When I was a kid and my mother got angry at someone she would often threaten war.
"This is war," she'd say to no one in particular.
As a little kid I understood what war was - it was that horrible TV show on during dinner time with the words Vietnam in it. (Yes, I am that old.) I thought it didn't look too fun and so when my mother threatened it, I would run and turn off the TV. No war for me!
It's sayings like those that you don't hear often. Not unless you live in Park Slope and take endless walks with your kid. It's days like yesterday that I wish I had a camera and video phone. Not to take photos of trees or the park or make movies Mamie doing a raspberry, but to solve the riddle of Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? Because let me tell you this, Baby Jane lives in Park Slope. And she drinks coffee at the Connecticut Muffin on 7th Avenue. Don't believe me? Well, if you go and she isn't there, look around for the coffee cup. It will be smeared with red lipstick. Like, really smeared. She lives! She lives!
I tried to tell Mamie that I just saw Baby Jane but she was too busy eating her zipper. (The teething. The molars.) That's when I saw her again, only it wasn't the same one. It was another older lady with too much make-up, red shmear of lip goo on her teeth, the crazy eyes and wacky outfit, and long hair dyed an unnatural color of red that only looks good on girls in their early 20s with adorable faces.
Gotta carry a camera with me. That's all. I muttered that to myself as we came upon our apartment. I stopped short because two yentas were having a fight outside of the front door and I wanted to listen in. I love shit like that. Anyway, all I could make out was that they were in on some cigarette sharing deal (?) and then one of them reneged on something about it. One lady was elderly, thin and from where I was standing looked like she had teeth made out of candy corn. A smoker? Why yes, I think she was a smoker. The other one, was gasp -- a Baby Jane type. Long scraggly hair dyed red with 4 inches of white roots, a black velour jogging suit worn with slippers and again, that red lipstick that you can see from a mile away. I was staring hard at the scene when I heard it.
"This is war," one of them said.
(Mom? Is that you?)
No, it was the smoker lady and she didn't look to happy.
"When you see me, just know this is war," she said angrily, little teeth all crunched together.
Wow, that was nice of her. At least she warned Baby Jane 3 that when she saw her, after the pleasantries and shared cig, it was war. They parted ways and I remembered that duh, I had a baby in front of me, so we headed on inside. I thought of how lucky I was to witness all these Baby Janes while also knowing that whoever I told this to was going to think I was nuts.
Pics TK.
"This is war," she'd say to no one in particular.
As a little kid I understood what war was - it was that horrible TV show on during dinner time with the words Vietnam in it. (Yes, I am that old.) I thought it didn't look too fun and so when my mother threatened it, I would run and turn off the TV. No war for me!
It's sayings like those that you don't hear often. Not unless you live in Park Slope and take endless walks with your kid. It's days like yesterday that I wish I had a camera and video phone. Not to take photos of trees or the park or make movies Mamie doing a raspberry, but to solve the riddle of Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? Because let me tell you this, Baby Jane lives in Park Slope. And she drinks coffee at the Connecticut Muffin on 7th Avenue. Don't believe me? Well, if you go and she isn't there, look around for the coffee cup. It will be smeared with red lipstick. Like, really smeared. She lives! She lives!
I tried to tell Mamie that I just saw Baby Jane but she was too busy eating her zipper. (The teething. The molars.) That's when I saw her again, only it wasn't the same one. It was another older lady with too much make-up, red shmear of lip goo on her teeth, the crazy eyes and wacky outfit, and long hair dyed an unnatural color of red that only looks good on girls in their early 20s with adorable faces.
Gotta carry a camera with me. That's all. I muttered that to myself as we came upon our apartment. I stopped short because two yentas were having a fight outside of the front door and I wanted to listen in. I love shit like that. Anyway, all I could make out was that they were in on some cigarette sharing deal (?) and then one of them reneged on something about it. One lady was elderly, thin and from where I was standing looked like she had teeth made out of candy corn. A smoker? Why yes, I think she was a smoker. The other one, was gasp -- a Baby Jane type. Long scraggly hair dyed red with 4 inches of white roots, a black velour jogging suit worn with slippers and again, that red lipstick that you can see from a mile away. I was staring hard at the scene when I heard it.
"This is war," one of them said.
(Mom? Is that you?)
No, it was the smoker lady and she didn't look to happy.
"When you see me, just know this is war," she said angrily, little teeth all crunched together.
Wow, that was nice of her. At least she warned Baby Jane 3 that when she saw her, after the pleasantries and shared cig, it was war. They parted ways and I remembered that duh, I had a baby in front of me, so we headed on inside. I thought of how lucky I was to witness all these Baby Janes while also knowing that whoever I told this to was going to think I was nuts.
Pics TK.
