You Have Beautiful Crowns, Said The Dentist

images-1 I have new health insurance I’m pretty sure the same as rice paddy workers have, though I think they have better coverage.  I lost Bluecross back in March not making enough income to keep it.  That said…

I went to my first dental appointment on my new plan.

I should have known something was up when he returned my call at midnight with harem music in the background.

When I asked the doorman if the doctor was in, he said…every day…he’s in every day.

Hmm.

When I got there, the door was half open to an empty waiting room.

All I wanted was a cleaning, used to Dr. Levine’s nice pristine office with the pictures of smiling teeth on the walls.

This office resembled a bunker with a dirty fish tank.

A door suddenly swung open making me jump three feet producing the oddest looking man I’ve ever seen…Lurch like in height with a turnout that made him eligible for New York City Ballet.  He seemed to have extra teeth that put mine on edge.  Mementoes from previous patients perhaps? I thought of running to the ladies room to count mine.

He handed me a form to fill out before disappearing down a corridor.

I didn’t feel too comfortable, a telltale sign to maybe leave?  But then a pretty little Mexican woman came in so I said, “Does he make you wait long?”  “Well,” she said, “it depends what he’s going to do to you.”

I sat for a second, my heart pounding deciding to just tiptoe out.

“Where are you going?” he said, appearing at the elevator.

“Oh, I need to be someplace,” I lied, “and can’t wait anymore.”

“But I’m ready…can take you right now,” his teeth gleaming like a tyrannosausus rex.

Ever so reluctantly I went back into the office wondering if I’d ever come out again.

“I just want a cleaning,” I said, knowing I’d never let him do anything that required more than a toothpick, the idea of him with a drill sending chills down my quivering gums.

“Sure, lets get crackin,” he said, taking a hand towel that was a bit gray tossing it across my neck suggesting hygiene was off on Saturdays.

He then started flossing me like a shark.

“Um, excuse me, but is this normally how you begin?”

“Yes…I will scrape then polish.”

And did he scrape.  I so wanted to ask where he studied dentistry.  Iran maybe?  Guantanamo Bay? Because he did look a bit like a terrorist.

“Do you have a pilot’s license by any chance?”

“Yes, I do.”

Uh-oh

If that lady wasn’t in reception, I would have bolted like a deer.

He kept saying, “You have such beautiful crowns.  I have never seen such beautiful crowns.”

“You don’t say.”   images

Did his lab coat spring another tier or was I imagining things?

After he polished my teeth like hubcaps, I jumped from the chair.

“Thank you,” I said, backing up towards the door.

“My pleasure, see you in six months,” he said with a wink, his coat looking as if it was waving from a flagpole.

My teeth, I decided, just might be an area I need to spring for taking the stairs two at a time, my molars sighing in relief.

 

SB

 

 

Posted in Health, humor, money, New York City | Tagged , , , , | 13 Comments

Hero In A Hard Hat

images-1I was on Carmine Street near the East Village en route to  an appointment.  There’s a fellow in a wheelchair, no more than 30, who sits in front of a variety store.  I’ve seen him before.  He doesn’t ask for money, but clearly it’s his spot all year long.cartoon-wheelchair-007

As I came out of the store buying Tic Tacs, I heard taunting from across the street.  Now for me to hear it so clearly, it was loud.

There were four boys I’d say in their late teens making fun of this guy calling him gimp, bum.  One screamed, “Hey, Willie, who’s gonna change your drawers today.”  I was beside myself with outrage, frozen where I stood.  But oddly enough my natural leanings all set to explode were usurped by a construction worker who abruptly stopped his bulldozer descending as if someone said CUT, like on a movie set.

He climbed down, wiped his hands on his jeans and marched over to this group of boys.

“You think you’re better than that boy just cause you can walk?  I’m talkin to you.  You’re pussies all a’ya.  You couldn’t stand what he goes through every day.”

One unfortunate kid yelled, “Hey fuck you man.”

“Fuck me, you wanna fuck me?” He lunged after this boy grabbing him by his neck shaking him right off the ground.” I remember thinking…would it be tacky if I took a few notes?

