My Point ... And I Do Have One (3 page)

I
n digging through my old photos and letters for this book, I’ve discovered correspondence that brings back wonderful old memories. And, well, some not-so-wonderful memories.

Dear Morgana,

I just wanted to drop you a quick note to thank you for inviting me to your party last week. I’m not very good at parties. But I guess you know that by now. I feel awkward at them and tend to overcompensate by acting in a way that others who don’t know me well might consider a tad weird. However, you know me well and besides, you’re a very perceptive and, I might add, very
forgiving
person.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m really really really sorry for what happened. Maybe it was good, though. Maybe this will be one of those things that a little while from now you’ll look back on and laugh at. Okay, maybe it will be longer than a little while. Eventually, though, after at most a few decades, there’s bound to be some laughter. Isn’t there? Oh God, I’m so sorry.

I know that we’re good enough friends that I could just call you on the phone, but I thought a letter would be preferable for two reasons. One, often it’s easier to say things in a letter than it is to say them in person. And two, you don’t seem to be answering my phone calls anymore.

Sometimes nobody answers the phone—even if I let it ring over five hundred times (I’ve counted). At other times, somebody who sounds like you (but I’m sure isn’t) answers and asks who it is. When I say “Ellen,” that person (who, as I said before, I’m sure isn’t you, because you are much too compassionate) immediately develops an obviously fake Russian accent and says, “She not home. She move far away to place with no phone. I begging you, please leave alone.”

All that being said, let me begin my apology.

I think a lot of what happened can be traced back to the rum cake I brought over. I just looked over the recipe, and I see now that it called for two tablespoons of rum. For some reason, maybe because I was nervous because I don’t cook that much, I misread that as two
bottles
of rum. It’s an honest mistake, and your little nephews were eventually going to find out what a hangover is anyway.

I had at least two slices of the rum cake, and I believe that’s why I blurted out that your real name is Marge. I thought everybody already knew. I also thought that everybody would find your old nickname, “Large Marge,” funny. I understand now that it isn’t funny. Anyway, it shouldn’t bother you because you’re not heavy anymore. Oh yes, I’m also sorry that I told people about your liposuction. But at least I didn’t tell anybody about your breast enlargement surgery. Oh, that’s right, I did. Sorry.

As for what I call “the Charades incident,” for some reason I get a little competitive (okay, way too competitive) playing party games—once again, to make up for my own insecurities. That’s why when Reverend Green couldn’t figure out I was doing
Fried Green Tomatoes
and kept on guessing
Two Mules for Sister Sarah
(which, you have to admit, isn’t even close—it doesn’t even have the same number of words!) I got mad.

That in no way excuses my calling him a God damned rat @+%ˇ#$%, *%$@–eating moron. Isn’t it cute when you write curses out that way? It’s too bad I didn’t say it like that. Also, when I jokingly implied that he was a child molester, I had no idea about the recent trial (though I am happy to hear that all the charges have been dropped).

Now, the gift. I was under the mistaken impression (boy, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, isn’t it?) that the party was for your wedding shower. That’s why I got what I considered to be a gag gift. I didn’t know it was a party for your grandmother’s 90th birthday. Otherwise, I never would have gotten her the crotchless underwear and the coupon for a free nipple piercing.

I admit I laughed pretty hard when your grammy opened the present (sorry about the wine coming out of my nose onto your new rug—club soda should get out that stain, not cola like I tried), but I thought she was laughing, too. Now I know she was hyperventilating. I swear I’ve never seen anybody’s face turn that red before. That is why I shouted out, “Look at her, heh heh. She looks like a big tomato!”

Not funny.

I am glad to hear that your grammy is out of the hospital. I’m the one who sent the big basket of muffins. Nobody told me she was diabetic. She only ate a few of them, and when I called the hospital they said that at most that added three days to her stay there—maybe four.

This part is the hardest to explain. I know that when you opened the door to your bedroom it looked like I was shaving your dog. Well, I was shaving your dog … but not for the reason you might think. I didn’t say, “Hmmm, I think Marge’s dog—I’m sorry,
Morgana’s
dog—would look better with less hair.” Though, you have to admit, the cut does give Colonel Chompers an interesting look and makes him seem quite distinguished (I don’t care what the judges at the dog show say).

