My Secret To Eternal Happiness

I have NOTHING to write about tonight. I am not tortured, irritated, impatient, angry, upset, in love, out of love, or carnally frustrated. I don’t care what Newt, Mitt, Doc, Dopey or any of the other mental dwarves running for President of the United States say or do. I don’t care about Tebow, or Tea Parties, or even Tea Bagging. No, tonight, I am focusing all my attention on the worship and adoration of ...

Chocolate.

And the ingestion of it in copious amounts.

Because I Love it.

No....I really love it.

I would marry it if I could.

More than I want to know what’s behind Michele Bachmann’s crazy-looking eyes, I want chocolate.

 And I want it NOW.

Whenever I doubt the existence of God, I have only to turn my shopping cart down aisle eleven, or as I like to call it, Aisle heaven. There, sitting on the shelves, like the Sirens in The Odyssey sit my lovers, singing their sweet songs to me. Milk or Dark, 60% or 80% Cacao, I don’t care. They await my rapacious appetite and insane desire for what’s under their smooth, shiny wrapper. I get light-headed at the thought of gently peeling back that soft, silky aluminum wrapper that holds the secret to my heart ... Say, what is cacao anyway?

My love for this stuff is legendary. You can go to the most remote parts of Russia, China, or Cincinnati and they speak of the big-footed old white lady in the parking lot of the local 7-11 at three in the morning who is scoffing down Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I am the Chocolate Yeti; known to exist, but .seldom seen by many. 

About once a month, from about the eighteenth to the twenty-third, I go particularly crazy and it is not all unusual for me to get out of bed and drive down the block to meet my dealer and score some Hershey bars (no nuts. I have this thing about nuts). When money is tight, I am ashamed to admit that I have demeaned myself by resorting to unspeakable acts, such as sticking my hand up the butt of a small pig and pulling out enough change to score some brown gold. Currently, I am in the throes of such a mania, and am unable to think clearly. Even as my cacao- stained fingers muck up this keyboard, I am contemplating pimping my cat Booger to feed this chocolate monkey on my back. Plus, I am fairly certain my “Q” is out of commission for a while, due to a clump of cacao stuck in the key. If you are thinking that I love to run around my palatial estate screeching the word Cacao! Cacao! at full volume, like a wild, multi-hued tropical bird, you would be correct.   

Strangely, though inexplicably, this behavior begins to subside shortly after the twenty-third. So does the tossing and turning in bed and the mood swings.

“Excuse me, Ms. Scotti?”

Who are you, God? Oh wow, nice to meet you! I’d shake your Holy Hand, but I have cacao all over it. By the way, I have been meaning to thank you for making chocolate, and I’m really sorry I was such a glutton with it. I swear...uh..to YOU, I’ll never do it again...after tonight of course. I know that gluttony is one of the deadly sins, but not the deadliest, right? I mean, I shouldn’t have to go to hell over a mini Kit-Kat, should I? I think envy or sloth might be way worse......

“No, no, not God. And even if I were, there are millions of other things I could send you to hell for besides your disgusting chocolate Jones. No, I am Dr. Chipotle Patel-O’Brien, from the Psychic Gynecological Center in Barthelona, Spain. How do you make your acquaintance today... happy, yes/no?”

Wow. Who is your translator? And what do you want?

“Well, I could not help to overheard your symptoms. The cravings, the mood swings, the inability sleeping...all quite normally menstrual symptoms, yes/no? You would know this if you have had gone to your really real gyno five years ago when you say you would.” 

Menstrual symptoms? What the hell are you talking about Doc? I don’t have a uterus or ovaries, I’m transgendered, remember?  And why are you chuckling?

“I laugh because you are funny woman! Of course, no ovaries or what-not things, but you take the estrogen, yes/no?”

I do. I dip the pills in chocolate. They taste like Cocoa Puffs.

“Well, you body, it is on a cycle. The estrogen, she makes you more like a woman who was born with the right parts. The cycle, she is nothing to worry about. Very natural, it is. Okay?”

Yeah, thank you Doc! I feel so much better now!

“Good, I’ll send you a very large bill tomorrow. And go see a real doctor. Good night Ms. Scotti!”

Imagine that. Who would have guessed it was the hormones? God, I loves me some estrogen....making me feel all right inside, and normal, and happy and femmey and stuff. You know what? I’m going to go have my hair done tomorrow! Just because I can. But for now...where did I put that Three Musketeers bar? ......Cacao! 

That's it. I'm done! Everbody hug, and let's eat! Abbondanza!.   

   

 

My Funny Valentine ...gig

Here’s an interesting dilemma. I’m booked for Valentine’s Weekend, right? And of course, the theme of the show is love and relationships. Now, I promised the booker that I would devote a good chunk of time to those subjects. The trouble is, I’m single, I’m a transgendered woman who identifies as a lesbian, I hate Valentines Day, AND I had commitment issues before all of this happened. About the only thing I have in common with these folks is my adoration of all things chocolate. My idea of heaven is to perform in a three-thousand seat room where the audience is made up solid milk chocolate people. Then, if a heckler starts in, I could just run into the crowd and bite his head off, starting with the ears.

“Wait just a darn minute there, Missy!

Well if it isn’t my old friend, and new literary prop, “Redneck Stereotype Generic Voice #2! What can I do for you tonight?

“Did I read you right? Did you say you were a lez being?”

No no....Not a less being. I’m a lesbian, and that is exactly what I said.  Why are you sounding so perplexed?

“Oh Gawd, now she’s a LESBIAN! Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus and baby Jesus...in fact all the Jesuses combined into one Giant Mad-as-Hell  Jesus!! You mean to sit there and tell me that you went through all that snippin and clippin and tuckin and tinkerin, and you still want to be with the ladies?  You have gone completely out of your mind, WOMAN! Personally, I think you have overdosed on that damned estrogen, that’s what I think.”

Calm down, Red, the explanation is quite simple. What you probably don’t understand is that Gender Identity has nothing whatsoever to do with Sexual Preference. Just like some genetic women like women, some transgendered women also like women  ...and some like men. Everybody’s got to like something, right? We all need to be with someone, don’t we? Isn’t love what makes the world a wonderful, colorful place, Red? Tell me, what do you like?

“I’d like to get the hell out of here, that’s what I’d goddamn like. What do you know about love any way? You really think you got a shot at landing someone? Well good luck on that one Missy. Ha! Hahahahahahaha......”

See ya Red! Say hi to the missus for me!

Hmm...Well, he does make a good point. What exactly do I know about love? My only perspective is from my years with the other tribe. I know about the imitation of heterosexual love. I did it for years. But that wasn’t love. That was unfulfilling and empty; like pouring water into a bucket with no bottom.

I don’t know if I have a shot at ‘landing’ someone, as Red suggested. Personally I find the term ‘landing’ more akin to pulling a bass or trout out of the water into the boat. I don’t want to trap someone or hook them. I want it to evolve, organically. I don’t need bombastic Rhett and Scarlet love. I want ‘moments’. I want cold nights in front of a fire when all is well with the world and I’m happy the person I love is in the room with me. I want a peck on the cheek for no reason. I want a surprise pizza on a Friday night from the one I love. I want...wait a minute. Straight people want those things too, don’t they? So if they want what I want then we can’t be that different can we? And if we aren’t that different, then I can write material for this show! The only thing I have to do then, is get them to understand that being transgendered or a lesbian doesn’t mean I don’t feel what they feel. And I can do that because it’s true. After all, this IS about truth, isn’t it?

Yeah, this is going to be a kick ass show. I know it. A piece of cake. Chocolate cake.