September 8, 1995 (#5) (and before ...)

I apologize just this once, but as you all have realized, I tend to take for granted those that I trudy love, all of you, so much, I weep. It has been ages since I last wrote in my diary. The biggest news of all was my trip to NYC for Wigstock, one of my long lost homes. Through a gentleman's generosity I arrived home in full style, and wanted for naught.

As you may have assumed, I was incognito the entire trip and I beg forgiveness from all my dear dear dear friends on whom I did not call. This, of course, would include my lovely computer technicians who were working to bring my message to the world. They had no idea I was there! And I will say, that for what they were paid, they were a bit tired, but sincere, always sincere. I love them too much, really. They took oodles of photos, thinking that I wouldn't be there. I share them with you all as a small, yet possibly somewhat time consuming, token of my respect.

I received some mail while in NYC. (I adore electronic mail, it's like never leaving your postman.) as well as calling cards from some new friends. Mr. Jewel shows his age and he actually finally likes something even if it did play forty years ago. On a similar note, my soul sister, Sage sends me a mish-mash but intergalactically connected with Mr. Jewel I fear. She does mention Yma Sumac so I simply must and I simply did. Zach, dear who knows, I'm afraid he may be quite nearby and he is into dietary practices of nomadic Native Americans, 1850-1878. Very intellectual, my side of the family. And then Joe Palermo sends his love with Spanish eyes and some sad news to which we are all becoming too accustomed. These missives keep me so connected to what happens across our great land. I feel a need to listen to Kate Smith for a minute, talk amongst yourselves.

The trailer park looked a bit tired, much like my girls, upon my return. But a minute of quick "dust-busting" and a little lemon Pledge and everything sparkled. I then realized, that I probably should dust-myself and I was in need of a bit of sparkle.

I was just in the point of delicately lowering my lithe body into a steaming, but not too hot, tub when a knock came at the door. Pulling my towel tighter, and possibly inadvertently accentuating my form, I glided to the screen door. I had neglected to shut the aluminum door as it was much to hot and I yearned for cross-ventilation.

Jack stood at the door. He was holding an empty leash, presumably for the "tick" and not for Mary. I'm afraid, my tiny jawbreakers, that this man leered at me. Oh how I wished for a lorgnette to put him in his place with one cool stare. However, I worry that I only exacerbated the problem by turning my back to him.

My previous good friend, made a remarkable comment that really I shouldn't print here.

Things were already out of hand and I hadn't opened the door. I didn't need to. Jack opened and let himself in, leash and all. As much as I hated that rodent, at least it would have created some conversation, things had gotten terribly silent. Oh where was Amy, where was Mary. The quick grind of a next-door blender answered that.

Perhaps, the happy sounds emanating from his content, but obviously not fufilling double-wide trailer, or perhaps the need for further refreshment of a different sort reminded him of just who I was. I am not sure, but Jack cocked an ear towards the imminent daquiri and requested my presence next door.

What did I do?

Accepted and shooed the lech out. The bath would wait. Jack would wait. Everything would wait. I need to commune with my comrades, to salute my return AND to find out what happened. After all, when I left, Amy and Mary still weren't speaking and now they were breaking ice together as if they alone were slowing global warming.

I hastened.

I arrived and Jack was nowhere to be found when I arrived. Sensing a potentially delicate situation, I accepted a daquiri (no fruit flavors, my swizzlers, it destroys the rum) and sat back to enjoy my reunion without asking the questions no true friend dare ask. Amy was resplendent in her khakis and white oxford cloth shirt. Her curly reddish-grey mop was tousled in just that way we all try so hard to do in the morning. Mary looked amazing, she growled from her sheath in a way that made me blush and I don't mind telling you that I don't blush easily. I lived in New York City after all.

The timing was all off to find out what happened. My girlfriends fawned over me like a lost lamb. I reassured them countless times that I was not moving back east, that I had found my home with them. But I did make some observations.

All of Jack's war medals and memorabilia were gone. Out for cleaning? I don't think so. On my trip to the bathroom I noticed that Jack's toothbrush was gone. I refuse to go into how I knew which was his toothbrush, you'll just have to trust me on this. Plus, I was there, as far as I can recall, at least four hours, and the "tick" never showed up and as I knew from previous experience, the "tick was not with Jack.

I had my horrible suspicions about what may have taken place. Luckily the daquiri, well one of them, tempered my tongue.

I shall investigate further as this could be traumatizing for my little community.