My Scary Day at the Festival...

Hello, All!

I am writing today to share an experience that I simply can't stop thinking about. I am confused, scared, concerned, and naked.

As at least half of you know, I love September. It's just a great month. Cool fall temperatures finally relieve our bodies of the awful stench of summer, a lot of babies get born, and people all over are feeling sexy (those facts are all factual). What really ices my proverbial (shout-out, Hellkat) autumnal four-layer red-velvet buttercream cake is that September also means it's time for my favorite New York City event of the year. The Festival of San Gennaro in Little Italy!!

*The beloved Feast of San Gennaro is an annual celebration of the Patron Saint of Naples. The first Feast in New York City took place on September 19, 1926 when newly arrived immigrants from Naples settled along Mulberry Street in the Little Italy section of New York City and decided to continue the tradition they had followed in Italy to celebrate the day in 305 A.D. when Saint Gennaro was martyred for the faith.

Doc, Hellkat, and I went straight to the feast on the Sunday before last. We had a blast, won a goldfish who is now dead (sorry D&HK...hate to break it to you this way), and listened to a racist clown offend at least nine people of different nationality in less than one minute (but where, I ask, does a Clown matriculate from?). I had such a wonderful time, I told everyone I knew. Except some of you. When my friend Ellie (aka Sauce Girl) heard me rave about San Gennaro, she insisted I escort her through the crowded streets the very next Sunday.

I didn't object--and the second trip was going just as swimmingly as the first. I even did some things I didn't get to do with D&HK. I got to ride the ferris wheel AND sit in the big chair. And there was something else Ellie and I did. Something that has changed my life.

As we neared one end of Mulberry Street, we noticed a couple of tents about ten yards off the beaten path. Upon closer inspection, we discovered that the tents were advertising "The Woman with a Snake's Body", "The Man with Two Heads", and "The Elephant Lady". Seeing as I was really nostalgic for the days of yore when circus freaks were displayed in cages and not on my TV, AND given the fact that I am reading a book about circus freaks, I couldn't resist. My first mistake? Choosing Ellie as my companion.

Ellie is scared of clowns, small people, and most deformities (though oddly she is fascinated by others...I never know what to expect).

First, we forked over a dollar to see the Snake Woman. We walked up the ramp and peered into a large cage that contained a table. On the table was a cloth replica of a python coiled up with a hole cut in the middle for a woman's head to go. This was the same woman I saw walk into the tent three minutes before. I thought she was the Snake-Woman's feeder. Boy, was I wrong.

My second mistake was paying another dollar to see another scammy freakshow. But the man (dressed in authentic, turn of the century Italian garb) insisted she was the real thing.

He didn't lie.

Ellie and I walk into the tent containing the Elephant Woman, and there is really a woman standing there with a terrible condition that turned her epidermis into what looks like an elephant's cracking, dry, discolored skin. More shocking than her appearance was the fact that we were alone in the tent with her and there was no kind of separation mechanism. It was just me, standing with a woman who had a deformity. I say it was only me because Ellie literally ran out of the tent screaming. I am not kidding or exaggerating.

Since I was standing alone with the woman and already felt bad about Ellie's rude reaction, I decided to stay an talk to her. But that didn't last long because after I asked her where she was from (I didn't think of the implications of this question until after the words were out my mouth) and she replied "Brooklyn" in a rather snarly tone, I couldn't think of what else to say. I left.

Needless to say, I was very upset about the experience. What to feel! What to think! We aren't supposed to stare at people with deformities, right? Why did I pay somebody a dollar to do

so?! And when it came down to it, I didn't want to. Which I am thinking is a really good thing. It was just very unsettling. And why would it have made it better if a partition had been in place?

Thoughts? Comments? I am at a loss. And I italicized many words in this post.

SOS

y

I've got problems

I've got problems. I need them to go away. I have a charge of $24.99 from Verizon on my credit card. It shouldn't be there. Neither should last month's charge of $24.99. My contract with Verizon High Speed Internet was supposed to end in July, according to my records, and I did not have to call in order to terminate, according to the representative I talked to before this whole fiasco began. The contract was supposed to run out and NOT automatically renew, or so I was told. What a scam. So I make the call.

