the scene and told to go home and never come back, because he was a fireman, who now had a black swollen eye from Lucinda's cell phone, which slid away into the dark. She tried to get it back by crawling on her hands and knees in a her little purple sequined dress, but was dragged away by now a very pissed off big guy.  

At the precinct we were thrown in the drunk tank with all the other drunk women, who were puking up the night's celebration. The prostitutes kept asking where I got my dress and demanded to know who was my pimp daddy and what corner I patrolled. We all sang hip hop songs together, wished each other a Happy Fucking New Year and decided to braid each others hair. As the ball dropped in Time Square, I sat in a holding cell with my sisters who were whaling like professional mourners, covered in cosmo that caused my thighs to stick together. The cell got pretty crowded as the night wore on. One by one, I said my good-byes to my new friends as they were released. We promised to stay in touch. Especially the ladies of the night, they wanted to keep up on Henry's fashion advice, and be the best dressed hookers on the street. 

My brother, Mario finally showed up early in the morning, with Serpico in tow, with big bags under eyes, and smelling like he had a better time than we did. Mario decided we needed to spend the night in jail. They both just stood there staring at us. Me in my very short borrowed black dress that was mine, my hair a nappy sticky mess, and my sisters looking like they were part of the some Halloween party that required smudged blackened make-up. Jeanine with a big pink stain down the front of my shirt. Off to the side, Natalie had arrived smiling. With her hat off, I could see she had a botched hair cut, I assumed from my mom's salon. It's always about the hair with her. Farà esso mai finisce. 

No charges were filed, because of Mario, Pops, Serpico, numerous uncles and cousins. Natalie argued the point, deciding we all needed to go through the system, to teach us a lesson. Natalie was always big on lessons. Like the time she taught me to ride my bike down a steep hill while camping, only to slam into a tree, loose two front teeth and break my wrist. The lesson, don't listen to Natalie.
"I've got a lesson for you Natalie, stay away from the Russo's when it comes to your hair."  I reminded her as I left. I just had to flip my nappy sticky red hair over my shoulder as I stumbled out the door in Sam Edelman Novato heels, nearly falling and breaking something else.

The whole situation would go away, but it would be the one and only time we were lectured. Mario also said he wouldn’t tell our mother, because it would kill her to know "ALL" her daughters spent the night in jail and were now criminals, but he would tell Pops so he could kill us. I knew mom would find out. Natalie would tell every Boyle from Chicago to New York, she just couldn't resist.   

We called a cab and had to get a hand out from Serpico because none of us any money. The four of us piled in looking like the hell we put ourselves through. When I arrived at Henry’s, Gabby greeted us at the door with big hugs, coffee and bagels. All I wanted to do was sleep. All I had when I arrived home was my little black dress, and Sam Edelman Novato heels, not even a jacket. I was freezing. Gabby fortunately had my cell phone, but the camera was gone. There went my bonus.  
I slept until afternoon. When I woke, my sisters had cleaned up and gone home to face the family. I was lucky I lived in Manhattan and could hide. P.I Sean showed up and to hear I lost the camera, but we had a witness in Fireman Frank, if he'd every talk to me again.  No bonus and possibly no pay, because his account was empty as mine.
BFF went home the next day. Mom found out from her brother, Natalie's dad and called and screamed at me that I've ruined the Russo and Boyle name and I was killing her. She's been claiming that for a long time, but has managed to survive me and my sisters this long. True to form Natalie couldn't keep her mouth shut. Now we're the jail birds of the clan, besides my cousin Timothy whose in prison in Illinois, but no one talks about him. Henry came home to hear the tale, and worried over my ruined clothes, but said he get the stain out of the shirt Jeanine borrowed.   
Oh, P.I Sean just called we've got another case.   