The kid in the wheelchair looked horrified.  I went over and said, “This man is great. Look how he’s standing up for you.”

“Yeah, but lady.  He’ll leave and they’ll beat the shit outta me.”  This is where I came in.

I called for the man to stop.  “Please, enough…that’s enough.” Hard Hat looked at me happily opting for manners rather than scorn (I was wearing a dress and kitten heels so my Jackie O’ness prevailed).

“I think these youngsters should be spoken to rather than beaten…I do, so please though I appreciate you standing up more than you know, let them be.”

Who the fuck was I channeling, Gandhi?

He let the kid, who now had a bloody nose, go. “You think talkin ta them will change anything?”

“Well, I see how young they are (I suddenly became their lawyer) and do think a conservation might be more useful.”

I was waiting for a fuck you to come my way, but these boys were scared since now we had three more hard hats behind Hard Hat.

I looked at these kids in all their perfection.  Beautiful bodies in nice jeans and tight Tees showing off chiseled arms.  Then I gazed at the guy in the wheelchair and my heart went.

“You fellas are so lucky,” I said.  “Look at you.  I bet you all play sports, right?”

One guy nodded.

“You see him (pointing to Willie)? He can never play ball, hit a homer, run around the bases like you can.  You should protect him, not make it harder by being cruel.  What would your mothers say if they were here?” (mentioning their mother was like pouring water over their heads).

I handed the kid whose nose was bleeding more napkins.  Hard Hat was standing near me like Luca Brasi ready to kill-em all.

I thought, this is probably going nowhere, but then another kid went and picked up Willie’s Boston Red Soxs cap that had fallen on the ground, handing it to him.

“You’re not even a Yankee fan Willie.”

“Yeah I am, I just ain’t got a hat.”

I don’t know what happened then, but Hard Hat went back to his bulldozer while I walked to the train.

“You have a nice day ma’am,” he said giving me a well worn wink. “and don’t worry about Willie, I got his back.”

Heroes…you never know when you’re going to meet one.

SB

Posted in humor, kids, men, New York City, writing | Tagged , , , , , | 18 Comments

Notes From The Carlyle – July 2015

 images-7 I worked four days last week, like a real person.  Exhaustion be damned, on the last day I deserved a reward, so where did I go?

Bemelmans, positively giddy as my skirt swirled through the Carlye’s revolving doors.  Actor Ian McKellen was swirling out as I entered elegant as a lynx.  I sighed heavily wishing he worshiped at my temple, but alas, he had a strapping young man with him as chic as he is, just a younger version.

The place was jumping at 2 in the afternoon, but when it’s hot, so’s the bar.  Any excuse for that martini, shaken not stirred.  I fit right in wearing what I call my William Faulkner summer suit since everyone seemed swaddled in Ralph Lauren.  I’ve had it forever bought when I was flush, and since, if you’re from Connecticut, it’s only worn three months out of the year staying in eternal, tip-top shape.  I was told it was the color bisque not beige when I slid into the last empty seat at the far end of the bar.  This handsome fella commented at once knowing it was vintage Ralph, as he called it.  When I took off the jacket as if we were in woman’s separates, he rolled up the sleeves to my blue button-down.

It felt as if I was still working.

His name was Roy and when I mentioned seeing Ian McKellen I knew he didn’t worship at my temple either since he grew another inch in various places.

“He’s divIIIne, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he certainly is.”

“Did you see him as Sherlock Holmes? Oh my God. He’s a-maYYYzing.”

Alrighty then.

With my vodka and tonic soaking in lime, I relaxed taking in the sights.  It could have been a commercial for the smug and snooty the way everyone posed and preened.  The men with their hips cocked ready for action, while women resembled mannequins that move.  It brought me back to when I was a bit modelly myself, even when I wasn’t modeling.  Every movement was like a chess game, one’s body doing all the talking.  Knees rubbing, shoulders shimmying, like a well choreographed horny ballet.

I made love to my long time man, Stolichnaya, who kept me chilled yet cozy while serenely watching the show.

See, at my age you want a sure thing, like a Russian you can trust.

