Two Fig Newtons weren't enough.

Eight was definitely too many.

I need to lie down and moan now.

*garf*

Make sure you've read parts one and two before continuing.

Done?

Okay. Read on.

So I was staying over at Mother Ju's place and we were all planning to go to temple together in the morning. I knew, though, that if I still felt this sick when I woke up then I wouldn't go to services and risk spreading whatever I might have to all the unsuspecting congregants.

Plus, I'm a hugger and a kisser, and I can't just NOT hug and kiss my friends and family when I see them, particularly when it's a happy occasion and I may not have seen them in a very long time.

I slept hard, but with some dark, heavy dreams that I associate with being sick. I woke up sweaty, throat still raw. I looked at my watch and realized it was almost 8 a.m. The first service was scheduled for 8:30; the second not until 11. More important, perhaps, was the fact that my car was parked in a metered spot and the meter would need to be fed at 8 a.m. My sister and I had discussed this the night before. My mother was still asleep. I slipped out of bed and went down the hall to the guest bathroom. When I came out I saw Non-Blogging Sister Ju (NBSJ) who told me that she had paid my 1-hour meter when she went out to pay her own. I thanked her sincerely and climbed back into bed, knowing I'd have to deal with the meter again at 9 a.m. but grateful for the reprieve.

I woke again at 9:30. I learned from my mother that my meter was paid until 9:45 now. I knew there were some 2-hour meters around, and there was a new garage nearby as well, for which my mother had mentioned the previous night that she had discount coupons. I also learned that my mother and sister were planning to leave for temple in the next half hour or so. Apparently it was obvious to them that I was not well enough to join them.

After another trip to the bathroom and a brief conversation with my mother, I went downstairs in the condo to get a glass of water from the kitchen and to thank my sister for having fed my meter. I found NBSJ pulling on her coat and scurrying about looking for her purse. "Your meter has about five more minutes on it but mine expires right NOW!" she informed me in an apparent panic. "And I have no change!" I ran back upstairs to get my purse, from which I pulled a handful of change and brought it back down to her. She said, "I just need one quarter," and plucked exactly that from my hand. I said, "Could you just pay my--?" and she interrupted, "No, I have to get to mine before I get a ticket!" As if the meter maids in Salem, Massachusetts, are likely to pounce on a meter at the exact minute it expires the way they would in New Y--- hey, wait a minute. She works in New York City, I thought. That's exactlywhat she's used to.

And then I remembered that she was always a neurotic mess, self-involved and unable to see beyond the end of her own nose, long before she ever moved out of sheltered little Marble Rock.

This might also have something to do with why she will never, ever, over my dead body, see this here blog. And it's not just because of this post. It's because she understands so little of what's important to me or why ... and clearly I understand so little of her, or why, and frankly, I have no interest in having anything to do with a person like that. Except of course, for two small details: (A) She is my sister, and (2) I love her.

So, anyway, I went back upstairs and threw back on the clothes I was wearing the night before, grumbling the entire way. I was PISSED. I understood that I would have to deal with the car later, but it was entirely beyond me why she couldn't put a fucking quarter that I was trying to give her into the meter that was right in front of the building on her way back from saving her own car from a dreaded ticket. My mother asked what I was grumbling about and I made no secret of what had just happened. I said I had forgotten what she could be like and I couldn't believe her and so on. And she said, "You've forgotten that's exactly what your father was like." Which made me pause and consider for a moment. "No," I said. "Sure, Dad would have killed a loved one sooner than get a ticket or a scratch on his car, but he would NEVER have said no to helping one of us -- or a friend -- once his important business was done." She was silent. I assume she couldn't think of any rejoinder because I was right.

I went outside (in the rain, I might add) and moved my car to a 2-hour meter spot and fed the meter for the full 2 hours. I noticed that there was still time on the 1st meter when I got out there although I didn't check to see how much. I assumed it was just my neurotic sister having overestimated (or underestimated?) when it would run out. I saw my sister in her oversized, overpriced SUV waiting in front of the building as I did so, and waved to my mother coming out to meet her. I thought to myself that I didn't care if I never spoke to my middle sister ever again.

When they came back from temple a few hours later (I slept while they were gone, except when I ran out to move my car at noon to the nearby bank's now free parking lot), one of the first things my mother pointed out to me was that my NBSJ had fed my meter after all and, as she put it, I had "left a full hour on the meter that [my] sister paid for [me]."

