Rancho La Puerto probably means nothing to 99.9% of humanity.
It is a holistic fitness, mind fucking, expensive facility outside of San Diego
in Mexico...It was my first ex wife's favorite fitness, mind elevating place.
There I was, busted on my fat ass, while the Princess was living high on the
hog trying to shrink her ass. Not doable. Elevate her mind? Maybe...
I had given the Princess 100% of our substantial assets and
had taken on 100% of our substantial debt. But for this guilt ridden Jew, it was
a great idea. After all, the Princess really needed to recuperate from a 27
year ride on my roller coaster of married life. Also, as a guilt ridden Jew, it
gave me the over the top feeling of martyrdom.
So, all in all I was as happy as a pig in shit. After all,
my fucking suicide attempt could have been successful. Rich or poor I was still
looking down at the grass, with a great AA sponsor, Pat Cooper who I loved.
Though, it did bother me that Pat told me, everyday, that I was crazy and
should institutionalize myself. Advice I didn't take.
Our divorce wasn't final yet and the Princess was, as usual,
attending Al Anon meetings and seeing a shrink to boot. The shrink, Mrs.
Mindick, and the Al Anon women seemed to spend a lot of time telling the
Princess that I was a total, irredeemable fucking bum.
When we were still living together, I had always known when the
Princess went to see the shrink or went to an Al Anon meeting. And so did the kids. The Princess would always,
that night, have a life style changing pronouncement, sometimes two, for all of
us. In one ear and out the other; Al Anon for the ignorant is a support group
for husbands, wives and kids of serious drinkers.
While the Princess was working on her ass and freeing her
mind from my influence at the Rancho I decided to turn off all that fucking
noise. First I went to her Al Anon meeting. I was one of two guys in the room.
The other guy was, when push came to shove, chasing pussy. Sitting around a big
table each woman spoke of her difficulties in being married to a drinking schmuck
called 'husband'.
When my turn came I said "My name is Bernie and I’m an
alcoholic. I'm here to tell you that I am not a fucking telephone pole. When
you give advice about me to Bonnie, bear in mind that I'm a living, breathing
human being."And I stood up and walked out. I'm sure that those broads
were horrified, shocked and pissed off that I had the gall to effectively tell
them to drop dead. The guy, also a drunk, loved it.
Then I went home (No cell phone those days,1973-4) and
called Mrs. Mindick and gave her the
same message. Poor Mrs. Mindick, she too was horrified at my phone call. But
after 23 years of seeing shrinks, it was easy for me to manipulate her.
When the Princess got home and found out what I had done she
went off the fucking wall. As a Confirmed Californian she shouted that I had
'invaded her space'. Did all that action change anything? Nah, but it made me
feel warm all over. Like a clam in mud. Telling people to fuck off is, gratefully,
part of my DNA....
And then there's the one about the old couple in the
doctor's office with the doctor giving the old man last minute instructions.
"When you come back”, the doctor says, “bring urine and feces
samples". The old man being hard of hearing turns to his wife and
asks," What did he say?".The old lady replies "He said, bring
your underwear the next time you come here". ...A little too close to
home...
1 comment:
Love it.
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