SB

 

Posted in Beauty, humor, modeling, money, New York City, sex, Women and men | Tagged , , , , , | 37 Comments

Words Become Us

images-1 Eloquent: to be versed or fluent in speech.  Articulate, expressive and glib.  Vivid, lucid, lofty and smooth-tongued.  Effective, persuasive – holding sway.  Having great power or influence over a particular person, place, or domain… being well-expressed.

To put it simply…to rock, every time you open your mouth.

This word came up when I called Mick, one of my loyal readers eloquent, taking it as a great compliment.  Made me think.  Yes, eloquence is quite a special gift to have and one to aspire to.

JFK was eloquent.  So was Gregory Peck and Martin Luther King, Theodore Roosevelt and Ken Burns who I’ve heard speak with such verve and passion minus notes.

Audrey Hepburn was so beautifully spoken when she went before Congress on behalf of Somalia, we helped them more than any other country.

We mustn’t forget Kentucky senator, Henry Clay, the Elvis of the Senate, who had women as well as men, swooning in the aisles whenever he stepped to the pulpit.

He preached with ardor and zest and linguistic animation- language laced with fire and zeal.

These words grip me whenever they’re spoken even without a famous person saying them.  Just to see them on the page gives them a life of their own without ever having to be uttered.

Eloquence inspires its listeners to go personally higher.  When Abraham Lincoln got to the end of his First Inaugural address, people wept.

We must not be enemies but friends.  Though passions may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.  The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearth-stone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union when again touched as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

Words can change the world spoken with strength and humility.

Lincoln was what they called silver-tongued.  A skill we should all yearn and strive to call our own.

To be eloquent, like Mick.

SB

 

 

Posted in History, war, words, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 23 Comments

Boy Do You Deserve A Good Slap

I just came back from the drugstore.  Not just any drugstore mind you, but the Cartier of druggists…Zitomer’s of Madison Avenue.

I’ve had a charge there for over twenty-five years establishing credit rivaling an Astor, who I hear didn’t always pay their bills on time.

Why there and not a more economical pharmacy like CVS or Walgreens?

Convenience.  There was a time money was no object to this thin girl, so what if everything was ten times the price….big deal.

It’s also across from the Carlyle, so need I say more?

When I ventured in to actually return something Bed Bath and Beyond had for a third of the price, I was wearing my new Joe Fresh 16 dollar canvass slip-ons not realizing I was bleeding through my beige heel as I tooled down Mad.

I immediately went to the pharmacy to ask for a Band-Aid since now I was also in pain the skin ripping right off like a seared chicken leg.  The young man behind the counter I’ve dealt with a thousand times asked, “Is is it a blister…a cut?”

“I’m wearing new shoes and they’re cutting across the heel.”

He comes back with a variety of Band-Aids starting at 10 bucks.

“Excuse me, but I was hoping you’d have one to give me, like if you got cut.”

Well, if looks could kill from this snarky little shit, I would have to have my foot amputated.

“So if you have an accident of any kind, what do you do?  Is there no first aid kit?”

“No, I’d have to buy what I need, same as you.”

Breathe Susannah, breathe.  He was clearly raised by wolves then rented out to coyotes. Do not take his rudeness and lack of courtesy personally.

Yeah well, that looks great on paper.

“You know, you’re a little shit who should be ashamed of himself,” I said, before turning on my bleeding heel.  “Haven’t you ever heard of helping someone in need?”

He sneered then walked away.

As I was leaving the woman manning the candy counter I frequent quite often said, “Oh, Miss, did you know you are bleeding?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do.”

“Wait, I have Band-aid in purse.”

See, she was raised by angels.

SB

Posted in humor, money, New York City, shopping, Women and men | Tagged , , , , | 23 Comments

We Don’t Suffer Alone

images Whenever I have a case of the poor mes I’m shown immediately things can be worse.

How many people do I see in wheel chairs.  Or the ancient accompanied by a disinterested caretaker who assumes her charge doesn’t know the difference.

The woman afraid to cross the avenue because she’s just had surgery and can’t walk very fast, so she waits and waits on the corner for someone to help too embarrassed to ask.