What happened was, in trying to spit my gum across your kitchen and into the trash can (a trick I do remarkably well, usually) I missed, and the gum landed in Colonel Chompers’ fur. I tried to pull it out, but it just made matters worse. So I snuck him into your bedroom with the hope of finding some scissors and cutting the gum out. I didn’t locate scissors, but I did find your Lady Gillette and thought, hey, this might work—which eventually it did. The gum came out. I am sorry that some got on your drapes. I thought they were tissue paper.

But, you have every right to ask, why was I wearing your bathing suit while shaving your dog? Good question. In looking for the scissors, I found the bathing suit in the third drawer of your bureau (I didn’t look in your second drawer, so you have no reason to be embarrassed). I had seen that suit in a store that day and thought it might look good on me. So, I figured this was a good opportunity to try it on.

I believe you see now that there was a logical explanation for everything that happened at your otherwise very successful party.

I hope that you find it in your heart to forgive me, and we can be as good friends as we were before last weekend.

Love,
Ellen

P.S. Oh yes, I almost forgot. I’m also sorry that I bit your fiancé, I mean ex-fiancé, on the ass. Oops.

daily
affirmations

or
a cup of pudding a day is the
way to stay o.k
.

A P
OEM
Death, disease, famine
homelessness, abuse
I can’t even watch
the 5 o’clock news
When did we lose control
and how do we rebel
Take a look around
we’re on a rocket ship to hell
There could be an answer
it may not be too late
but it involves a transfer
try love instead of hate
All you can do
is be good to people
and hope that those people
will be good to you too
but good luck
I doubt it

W
hen your life gets to be overwhelming, when you feel like too much of the world is depressing, there are two things you can do. One, sit in your house and feel the doom and gloom and continue to watch the news, shaking your head in resignation and saying to yourself, “Oh no, my life sucks. The world is ending, there’s nothing I can do.” This is one way to go. I, personally, wouldn’t recommend it.

“Well,” you say, “what’s the other option?”

Here it is: If you must watch the news, turn the sound off and imagine the news anchor people are telling you all about your day. Make up happy events, adding your name into the report every third or fourth sentence.

Sing loud with wild abandonment as you get dressed in the morning (any cheery song will do).

And most important, get yourself some daily affirmations.

I do daily affirmations every day—hence the word “daily.” I guess, if you’re lazy, you can do weekly affirmations or monthly affirmations or even yearly affirmations. Actually, I suppose New Year’s resolutions are yearly affirmations. But if you’re making the same New Year’s resolution every year (e.g., “I will be more popular”), and it’s still not happening (e.g., “Nobody ever calls me. I’m all alone. Boo hoo.”), it may be time to change your strategy. Your next yearly affirmation should be to do daily affirmations.

Daily affirmations are an important way to pick yourself up. We all have bad days and you can’t always count on other people to make things better. For instance, you might say to someone, “I’m a bad person,” expecting them to say in return, “Oh, no, you’re not, you’re one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I know.” But nine times out of ten, they’ll say instead, “Really. Hmmm. Hey, could you pass the Chee-tos?” And sometimes you’re not even eating Chee-tos, you’re eating barbecue potato chips or some weird flavored popcorn!

So, because you can’t rely on other people, for your own ego you need daily affirmations. Some obvious affirmations are: “I am a good person” or “I love myself or “I matter.” But I think it’s a good idea to start small. You should say things that make you feel good because they are easy to accomplish. (“I will wake up.” “I will brush my teeth.”) Don’t push yourself. Those can be very good morning affirmations. I guess, though, if you’re really depressed, and it’s 8 o’clock at night, “I will wake up” would technically be an evening affirmation.

The more depressed you are, the simpler the affirmation should be. Under the right circumstances, “Who cares if I’m drunk?” is a perfectly reasonable affirmation.

Sometimes the only way you can make yourself feel better is by putting other people down. And that’s okay.

There is nothing wrong with that—whatever gets you through. “I’m not as fat as she is.” “I have more teeth than he has.” “Thank God I’m not as bone ugly as they are.” These are all fine affirmations. However, it’s best that when you’re in public you say this kind of affirmation to yourself. It can save you embarrassment and a black eye. These are silent affirmations.

You probably do affirmations without even knowing it. Every time you drive over the speed limit, you’re saying, “No copper is gonna catch me speeding.” And when you put that ski mask over your head, you’re saying, “Nobody is going to recognize me while I rob this gas station.” You’re pumping yourself up and telling yourself you can succeed.