I thanked my sister, but only because I felt it was polite and not because I felt it was warranted. I mean, she saved me nothing. She caused me to go out when I could have stayed in and rested. And having gone out, to discover it had now been paid after she had just finished telling me she had no change nor any intention of paying my meter? She should have apologized to me, which, if I'm honest, is rather what I thought she would do if I thanked her. But she didn't. She's still my sister, though, and I love her.

I'd take a bullet for her. I just don't like her. Not at all.

First, read part one.

And now ....

Dinner was a food orgy, as you might have anticipated, but it was also delicious, as you also should have expected. Since I hadn't helped with preparation, I took on my usual role of cleaner-upper, although I have to admit that my head/body/throat still ached and all I really wanted to do was curl up on the floor . . . if only the floor could have been my bed with some nice down pillows. I carried most of the dishes into the kitchen and began rinsing everything to go into the dishwasher. I loaded the dishwasher but instead of running it, I left it open. I know my mother only too well. I knew that if I overloaded it, I would hear about it, but if I didn't fill it up enough - when there was at least enough for another full load, if not two - then I would catch two ears full about that. Non-blogging Sister Ju (NBSJ) had flipped on the TV (we had long ago given up on the idea of going to temple that night) so I sat down with her to catch some stupid new show while I waited to see what Mother Ju would do.

Within minutes she reappeared from whatever part of the house she had gone off to, and she started clanging about in the kitchen. Next thing, I heard the dishwasher start running and asked her if she'd reorganized. Yes, she said, I fit in a LOT more. Excellent, I said. Would you like me to put the other dishes and glasses in the sink to soak, I asked? No, she said. I'll do them in the morning. Then I'm going to bed, I said. I'm still not feeling well.

And there's still more ....

What I didn't mention in the last post is that I wasn't feeling well when I woke up last Friday. I had noticed I had a sore throat on Thursday night, which was worse in the morning, and I had a bit of a flu-ish headache just to make things interesting. Since it was technically a vacation day for me, I slept in and didn't get to work until about 11:30. I still thought I'd get to Mother Ju's to help with set up by about 3 p.m., but my pile o' work and my fuzzy head conspired such that I didn't leave the office until 3:45 and thusly arrived at Maison Ju at about 4:45, just minutes before the guests were to arrive.

Unbeknownst to me, Mother Ju had apparently been counting on my earlier arrival. She hadn't told me this, though, and based on past experience my early arrivals for holiday dinners have typically led to some napkin folding and ice bucket filling. I had felt confident there would be plenty of time for this sort of activity.

Unfortunately, there had been more to do if only I had arrived sooner -- a point made clear to me when I called on my way there. Fortunately for Mother Ju, the Non-Blogging Sister Ju (NBSJ) had arrived from New Jersey earlier in the afternoon and she was pulling yeoman's duty in the kitchen. Mother Ju, as usual, had devised a menu involving enough entrees and side dishes, not to mention the quantities, to feed the entire synagogue congregation (which, by the way, has grown so much that we now have an early service and a late service, so this isn't small latkes we're talking). Mother Ju, however, isn't as young or as spry as she once was. These days, she does as much of the cooking as possible during the 2 weeks ahead, and this time had no real sense of what the dinner would be because she had just cooked several dishes and placed them in the freezer, assuming they would all magically fit together because, well, her cooking is indeed excellent and, well, the Jews -- and the Jus -- do like to eat.

Even with all the do-ahead, she had conceived of fresh roasted capons as the main main dish, which couldn't be made ahead. That tied up oven space needed for heating the previously frozen items and then, when the guests arrived, a couple of them had brought things that needed to be heated as well. I should mention that my mother is someone who has finally broken down and started to allow others to bring things to her dinner parties. The problem? She doesn't allow those items to replace anything on her existing menu.

Anyway.

So I arrived, feeling feverish and achey but determined to help as much as possible. Mother Ju and NBSJ were taking up every available inch of physical space and breathable air in the kitchen. The table was set (napkins folded) and the ice bucket was full. I asked what I could do and Mother Ju said I could set out the soda in the beverage area. I looked everywhere I could think of for bottles of soda (cabinets, closets, etc.) and found none. I sat back down, dizzy with fever. My mother magically appeared with bottles of soda and made a nasty comment about me not helping. I said I wanted to but couldn't find the soda. She snapped that it had been in the refrigerator which, now, seems like an obvious place but since my mother doesn't drink much soda it honestly never occurred to me that she would have any in there, especially when she must have needed all available space for food.