           

New Year's Eve..The not so Dream Date...Part 1

      This is the first New Year’s Eve I’m single in three years. Last year I was with sexually confused Adam, who promptly dumped me, shortly thereafter. So this New Year’s I’m excited to be unattached and ready to party without a care in the world. Let me rephrase that, I do have a care. My bank account is at the same digit as the temperature outside, which I’m working to forget to enjoy the evening.

     My sisters, Delores, Lucinda and Jeanine arrive at my cousin Henry’s apartment, where I now reside, due to a fire that burnt up my life. Okay, time to think positive. Henry has gone to Venice Italy with his new boyfriend to ring in the New Year. They invited me, but there are two reasons I couldn’t go. Number 1, I don’t have any money. Number 2, I still don’t have any money. So I’m home in Manhattan ready to spend the evening with my three loopy sisters, their two friends, Tina and Joyce, and my BFF, Gabby visiting from South Carolina. The plan, or at least mine and Gabby’s, Time Square, watch the ball, and then find a place to eat, because of the money thing. Sisters and their friends are going clubbing, because they believe they are independently wealthy. I think the real truth is they plan on meeting someone in the square who will foot their bill. Not willing to go down that road and BFF is living with her boyfriend. We opted for trying to squeeze into a crowded eatery.

     The evening starts off with take-out Chinese, drinks, Delores and Jeanine fighting over the fact they are both wearing the same bargain teal shirt. Finally, I talked Jeanine into wearing a sample designer shirt Henry gave me (he works in the fashion industry). It pained me do so, because I know I’ll never see it again. It was worth it to end the argument about to turn in to a cat fight that included sharp objects from the kitchen.

      We finally get out the door, and who should be waiting out front, but my new boss, P.I Sean. He grabs me, and says, “I need you to work tonight.”

      “Work!?” I spat.

      “Yes, work. We’ve got a big job to follow a woman. Her insurance company is trying to catch her cheating on her disability.”

P.I Sean looked over at six pairs of eyes ogling his very cute self. “It’s a big pay day if we catch her.”

     “I’m your assistant, not a P.I.” I rolled my eyes, “You couldn’t call me sooner?”

    “I wasn’t sure it was going to happen today, and when it did, I just came over here, because I need you to be my date. Or pretend to be my date.”

    I sighed, “its New Year’s Eve, per l'amore di Pete, lei l'idiota.” Good thing he doesn’t understand Italian. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

     “Really I need you.”

     Okay, no boy, man or boss has ever said that to me. “Do I get paid?”

     He smirked, “Hell ya, of course. It’s over time.”

     He better mean it or I’ll get Tony the Squid on him, or better yet, Nona.  I looked over at the girls and let out a big fat exasperated breath, “Okay. This better be worth it.” I shook a finger at him, “The only reason I’m going with you is because I so desperately need money.” I continued to shake my finger, “I know people.”

     P.I Sean laughed as he pulled me towards his motorcycle, “Oh, I bet you do.”

     I told Gabby I’d call when this was over, and handed her the key to Henry’s as Sean motioned for me to climb behind him. This time I had on flat boots. No fear of ruining another pair of shoes. We stopped in front of an apartment building just around the block. We stood in the darkened doorway of the building across the street. Soon a woman came out, all glamed up for the evening in stilettos, a very short dress, I caught a glimpse of as she buttoned up coat. She pulled from the collar, long golden locks of hair. Sean pulled out a video camera and stared to film as he told me to face him as if we were in an embrace.

     “Look like your trying to stay warm.”

     It wasn’t too far off the mark, I was freezing.   

   “What’s the problem she’s limping?” I’d probably limp in those shoes too. They were pretty incredibly high.  

    “She likes to dance.”

    “Well don’t we all,” I responded into his very muscular chest.

    The woman hailed a cab and we were off on the motorcycle again following through mid-town traffic.  Since Time Square was blocked off, it was crowded from the diverted traffic. The cab stopped in front of a restaurant, and the blond went inside, not limping anymore. Well, well.  

    Just then my phone rang. It was Firemen Frank. Sitting on the back of a motorcycle, freezing my ass off, behind my boss, my dream date calls me. Shit.

