Category: Dr Sally’s Journal


While moving into a new apartment, my husband was going through his old collection of art and found this original photograph of her. Isnt she just something to oogle over? Who was this woman?

 

Yesterday the man I’m going to marry took me to a jewelry store, not necessarily to buy the largest, most sparkling ring in the store, but to bury the Dead Soldier. I had found myself bundled up in my spring green jacket and being hugged warmly by my chemise scarf, while being encouraged by his hand grasp to skip easily to the jeweler’s store front because he was finally purchasing that life long piece desired by all single women all over the world.

He threw the ring up on the counter. “How much can we get for this ring?” JP asked.

The hard-assed Italian who stood behind his shiny lit glass display cases suddenly dropped his gold-filled mouth smile. “Oh. Lets see how much it weighs.”

We walk over to the scale he brings up onto the counter. “Was this yours?” he peers from over his gold brimmed glasses to ask me.

“No, I’ve never been married. It’s all his.” I looked over at JP. He gave me a wink and a smile, as he kept both hands in his pockets.

The limped dick white gold only brought us just over a hundred bucks, but it was easily exchanged along with the blurry memories of maybe not even wearing it for a night full of hope, promises and love. I was finally getting to this guy.

There was hardly a black procession leaving the store immediately proceeding the burial of the soldier. He had fought a long hard battle, one for which he strongly believed in. He loved her and worked for her everyday, but he couldn’t keep up with her projections of self-hatred and denial of the last healthy relationships that remained in her life, and so had lost many comrades while at war. The ending of his life was a black and blue rage, spotted with moments of quietness and solace. As the soldier’s light came to a close, as he knew it, it was a self-fulfilling prophecy for him to sacrifice his love to a dedication to a cause that was not worthy.

We are Growing our Roots Together!

We are Growing our Roots Together!

I met him through a friend of mine who pissed me off on a daily basis. Sometimes my friend would call me, sometimes he wouldn’t. He would definately call me if he had nothing else better to do, or if he happened to be finished playing with his cock. We were cool back then: just a coffee friend. I couldn’t be friends with him anymore than that. He was just annoying for the most part.

But he took me to his neighborhood coffee shop, and the minute I walked in, yes I was overwhelmed with the blah blah pungent smell of coffee, but better yet it was a shop with the ugliest collection of photography I’ve ever seen. The inner dweller people were the farthest I would consider friend-friendly. I could just tell they were laughing at me everytime I spoke… was it the fact that I came in with johnny?

The guy behind the counter was long haired, probably hadn’t taken a shower in 5 days, and apparently loved the raunchy metal t-shirt that that he wore. It hardly qualified as a t-shirt there were so many holes in it. Luckily it covered all the parts I did not want to see.

At that point, I became a pure coffee addict, and yes, Hi my name is Sally and Im addicted to coffee. I would find myself driving 20 minutes away to this guy’s coffee shop just for a small cup of joe on my hour break. I swear it was crack in that coffee. It made me come back for more.

Then I would have mornings I thought I wouldnt be able to make it through my day if I hadn’t had my coffee. Like I would fall asleep on the leg extension machine right in the middle of counting my clients reps. “1, 2, zzz, 4, 5…”

So I started staying on my days off, on my half days, on any day I had an hour to spare before I went to work. I would work on my computer, writing poetry, writing home to Mom and Dad, reviewing what was the next step for applying to schools. For one second, it was just one second, I’d look over the brim of the laptop in front of me and LOCK eyes with him. WTF? Are you looking at something behind me? Oh please don’t be looking at me. You are soooo not my type.

JP loves metal, would cook and clean to it, make gay ass lattes to it, and most likely jacked off to his mighty greatness in making the worlds best latte while listening to metal. That shit is just too hard for me, I told him. Look, I know I need something hard in my life, but metal was so far away from the thought of a hard cock to sit on.

Then it all started to come together. JP was helpful to his customers, loyal to the in-house old lady who sat in the middle of the shop reading the NY Post and listened to every single neighborhood rumor. Little did I know that later she would become my neighbor and call me down to her apartment door just to take care of the cat shit she has wrapped in a bag.

JP was hard working. He worked everyday, maybe switched one or two shifts off with his girlfriend — oops I mean — employee. And wait, Erin is his wife?

I had met Erin first before I met JP and had never put the two together. She was one of the crowd who made up the neighborhood of the coffee shop. She would sit in the corner in the comfy chair and growl about school. Her comments bled with low self-esteem and hatred. I didnt realize they were together until 6 weeks after I had started going when she finally piped up to JP, “Can we please go home soon? I am so tired.” That bitch would bark these orders to him while he slaved latte after latte, and the light in my head just totally changed color to illuminate him… he was at first a flat headed dirt bag who listened to ugly music and didnt give a shit whether you liked his awesome coffee or not. Now, he was develping into a caring, hardworking business owner who never did enough for his bossy-ass wife. Was it him developing? or was my idea of him changing?

He sought refuge in my apartment in the next few months. I had just moved into this place right above his coffee shop a few weeks earlier. I figured, how bad could it be living and breathing above this man who listens to bad, bad metal music who slaves at pleasing his never ending demanding wife. Maybe if he strives for that acceptance even from anyone, not just his wife, he can’t be all that bad.

And that’s where it started. I listened to him dribble about how she never cleaned at home, never more than 5 times in the 8 months they lived there had never made him dinner. He deserved so much more than the life he was living. Why had he believed himself “worthy” of this life he was living. He stopped going home. He started sleeping at the coffee shop. He took showers at another neighbor’s house, he ate only bagels and crossiants and drank coffee. He put on weight. He was sad.

JP became my friend. He became my mentor with my pursuits in sport. He learned that he needed more than what Erin was giving him. He realized he needed encouragement and positive thoughts to encompass him, not debbie downers 24 hours a day. He was tired of being her punching bear, of being the run-to-dude when she couldn’t figure out how to get the toilet paper out of her ass.

I helped him open his eyes.