Maybe it was the fever. You can see that I was not fulfilling my daughterly duties very well.

There's more. Tune in for the next installment ....

Happy 5767 to my Jewish friends, family, and assorted readers! May it be a healthy and a sweet year for you all.

Yes, it's that time again, folks. If you didn't wish your Jewish colleagues a happy New Year when you or they left work on Friday, then please, I beg of you, do so tomorrow when you get to the office. If you forgot (or didn't realize it was the time) to wish your real-life friends a happy new year, well, Saturday was the official day, but any time in the coming week is a great time to call and wish them a happy and healthy new year.

I wasn't supposed to be in the office Friday and not a single person wished me a happy holiday as I (or they) left on Thursday. You know, it's funny. I've worked in the same office for six years, and in the same unit for eight. In that time, I don't think anyone has ever noted any of my high holy days unless prompted by me.

As it happened, despite having taken the day off, I had a pantload of work to do, and since the holiday didn't actually begin until sundown, and since Mother Ju had only requested that I arrive at her house at 5 p.m., I went into the office for a few hours on Friday after all. When I left, my boss -- with whom I've worked for the full six years of my tenure there -- remembered to wish me a "happy Rosh Hashanah" (a perfectly acceptable thing to say, if not what Jews actually say to one another). I happily thanked her, and I guess some of the other orkers overheard the exchange, because one also wished me a happy Rosh Hashanah and another wished me a happy holiday.

So they still may have no idea what the holiday means, but it's progress all the same.

Maybe if the local TV stations would start earlier with their little holiday greeting messages, it would help people out. It often seems that by the end of Yom Kippur (and in case you're keeping track, that'll start next Sunday night and lasts through Monday at sundown -- and for future reference, it is always 10 days from the 1st day of Rosh Hashanah), people usually seem to have the "happy New Year" thing down fairly well. And I know this sounds like I'm complaining, and I am, only not entirely, but maybe this will put in context for you why I think it can be a little weird to get the good wishes late in certain circumstances:

Wishing someone a happy New Year on January 10th when you've seen them EVERY. DAY. SINCE. JANUARY 2nd but didn't mention it in any previous interchange is, well, a little awkward, right? And I can't speak for all the other Yids out there, but to me this Jewish holiday deal is pretty much the same thing. Now, if I haven't seen, spoken with, or otherwise communicated with you, then just as you would still wish me a happy New Year on January 20th or even February 1st if that was our first contact, then by gum, go ahead and wish me one well after the Jewish New Year, too. And if you just genuinely didn't know about the holiday, or even forgot (because there certainly aren't many reminders in the stores or anywhere else and you may not be lucky enough to have many friends of the Hebrew persuasion), just conk yourself on the keppie, wish a Jew a happy and a healthy, and be honest about why you didn't do it sooner. C'mon, we practically invented comedy (nyuk nyuk), so you don't need to get all gloom-and-doom-y about it! Just say your piece, conk your cerebellum again right in front of us for good measure, maybe do a pratfall as you walk away, and I'm sure we'll all be right as rain in no time.

I am so glad I could help. 'Cause I'm a helper. Happy New Year, folks!

And see, now, I have absolutely no idea what an appropriate thing would be to say to a friend or colleague observing the very solemn month of Ramadan, which begins today. Maybe one of my good readers can help me out with that.

Just a tip, fellas:

When you call a woman at two o’clock in the ayem to see if she’s “doing what [you’re] doing” in case maybe she’d like to “y’know, do it together”, don’t ask her if she’s mad that you called so late. The correct question to ask is whether she’s angry.

Knowledge of proper language usage is important. I know I’m not alone in preferring to have middle-of-the-night phone phornication with men who know how to use more than just their appendages.

Am I right, ladies?

Oh. My. God. I believe I have just had a religious epiphany. A conversion, in fact.