    “Hello,” I answer.

    “Happy New Year, Cari.” Frank said cheerfully.

    “Happy New Year right back at ya.”

    “Say Cari, I know it’s last minute, but ya know a few months ago, I mentioned we needed to talk.”

    “Oh, yea right after the earthquake. Not a good time.” And when was that in September.

   “No it wasn’t a good time, but say, if you’re not busy I’d like to meet up with you tonight.” He hesitated, “Ya know to celebrate New Year’s.”

    You have got to be kidding! He calls me, three hours before the ball drops when I’m sitting on the back of a motorcycle, following some blond woman who I hate because she’s beautiful, to earn some extra cash. So this is when he calls for a date? Dio mi punisce realmente stasera. Devo essere stato realmente cattivo in una vita passata.  Really you don’t want to know.

     Frank continues. “I ran into your brother at Dom’s deli, and he said you were free.”

    Okay, it’s bad enough he still eats at my cousin’s deli, and he believes what comes out of my only brother in Jersey, Serpico. And this is why he calls!?

    “Um,” was all I could say.

    “Then I called your mom.”

    Can this get any worse? He called my mom. Alcuni un colpo giusto me. 

    “Because your brother said you were over there visiting and didn’t have any plans.” He said “Or that you were going out with your sisters. Your mom said you guys were already in the city. But I can make it over there, pretty quickly.”

     And this makes me dateless and available, because? Okay it does, but that’s beside the point.

     “Oh, I’m sorry I can’t. I’m working.” I sighed into the phone, not sure if I should be disappointed or pissed.

    It sounded like a lie. I mean, one of those lies you tell when you don’t want to go out with someone or ever see them again, because they’re going to figure out you’re lying and will hate you for it.    

    “Working? Your mom said you're a secretary for a P.I agency.

    “No, I’m assistant and I’m assisting my boss tonight.” Now that sounded just as stupid, as if it was a lie.I rolled my eyes. My hole just got deeper.

     I laid my forehead on Sean’s back, wishing I was somewhere else like Venice. That would have sounded so much better, “No Frank I’m in Venice, ya know the one in Italy.”

    “Okay, okay, maybe another time.” Click.

    Frank thought I was lying. Right, then I hated P.I Sean.

    “Damn it.” I cursed.

    Sean looked his shoulder at me with those big blue eyes, and said, “Man problems.”

    “Is there any other kind?”

   We sat there for however long it was, when the blond came out with a male companion and caught a cab to a club, when she exited the vehicle no more limping at all. Matter-of-fact- she did a little be-bop up to the doorman, past the line and was given entrance immediately. Okay, she liked to dance.

    “We’ve got to get inside,” Sean said.

    “How? Neither one of us are dressed for it. We couldn’t get past the front door.”

    Sean parked, and we walked up a very dark stinky alley and stopped at a very high window that was partially open.The music from the nightclub bounced out of the window, thudding down the alley.

    Sean smiled at me, “I’ll climb up there and see where it goes.”

   We pushed a dumpster under the window. No one told me P.I work included moving garbage around. Sean climbed on top and stood on a box to see in and ducked back down, and hissed, “It’s the ladies john.”

    Oh great I knew what that meant.

    He jumped down. “I’ll lift you up. You can fit through, and get inside sneak around take a video of her dancing, and exit through the kitchen.”

    “Where’s the kitchen?”

    “I don’t know, but you’ll find it. Then you find me out front.”

    “I want a raise and bonus for this.”

    “We’ll get enough money for this and you can have both.”

    I climbed up on the dumpster with Sean. He lifted me up, so I could grab the ledge, and place my feet on his shoulders. I had to wait a couple of minutes because girls kept visiting the room, and of course they had to talk, and touch up hair and make-up. Sean’s shoulders were giving out. He started to lose  his balance on the dumpster. When it was finally all clear, I was able to jump up and push my body through the open window. The force pushed Sean back and he fell off the dumpster, screaming like a girl, into some stinky frozen water. It was nasty. 