There’s an ex model I have always been envious of.  She was more successful than I marrying a famous lawyer moving into a four-story townhouse.  She has two beautiful kids, a house in the Hamptons and kept on working well into her 50s because her husband knew everyone.

Two years ago they found a tumor in her brain they claimed to successfully remove.  Today, she doesn’t even recognize her children.  Her mind went, and when I see her my heart thinks, if you only knew how jealous I’ve been of you, and now you think my name is Claire.

I’ve known her for 35 years and she has no idea who I am.

When I’m in the throes of feeling sorry for myself because of my hearing issues, I’m reminded instantly how lucky I am to walk, see and recognize those I love.

SB

Posted in Faith, Family, Gratitude, Health, Love, modeling, New York City, women | Tagged , , , , | 19 Comments

You’re Such A Baby

I am stopped in my tracks three ways…when I see someone in need, a dog in my midst or a baby I just can’t resist.

images-20 Do you think I should shave?

images-38 I keep tellin him he needs a trim.

images-36 Where did you get that snazzy bow?

images-31 YOU CHEATED!

images-25 I’m gonna be Patti Smith when I grow up.

images-2 That’s pretty damned funny.

images-3 Get the fuck off your phone for Pete’s sake!

images-4 Whaddaya mean I’m catchin flies?

images-5 If you wanna write, you gotta read.

images-6 I’m the real Naomi Watts and can damn well prove it.

images-9 And no, I will not say cheese.

images-12 I’m in Leavenworth, but should be out in 6 months.

images-13Those little town blues, are melting away….I’ll make a brand new start of it, in old New York.  Sing it Frank!

images-14 OM

images-16 OMG.. DID YOU SEE THAT?

images I’ve decided to become a nun.

images-40 His father is in security.  Working for the same company, we just fell in love.  It happens.

images-18 Do you smell somethin?

images-21 Guess I should cut down on my carbs.

images-22 I’m savin for a Harley.

images-35 Whadda mean they keep shootin at ya?

images-32 If I had only known maybe I could have done something, like plastic surgery.

images-26 And we need to learn to swim why?

images-24 If you wanna place a bet, I’m the guy ta see.

images-10My memoir might be a little short.

images-15 What do you mean I have a monkey face?

images-34 We’re watchin Lassie.

images-1Whaddaya think…hair plugs?

images-28 Takin five.

images-41 You talkin ta me? Are you talkin ta me?

 

images-19 ROCK ON MOTHERFUCKER!

images-23 It doesn’t get much better than this.

:)

Courtesy of Google Images

SB

 

Posted in animals, Books, comedy, Family, humor, kids, Love, media, music, parents, readng, writing | Tagged , , , | 30 Comments

Murder At Midnight

It’s very hard for me to kill anything having that Quaker/Shaker thing that says, I truly don’t have the right.

That said, I massacred a moth in my kitchen Swiffing him to death heartsick ever since.

He moved in a little over a week ago as a wee tot scaring me when he came tooling out of my lamp while I was reading.  I had just spent 40 bucks having my two best sweaters sewn due to one of his predecessors then sprinkling cedar chips all throughout my closets.

Again, killing for me isn’t easy.  I even relocate water bugs the size of Montana to avoid this, and my biggest fear is having a mouse appear because then what? I’d never have the heart to leave a trap.  I’d have to give him towels and make room for him in the closet.

It was close to midnight as I lay reading cloaked in the peace and quiet of that solitary hour.  I got up to brush my teeth so when I went to get my toothbrush who, now fully grown, comes flying from my medicine cabinet but Mr. Moth.  He scared the crap out of me for starters, then got me thinking about my sweaters.  Resembling a halfback, I knew he had to have a huge appetite…wool on rye?

He was flickering around darting everywhere in what I felt was an arrogant manner.  He was just a guest after all and should have behaved like one.  But like most men you let into your space, he took right over.

My ire and Italian both went up.  “Who do you think you are acting that way? Enough or you’ll be sorry.”

He then started doing relays around the kitchen figuring I was all talk, and I was, even though I said…

“Are you mocking me there Mothie?”

