Inflatable Turds/Paul McCarthy


Our basement was officially deemed full of shit last Friday after our crumbling sewage pipe exploded into nasty-ass streams of brownish fluid all over our dark-grey concrete floor.  A slug hysteria ensued thanks to a combination of last week's excessive rainfall and our backed-up sewage pipe's random purges into our backyard.  

                                

That's right.  Looks like the slithery suckers, among other creepy crawlers, are reclaiming their land, fellow Hobokenites.  Granted, our pigeon friends, or perhaps unsightly creatures of the night, devoured the slugs within a few hours.  There is a strange, almost artistic white drizzle in the very spot where we last watched them slither a mile a month.  And the "Circle of Life" song plays on and off in my head.  But still. 

Be afraid.  Be very afraid.

In spite of being both slightly traumatized and grossed out by a rather shitty debacle, Chris and I decided that nothing in the world could make us feel better about our lives than getting the hell out of Hoboken.   Just getting the f*ck out of town.  Immediately.  So we took up a friend's offer to hang with him at Pt. Pleasant beach which, although an overnight trip, was more than enough to take our mind off of crap and get our appetites back in gear.  

If spoke of our basement dilemma, our, um, narrations involved very few words and many disgusted facial expressions.  Let me put it this way: if our shit fest were somehow made into a book, the final product would include about ten short sentences and many disturbing illustrations.  It, too, would go in the Children's science shelf at a bookstore in NYC's West Village...


                                                


... which means that we'd HAVE to reserve a limited-edition version for our ultra-cool nieces to match their favorite, aunt-Deb-and-uncle-Chris-given hardcover, "The Holes in Your Nose".  

What?  The My Body Science series rocks! 



                                              Joe Leone's



We hit Joe Leone's, an amazing Italian gourmet market and deli, upon our arrival.  Aside from kinships, this place is the reason for a trip to Pt. Pleasant.   


                                                        Love to Eat and Travel




You know, like Hoffman's is the reason for a trip to Spring Lake?  Their Cake Batter and Maple Walnut flavors are out of this world, by the way.  Highly recommended.  In fact, if Hoffman's opened up in Hoboken (and I wish it would), it would pretty much put Ben and Jerry's and Coldstone Shamery out of business.

We shared Leone's gourmet Pasta and Fagioli soup, an eggplant pie, grilled sundried tomatoes, Turkey cutlets with peppers, sausage and peppers and a garlic pasta dish.  For dessert (which came much later), we enjoyed small portions of an Amaretto and chocolate filled bread pudding.  Call me a big, fat pig all you want but a moderate diet has kept me in a size-six pant.  And besides, I overslept and skipped breakfast that day and we were stuck in traffic for 3.5 hours on the way to our friend's place.  Normally, a trip from Hoboken to Pt. Pleasant lasts little over an hour.  However, as decent weather seems to be a rare thing these days, last Saturday's sunshine brought everyone out of their caves.  That meant that my first meal of the day came about at 5:00 PM. 

So suck it.   

I took a short nap in my friend's guest room after dinner.  It's what happens after a rich, remarkable and satisfying meal plus exposure to fresh, clean ocean air.  If I sold bottles of ocean air, I'd become a billionaire.  Seriously.  It both refreshes, clears the lungs and puts one to sleep.  How awesome is that?  Better-than-any-drug-on-the-market awesome .

An hour into my nap, I felt a pat on my arm.  I also heard something along the lines of "ah".  The "ah" which translates to "it's a pleasure to meet you".  Or the "ah" from... checking in on someone and realizing that they're alright just before leaving the room?  Half-asleep, I realized that my friend, Ellen, probably checked in on me.  How sweet!  No one but Chris and Milo ever checks on me while I nap at home.  How nice is it to have one's friends check on them?

I slept for just a few more minutes.  In that time, the weirdest fucking thing happened.  I felt a speedy swirl of heavy air along my chest.  It was like a cloud.  Swirl, swirl, swirlswirlswirl.   Slowly, the cloud began to lift and the pressure became lighter and lighter.  And lighter.

Then I felt myself ... being gently vacuumed out of my body?

Rut-roh. 

That couldn't have been a good feeling.  Was I dying?   I had to be.  I could no longer feel myself breathing nor could I feel my heart beat.  Just that I was slo-owly exiting through my chest.  Becoming separated from my skin.  Oddly enough, I didn't feel choked or suffocated or inconvenienced in any way.  I didn't feel afraid. 

I didn't feel threatened at all.  



                               Ocean Breeze/Cliff Schultise


All I felt was an incredible sense of peace.  An indescribable relief.  A distinct transition.  If I were dying in my sleep, if this was death, I was perfectly accepting of it.  I would miss a few folks, of course.  But I'd done the best I could in life as a great sister, daughter, friend, wife and worker (even if some of my employers were greedy bastards).  I arrived from a slow-as-hell but great trip with my beloved husband, too, and we just had a Joe Leone's feast.  Fine, fine-- I would have to miss the bread pudding.  But I was still engulfed by cool ocean breezes while I 'went'.

And, really, could I have asked for a happier ending to my life on earth?  I mean, there are far worse predicaments to leave the planet in, no?  Besides, here it was-- the golden opportunity to haunt douchebags.  Woo-hoo!

Ahem.  It's all about perspective.

I can't remember how I came out of that... experience.  Maybe I wasn't ready to go.  But I woke up.  I also remember this exchange of words later on:

"Ellen, did you come into my room to check in on me?" I asked with a smile.  I was so eager to thank her!

"No."
 
Great.  


                                                           Ghost Lady in Bedroom


I'd like to add that Mysterious Ghost Lady gave me some tid-bits about my near-future in a couple of dreams.  Yeah, "mysterious".  As in she's not my mom.  I still have no idea about who this spirit is or what she looks like.  I can only hear her voice in dreams and merely replay her comforting pat on my arm. 

Based on her kindness, however, I have to admit that I am honored to have Mysterious Ghost Lady check in on me, sometimes. 

Oh, and before you ask, no, I have no intention of being one of those douches on 60 Minutes who rambles on and on about sort of dying and walking through a bright-white tunnel of light.  So forget it.