    Just as I wiggled in through the window, who should come be-bopping in but my sisters Jeanine and Delores fighting over the shirt I lent Jeanine that now had a big red stain on it from some colorful drink. They both stopped and stared at me half way through the window.

    “Don’t just stare at me, but help you idiots! And what happened to my shirt!?”  I yelled as they pulled me through the window.

    Delores said, “If you wanted to come here so badly I would have lent you the money so you wouldn’t have to sneak in.”

It's our last Year on earth and it didn't start out too good!

     Here we are in 2012, and this is supposed to be IT for us. It’s the end of the world, so do everything you ever wanted to do this year, because it’s over, Sopra, realmente sopra!

       This is how 2011 ended for me and it started with Christmas Eve. Keeping reading and you'll know why I have a picture of a ham. It plays a major roll in this sorted tale. 

     My mom has a huge Christmas Eve dinner. Every Russo including Boyles from her family, appear at our house for Christmas. First the drive-by dinners with so much food we could feed a poor country, then on to midnight mass. It was no different this year accept for one thing, in the past no one died.

     My parent’s house was packed to gills, with relative upon relative. Some stay, others stop in say hello, because not to, is a mortal sin. Everyone brings food. You can’t come without food, another mortal sin. If it’s not food, its booze, the second mortal sin. It has to be one or the other. My great-uncle Carmine Russo walks in the door, carrying several bottles of cheap wine. He’s already three sheets to the wind, his wife is there complaining about her aches and pains, loud enough so the neighbors can hear. Never ask the women even in passing how she is. You get a dissertation on ALL her aliments. All 106.5..Really she has a number for each one. The .5 is for a reoccurring rash.

     Carmine looks at my parent’s pathetic tree, which my mom bought that day, because on Christmas Eve, the trees go 70% off. It looked like a 70% tree, it resembled Charlie Brown’s tree. We’ve been going through this since we were kids, cheap trees all dressed up to try to fake out a expensive tree decorated in the gaudiest ornaments in Jersey. Including the half naked women joke ornaments mom received from her friends. She can’t throw away anything.

        I can hear it now, “What if they come over and don’t see their ornaments on the tree!?”   

      Its okay, mom, no one will miss them, including the friends who probably already forgot they gave them to her. No, wait, they’re all Italian with memories that rival elephants.

      Oh, but I digress, back to Uncle Carmine. He walks in the door, yelling out, Buon Natale, dove è i ravioli maledetti!? (really, you don’t want me to translate) and takes a look at the leaning Christmas tree with a croaked bright blue star, (a gift from Jewish neighbors) points at it, and says, “That’s the ugliest fucking tree I’ve ever seen.”

     My mom yells at him to stop being rude. He gives her a look like he’s seeing God, his eyes roll back in his head, he falls like a tree in the forest, straight forward, hits the dining room table, (he’s a big guy) lifts the end of the table, which acts like a catapult, food flies in every direction. The ham shoots towards me, I duck and it hits my brother, affectionately called Serpico, because that’s who he looks like, smack in the forehead. It had a bone, so it pretty much knocked him senseless. The ham ricocheted off his head and crashed through the front window and landed between Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus in the nativity scene on the front porch, but not before taking out poor unsuspecting Joseph. Old Joe bounced off the porch and hit Delores' new boyfriend walking up the steps and knocked out of his hands a cake he brought from his family to ours. Run, dude and don't look back.

    Everyone is climbing over each other to reach Uncle Carmine, and well, it appears he’s dead. No doesn’t appear, he is dead. There is at least two dozen cops and firemen in the house, they all rush to him and try to revive Carmine, leaving Serpico lying flat out unconscious on the floor. We could all see he was breathing, so that made it okay. My brother Mario tripped over Serpico to reach his hysterical wife. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the newbie’s last Christmas with us.  