I then took my Swiffer flailing it in the air figuring he’d get the point.

I brushed my teeth, but when I went to shut the light, who did I see crushed on the linoleum with a wing missing?

OMIGOD

I tried reviving him picking him up with a spatula, but knew it was too late.

I didn’t mean to kill him, even though I wanted him gone.  Like the roaches and water bugs who meander through, I was thinking of doing the same, moving him elsewhere,  contemplating capture.

Well, karmically I guess I’ve just dropped a few notches, but it was an accident.

I did say a few words after I wrapped him in Kleenex placing him ever so gently in the trash.

It was the very least I could do.

SB

Posted in animals, comedy, humor, New York City, readng, religion, Women and men | Tagged , , , , | 28 Comments

Hormonally Speaking

images-1 My pal Camille and I had a discussion over the differences of our libidos, mine being missing in action, hers ready for it at any given time.

The conversation went something like this.

Me: Camille, I just don’t understand where you get the energy to still chase men.  When we were younger it was ingrained, but now the mere thought leaves me exhausted.

Camille: You just have a bad case of the olds.  Get over it. You’re as sexy as you choose to be.

Me: You sound like a bad infomercial, redundant as that may be…and it’s not just mental, and you know it.  Our bodies just don’t cooperate.

Camille: Speak for yourself. My body’s on board, looking pretty good I might add.

Me: Well, if you have anymore lipo you’ll look mummified. We can change your name to Tut.

Camille: Just remember who can still wear a bikini.

Me: You see, my goal is to never wear one again.

Camille: Then you can just kiss all those men goodbye.

Me: What men? Like that developer from Massapequa you met at the car show? He has a toupee, was indicted for tax fraud and wears enough gold around his neck to make him worth kidnapping. Don’t you think you’ve slipped a little?

Camille: I have you know he’s a real catch.

Me: One you should have thrown back in the water. Do you really need sex that bad?

Camille: Yes. Haven’t you ever heard, if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it?

Me: I have used it, and it deserves its retirement.

Camille: You know Dex has a friend.

Me: The fact that he’s called Dex is enough for me to run the other way. I’ll stick with my books thank you.

Camille: You can’t fuck a book.

Me: That’s what you think.  Depends what you’re reading.

SB

 

Posted in Beauty, Books, Fashion, friendship, humor, sex | Tagged , , , , | 18 Comments

More Breadtime Stories

I was stretching in front of the Guggenheim Museum when I notice a bakery truck, double-parked, while watching the driver and two cops verbally duke it out.

Naturally I put that leaf in my ear to effectively eavesdrop in order to share with my esteemed readers.

The driver, a handsome black man bearing a striking resemblance to Samuel L. Jackson, was trying to stave off a ticket for being illegally parked.  You’d think at 7 a.m. it would be easier to make sneak deliveries, but clearly it isn’t.  It’s the changing of the guard for one…policemen going off duty tired and cranky, policemen coming on duty tired and cranky and you’re much more visible at that hour, like an elephant at a newsstand.

This man was saying, he’ll be responsible for that ticket if they decide to give him one.

The cop doing the talking didn’t appear too sympathetic. The fellow was breaking the law and that was all he wrote, well…if you don’t include the ticket in the batter’s box.

Then the driver said, “Hey mon, how bout a fresh roll?”

“Are you trying to bribe us with bread?”  the cop said.  And then came the best line.

“Yeah, ob-so-loot-lee.”  he said.

That’s when I decided to put my well caffeinated two cents in.

“You know officer, they’re one of the best bakeries in the city, and it is so early.  If I were you, I’d take that roll.”

“Oh you would,” said Officer Murphy, I’ll call him.

“Well who asked you?”

“No one, but he is just trying to do his job as you are, and it’s such a lovely morning.  Can I toss in, life’s short?”

It’s rare when a cop pauses, but the driver opens the back of his truck bringing out fresh kaiser rolls.

And no, he didn’t get a ticket, and even I, got a roll.

That’s what I call a perfect New York story.

SB

Posted in food, Gratitude, humor, New York City | Tagged , , , , | 30 Comments