Ladies, have you tried these yet? Today, for the first time ever, I am wearing a pair of these footless tights under a pair of cropped pants and with open-toed shoes, and it's a seriously freeing experience. No panty lines. No thigh crease from one of those long-leg smoothers (fuck it, that bitch is a girdle no matter what they call it). And no roll-up or binding at the bottom. They are comfy with a capital COMF.

I confess that I bought a pair of these last spring and was all excited to get them home and try 'em out. I opened the bag of various purchases, dug around, but where were the Spanx? They were nowhere, that's where.

My kindest self believed, at the time, that the saleswoman inadvertently left them on the counter when folding and bagging my other items. Now that I have tried 'em out, though, my oh-so-cynical self knows the truth: That beyotch slipped those twenty dollar babies into her own handbag and never looked back.

And now I know that if it had been me in her working-girl mules, I'd have done the same damned thing without a moment's guilt, either. And I'd have drunk a toast to the poor sap who didn't know what she was missing when I got home with my booty, too.

It took me until last weekend to reach into my wallet to drop another $20 for these babies. Don't make my mistake. Get thee to the website or your favorite retailer and buy a pair.

Oh, and tell the beyotch at checkout that Cynical sent you.

A few days ago I was describing to a friend the fashion style of one of my senior colleagues as "Straight off the rack from Talbots with some preppy thrown in for good measure. She never gets rid of anything and maintains her clothing impeccably, so if she was wearing it ten years ago, she's as likely to wear it tomorrow." Then I described a few of her typical classic outfits, ending with, "And yesterday she wore one of her two seersucker suits."

I was expecting my friend to nod knowingly, as in, "Ah, I see what you mean. No one wears seersucker anymore, and that's seriously dedicated to the prep factor." But my friend's actual and immediate response was, "Seersucker? After Labor Day?"

And I thought I was a tough crowd.

It's bad enough that people sprinkle when they tinkle and don't wipe the seat, and that they leave hair in the sink (not to mention on the aforementioned seat), but what's the deal with the folks who don't lock the door of the public rest room and then yell at the person who unwittingly walks in on them?

(And please, if you must be bulimic [and I swear I'm not judging], please do your thing in private. I happen to know some excellent therapists, but the first step is admitting you have a problem ... right after locking the damned door behind you, girlfriend. An extra flush after would be awfully nice, too.)

Dinner tonight with some Blogging Babes around Boston. I could tell you more about it, but then I'd have to smite you.

It sort of snuck up on me. I mean, I saw it happening, but I didn't really realize it had happened. Sure, some of my clothes didn't fit, but it was time for some new things anyway, and sure, the new things seemed to be requiring larger sizes, but I still had it in my head that it was just a few pounds. But suddenly, I've realized that it's not so sudden.

Over the course of about 18 months, I have regained about half of the 150 pounds I lost from early 2001 through late 2003.

I'm lumpy again. I get winded and tire easily; my ankles swell daily (yep, I've got cankles) -- and they don't always un-swell overnight; my extra chins have returned with a vengeance; and I'm back to being a bit ungainly and clumsy at times. I don't feel as though I am dressing as professionally at work as I ought - simply because I can't find things to fit properly again, nor can I afford a whole new wardrobe -- and this is the time of year when parents are teeming about the campus with their babies just before passing them off into our capable (but suspect) hands, so I generally try to dress up just a bit more than usual.

Last weekend, in the midst of a mini-reunion with some wonderful old friends, there were a number of things going on that I'll write about at some point, but it didn't escape me that one particular friend who never fails to tell me how great I look didn't say a word about my appearance. And he has seen me at every size in my repertoire.

I can only begin to imagine the surprise and disappointment of my friends who were so happy for and proud of me when I lost the weight. I don't know if people who have never struggled with weight or with any compulsive behaviors can truly understand what it's like to live in my head and body. I, too, thought (well, hoped anyway) that having a gastric bypass in the summer of 2001 would sublimate my unhealthy will and more or less magically resolve these issues for me. But my compulsions never really went away, and despite really hard work with my therapist and a lot of changes in my behavior, I ultimately slipped back into my old bad habits and negative behavior patterns.

I haven't entirely given up, mind you. I'm back at the gym, working with a trainer, and I'm still working on these behaviors with my therapist and my psychiatrist. I had been in a fairly deep depression last winter and into the spring from which I finally emerged this summer, so things have definitely improved in some areas, but the road back is long and dark and lonely and it is paved with Suzy Q's®.