      I look for Nona, who’s pretty small, thinking she might get trampled, and there she is holding her ravioli dish. She managed to grab it before Carmine bit the dust. It’s her favorite Christmas dish. It only comes out on the holidays. She did look a bit stricken. Carmine was her last brother-in-law.

    The ambulance comes, and takes Carmine away. As the paramedics come in, they see Serpico just coming to from the assault from the ham, and take him away, with dead Uncle Carmine. He’ll never forgive us for that one. He had to ride in the same ambulance.

     So, there we are on Christmas Eve. Oh, but it doesn’t end there.

    Carmine’s wife continuing to complain about life, her aches and pains, throwing in an occasional moan for Carmine, is on a budget for the funeral. We all pitch in. So what does she buy? A baby blue casket, with yellow silk lining, it looked like discarded old Cadillac. I think it was return or used.

    There lied Uncle Carmine in his best suit, (it was bit snug), draped in rosaries. The man was an atheist. I feared we’d all be struck by lightning as we left the funeral home. The only priest willing to touch this funeral was at least 100yrs old, and retired. We had to pay him off to get him to do it. . He kept stumbling around, and nearly dumped Uncle Carmine and the casket over. That would be the perfect end to the perfect Russo Christmas, end of the year and funeral. 

     Serpico was at the funeral with a big knot on his forehead, black eyes and neck brace, the result of the ham. He looked like he’d rather face down a bad guy in a dark alley with a gun. I can hear it now at the precinct, “Hey Russo, what happened to you? Fall out of bed?”

     “No, you jerk. I was assaulted by a ham, thrown by my dead uncle. What’s a matter with you? Haven’t ever been assaulted by a hambone?” 

       Can't wait to see what the end of the world will bring in 2012. Can't be worse than this, oh but it can because the Russo's will try to find away to stop it from happening. 

      Vederla sul retro,

                   Cari 
p.s
Stay tuned I haven't talked about New Year's eve... 

I decided to add something to this post, about Carmine. He was my Granddad Russo's brother, and was at my granddad's side when he died in the line of duty as NYPD, when my father was only 16yrs old. He was a young man at the time trying to help out a grieving widow, (Nona) who was left with four teenage boys to raise alone. He was there for my dad and uncles always. Without hesitation, without argument. Carmine is the reason my dad and uncles are NYPD as are two of my brothers, and numerous cousins. For me and my siblings, he was loud, blustery all the time, but was there for our sports and graduations. He never missed anything, including for his own kids. What I didn't mention in that yellow lined, baby blue casket, was his badge and service metals, along with his dress blues that he long since couldn't fit into. So they were folded neatly at his side. He was a proud man we all loved, even when he was at his worse. We'll miss you Carmine...Enjoy heaven, even though you didn't believe in it and try to keep your voice down. The thunder won't be the same for me anymore, because I'm sure if I listen between the bangs hard enough I'll hear Carmine sharing a drink with a few old buddies who passed before him, including my granddad sharing their war stories from the streets of New York City.

Another Russo Thanksgiving

     My Holiday season started off with a bang. A big bang as my pop’s fell off a shopping cart in a parking lot, the day before Thanksgiving and broke his elbow. So you’re wondering how does a fifty something, NYPD Detective manage this amazing feat. Well, I’ll tell ya…

     It all started a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, when my mom really starts to pressure family about who’s coming to dinner. Nona and mom live for these big holiday feasts. Even though we have them every Sunday, for some reason, she really gets all crazy about the big food fest over the holidays. She started putting pressure on all the relatives, which is most of Jersey, to give her confirmation of doing some sort of drive-by on Thanksgiving. This year my brother and his new wife, (who likes to avoid us especially after the wedding fiasco) is coming for dinner. The newbie's family is getting the hell out of dodge. I think to avoid the Russo’s over the holiday. Mom put the screws to them about Thanksgiving. Something I'm sure they're not use too. I'm fairly certain she scared the hell out of them. So brother can’t imagine him and newbie eating alone. But there was a stipulation, the newbie is a vegetarian, but occasionally will eat meat, but only if it’s organic.  Mom and Pop were so happy newbie agreed to come, they ordered a range feed organic turkey from Pennsylvania. The happiness was short lived about making newbie and brother happy when they saw the price tag. Since those babies aren’t frozen, we had to pick up the expensive sucker the day before Thanksgiving. Which we did, but not without a adventure, of course.