At first, they have no record of my account number or telephone number. Strange, right? They eventually find it, however, and this is where it gets bad. I explain the situation, sure to note how stunned I am that what is happening now is exactly what I hoped to prevent by calling way back when, before my contract was even up, but the representative says that the only call she sees is one I placed to update my credit card information, which is funny because I updated that using their automated service and then chose to speak with a representative regarding my contract, and during that conversation, I annoyed the representative by repeatedly confirming that I would definitely not have to call again in order to end this contract... have I lost you? I promise I have a point... Anyway, panic sets in. What is my problem! I have lost my breath, now breathing shallow; My voice is quivering, and I sound like a nervous child too young to even be calling about a credit card charge; As usual, my body is also trembling. No joke, I have to wrap myself in my blankets and breathe heavily into a pillow while I wait to be transferred to the supervisor who might be able to refund these charges, because ACTUALLY I was supposed to call to prevent the contract from automatically renewing and even then I had to do it 30 days in advance, so I'm going to be charged another $24.99 in October. I'm convulsing. Do you guys get this anxious about telephone confrontations with Verizon representatives? What is wrong with me? Why does my voice do that? And what the frick is wrong with my body?

In the end, they cancelled my contract and refunded me the $49.98, but I fear it's only because they mistook me for a frightened child and pitied the small voice on the other end of the line. Whatever. It gets worse...

Yesterday, I'm speeding down the Schuylkill Expressway, I take the exit to Mommom's house (the exit is actually labeled "Mommom's House") and my tire starts vibrating and making some noise, it's worsening, even worse now, okay, there's a problem - I pull over on the stupid Expressway, get out and find that I have a flat tire that is literally falling off the car. Fuck. I pull up my hood to conceal my face from the cars speeding by. WTF? I was making record time! Do you know what traffic is like on the Expressway these days? Do you even care? Have I lost you again? Stay with me... I'll skip the details of my long wait for Uncle Mike to come help me - blah, blah, we replace the tire, which is completely worn down to the steel threading, pop on the tiny wheel-barrow tire these hybrids have for spares, and great, all done. But guess what. IT GETS WORSE...

I get in and BAM, battery is dead. I was not meant to leave this highway (nor was I supposed to leave the headlights on for so long...) The Channel 6 chopper flying overhead is surely reporting on the disabled vehicle that has been sitting sideways on the ramp for the past hour - soon to reach two - and the hooded figure that has been scurrying about it. Now Uncle Mike is off to get his truck and cables. In the meantime, I'm cleaning up the funion chips that had long ago fallen from Stephen's mouth and settled into the creases in the seats, and I'm wondering why there are seven bottles of dirty water on the floor in the back... but then! Hark! Poof! Lo and behold! Da-d-d-d-da-da-da-dah! IT GETS BETTER...

A freak tornado funnels out of the sky, a cow floats by, and a strike of lightning hits my engine and starts my car! Just kidding. You still with me? Only a bit more to go, I promise... In reality, I spy a portly man shuffling toward the car, which now has it's hood up to validate it's awkward position here on the ramp. He's struggling to fit a bright orange vest over his sweatshirt, which reads, "I am not A Morning Person." (You know the type - that ridiculous catalog shopper, that is. What is it? Bob's blah blah blah? No doubt he has a "Beach Bum" wife beater in his hamper at home.) Surely it's the afternoon by now, and this man, this sleepy samaritan, offers to jump me. YES!

It turned out to be quick and easy - he only punched me once and took my wallet and then went on his way. Just kidding... but that wouldn't be the first time I've been jumped by a giant in broad daylight.

In reality, he jumped me and didn't charge me, but again, I fear it's only because he took pity on the strangely tall, child-faced boy he happened to find stuck on the side of the road while he was looking for some sucker to charge for a tow to the Pep Boys just 10 minutes away and down the street from Mommom's house.

The moral of this story? A penny saved is a penny earned.

Just kidding - It always gets worse before it gets better.

THE END!