It's been 7 hours and 316 days...since they took my job away.
Over the Throg's Neck and through the hood, FROM grandmother's house I go! Or shall I say...flee!!! It's been one week since I was kicked out of my grandmother's house by my wickedly insensitive and self-centered uncles. This latest family drama feels like something out of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale that has yet to be simplified into sweeter bites more digestible for little American children. I don't remember Little Red Riding Hood having to call the po-po's. Here's hoping that in the end of my tale I'll find a job and a prince and get to live in a castle in Brooklyn and eat brie every day without ever getting a muffin top. What? A girl can dream. No "content middles" allowed! Only the happiest of happy endings is acceptable for this modern principessa!
The saddest part about this whole mess is how my grandmother, an 84-year old woman experiencing the beginnings of Alzheimer's, is being manipulated by two big bad wolves and forced to act like the wicked witch of the east Bronx. I was in shock the day following the mayhem when my grandmother asked a family member where I was and wanted to know when I was going to come home. She simply did not remember anything of the day before. She did not remember that she was force-fed a poison apple which transformed her into a raving lunatic who throws family out onto the street. It was like an evil spell had been cast upon her. But I digress.
I've spent the past week recuperating, regrouping and remaining calm despite my most recent upheaval. Many concerned people have written to me and offered all sorts of housing options and support. Thank you to everyone. No castles or glass slippers as of yet, but the offers of drinks and manicures and couches to get some beauty sleep have been greatly appreciated. I would like to report that I am now well-rested, well-liquored, and sporting well-polished nails in the color "material girl." Cause we are living in a material world. And experience is making me rich, baby.
My life is imitating art, and in true fairy tale fashion, I have been blessed with my very own fairy godmother. My father and stepmother (not of the wicked varietal) have a dear friend who lives in their building in Battery Park City. She joined us for dinner the night of the mayhem. Upon hearing my tragic tale, she looked across the table at me, waved of her magic wand and insisted that I stay with her in her four-bedroom, four-bathroom, deluxe castle apartment in the sky. Where she lives...ALONE. Hot damn! - I've finally got a piece of the pie!
But every silver lining's got a touch of grey, as Jerry says, and this lining is no exception. My newly-acquired mansion of an abode comes equipped with two cats. My zip code may have changed, but my allergies and general disdain for animals have not. I'm just not the kind of princess that likes to hang with the furries. The furry touch of grey's names are Tucks and Harmony. Achoo! In addition to giving me the sniffles, these little critters also like to find their way into my room (which doesn't exactly have a door) all through the night and pounce on me while I (attempt to) sleep. I would ask my fairy godmother to wave her wand and make her precious kitties disappear, but I don't want to insult my hostess. I haven't even told her that I'm allergic to her beasts. A magical solution I've concocted consisting of a children's gate and a screen is in the works, but until it's in place, I won't be my regular sleeping beauty self.
During my many waking hours, I've been thinking this past week of all the things, good and bad, that I've left behind in my CinderHELLa Bronx life. One of the first that pops to mind is the fear that at any turn, I will be attacked once again by a skunk. Those of you who have yet to hear this stinky hilarious tale can read it here. But Manhattaners beware!! According to a recent NY Times article sent to me by my friend Mo, the skunks of da Bronx (which are actually quite widespread - who knew?!) are migrating south into Manhattan via the railroad bridge that crosses from da Bronx to Manhattan at Spuyten Duyvil. Yes, that's right. Bronx skunks are invading Manhattan. Fingers crossed that my skunk punk from da Bronx didn't follow me over the Throg's Neck and through the hood of Harlem from grandmother's house, down the FDR, all the way into the pristine kingdom that is Battery Park City! Cats might abound here, but I've a sneaking suspicion that skunks would not be welcome in this animal kingdom. Oh my goodness -- I just had a horrible thought....What if my skunk snuck under my dad's car, held onto the tail pipe, and made its way into Manhattan directly underneath us...Cape Fear style!!! I can just hear that Deniro skunk now: "Barri, come out, come out, wherever you are!" Mental Note!: Call dad and have him check underneath the Prius!
On a sidenote, I find it utterly hilarious that in recent days, all of the google ads on this here blog are for skunk smell remedies. I suppose there are more embarrassing products than Magic-Zymes or Hunt's tomato paste that could appear on the ad bar of my blog. But why can't the ads be for ANYTHING else I've ever written about?! Like maybe, I dunno, U2 tickets on sale this week. Or fanny packs at American Apparel. But no. The logorithms of the google ad machine think that I am, along with my readers...smelly. Well fine. Advertise what you will. But don't count on getting an invitation to the ball!Jobless City Challenge: Summon urban fairy godmother and find yet another free place to stay while I reinvent myself. Just like Madonna. And Cinderella.
Money Saved: Well, now that I don't have to ride that silly express bus pumpkin carriage from da Bronx (which conveniently stopped running every night at midnight), I estimate that I'm saving myself about $150 a month. Which I will promptly go blow on the latest in glass slipper fashions. Hey, a modern day princess can't wait around for no stinkin prince to bring her shoes.