     The day before Thanksgiving Pop’s, I and the grandkids went to the store to pick up the gold plated sucker, who had a privileged life before he met with death and the Russo’s. We got the turkey out of the store without incident, a feat in itself. But that’s where it ends. Pop’s is in the parking lot, showing off to the grandkids by jumping on the back of the shopping cart and riding it down a slight slope in the parking lot, at the kids delight. The cart couldn’t hold Pop’s weight, (he’s a big guy) and it popped a wheelie, throwing Pop’s off the back, he stumbled fell backwards, catching himself on the pavement shattering his elbow.

     It doesn’t end there. The cart shot out from under him like a bullet on a mission towards the street, taking the curve like a pro, with the turkey and Nona’s flour for raviolis with it. It almost looked like the turkey was driving the cart to escape, holding flour and cranberries hostage. It was amazing how high the cart went when it took flight over the curve and bounced off a fire hydrant landing right in front of a oncoming oil truck, and well, committed suicide. The truck t-boned that baby and ran right over the cart. The turkey was decimated in a puff of white from the flour. For a second the truck passed through its own little fog bank thanks to Nona’s future raviolis. And-kept on going, crushing the turkey flat as a pancake, which squished up through the cart. It was pretty nasty, which my nephew proceeded to express when we just had to go and look as the ambulance took Pop’s to the hospital.

      Thanksgiving still happened, sort of. My pop’s had turkey dinner in the hospital after surgery on his elbow, which was better than what the rest of the Russo’s were eating. For the rest of us, including the newbie, we ate out of my cousin's fusion Italian-Mexican food truck he pulled up in front of our house. We had Thanksgiving dinner served through a window in containers. The food was pretty scary. The spaghetti tacos were something of a hit and the cheapest items on the menu. We’ll see what Christmas brings. Maybe Nona will get run over by a reindeer. Now there’s a story.

I think I was hijacked!

     Okay, life has a way of taking control and hijacking one’s space. It did for me. First an earthquake, then a hurricane, that flooded my apartment. Just as I was ready to move back in, my computer crashed as we were hit by a snowstorm. One does not have anything to do with the other, but it happened on the same day. With ice on the lines, they snapped sending an arcing live wire right into Mrs. Gore, my neighbor who was smoking out back while still attached to her oxygen tank. You can only imagine what happened next. She became a jet engine, on full throttle. Mrs. Gore was blasted back indoors which ignited the downstairs hall. The only reason any of us, survived was because of Dimples her dog, who has more sense than his owner. Little Dimples alerted everyone to the fire, and Mrs. Gore's unconscious body, laying near the front door. Yep, she was thrown right down the hall to land in a heap at the front door, leaving a blaze of glory behind.  We all got out, and Mrs. Gore, still attached to her little small jet engine tank, was dragged outside to lie in the snow and smolder. When the alarms screamed, I was putting away my clothes because I had just MOVED back in. I grabbed James T. Parakett, and hit the stairs as the sprinkler system malfunctioned and drenched everything, including me. Once outside, I stood freezing, literally, because I was all wet and in my slippers. Who should pull up, but Officer cute-as-a-button, Javier, and put me and James T. Parakeet in the backseat of his unit. At least I could stop shaking and thaw a bit. I watched the flames blow out the windows of my apartment that took my Kindle, clothes and crashed computer. When I was able to get back inside the next day, I found one very cute CL wedge and my pink and black polka-dot bra the only things I could salvage, which is why I haven’t written anything in almost two months, no computer. My computer, (if it could be fixed) was a melted mess of plastic and whatever else computers are made of, no chance of a fix now.  Dio mi punisce, lo so appena.

     Oh, but that’s not where it ends.  I was laid-off from my job the next week, because I guess not as many people can afford over priced attorneys, who fret over paper more than their clients. So I’m now unemployed and homeless, sort-of. I had my parents, Nona and Henry, so I did have a roof over my head, and more food then I knew what to do with. You know Italians, where there's a disaster, every type of pasta known to man and Italy comes out. Not good for the thighs.  

     Things do get better. I had renters insurance. It gave me enough money to replace some of my clothes and my computer. Henry’s latest boyfriend gave me his old Kindle, because he was getting the newer one. So at least I’m back in business.  I’m moved into Henry’s guestroom for as long as I need to be. He knew Nona and my parents would drive me crazy. Now I have a posh Manhattan address, with a cellie who is in the fashion industry.  Samples here I come. I even have a new job. It doesn’t pay well, but at least it pays my bills. I wasn’t the only victim of the lack of law suits, so was P.I Sean. So he decided to start his own P.I service, or stop doing it on the sly, and open an office in the back of a Chinese restaurant, because he can’t afford a big space. He hired me to answer phones, do research and take cases. The drawback I smell like Chinese food when I get home at night that's not far from my the new 'office'. No more commuting. So I guess things happen for a reason and smelling like pork chow mien isn't so bad. 

    Now I’m back in business, sort-of.  Oh, and Mrs. Gore survived, just fine, with only a bump on her head. Her daughter, didn’t see it that way, and now she lives with her, and had to give up Dimples. So guess who has him? Me and Henry. He’s the best dressed dog in Manhattan. 

Vederla sul retro

Cari 

The Sky is falling! Really ya think!

     Okay there is a satellite crashing to earth the size of a bus. There is a 1 in 3,200 chance it will hit you, me or Nona. With my current streak of luck it will be me. Really I have the number 3,200 stuck to my back at this moment waiting for a chunk of space junk to crash through my roof and hit me. It could happen. In the past month I went through a earthquake, hurricane, flood, and couch surfing between cousin Henry in Manhattan, and Nona in Jersey, until I can get back into my apartment, which I’m still paying rent on, even though I don’t live there right now, thank you very much…Ouch. So with that why not get hit by space junk, it would be the perfect end to a perfect month. I see it coming now, in all its blazing glory right into my lap

     Nona is convinced it will hit her. She checked her homeowners insurance and she freaked out. She’s not covered for space junk. I don’t think I am either. When I was a baby my mom insured all us kids, but I don’t think the policy is specific about space junk. Unless a piece of crap falling from the sky the size of a bus qualifies as an actual bus. We’re there ever people on it? If so and it traveled around earth to deliver those space cadets to the stoop of the space station. Well then maybe I’m covered under the bus section that says if I’m hit by a bus they will be money to be made. I wonder if it’s specific on the location. Like if I’m sitting on Nona’s couch (which since I was evacuated out of my apartment, I’ve done a lot of that) and that bus size piece of space junk hits and obliterates Nona’s house, couch and me sitting on the couch going deaf because of the supersize television, my pop and uncle bought her, that is way too big for the room is all covered. Oh, Gees! Mi domando che varrei dei morti dal rifiuto spaziale sul divano del Nona?

      Nona would get a new roof out of the whole mess, that’s for certain. Stay tune, I’ll let you know if I get hit, or maybe not. It will be on world news. I’d be famous but very much not among the living anymore. I can see it now memorialized as the girl done in not by a mugger, but space junk.Well, Nona is convinced she'll be the one hit. If she's in the house with her television blasting and I'm there, I can guarantee she'll hit by something. The good thing, it will take out the super sized television that I'm think of having Tony the Squid take care of. He can pinch it. I'll leave the front door unlocked.

Vederla sul retro

Cari