Dreamscape

Sybil is back in New Jersey but the nightmares haven't stopped.

This is a text I got from Lewis yesterday:

Just had a nightmare that after having paid off DISCOVER, Sybil told me I owed them $9,360. I demanded to see the statement. I was at 25 Taylor and our father was in the kitchen, shirtless, eating dinner. I demanded to see the statement and said: "Give it to me, you fucking cunt." Our father said he was calling the police. I put him in a headlock and made him look at Barry and Sybil while I said: "Look at them! They think you're a bum! I can talk convincingly. I'll have the police take YOU away."

As funny as Lewis's nightmare was nothing can top my dream last night:

Lews, Sybil and I were at a restaurant owned by David Hasselhoff.  He was going table to table greeting the customers.  When he got to our table, I couldn't get over how much he looked like Sybil, right down to the rouge on his cheeks.  He looked at Sybil and the dish she was eating and asked if she liked it.  She complained it was too spicy. David responded by saying that both his wife and girlfriend liked it.  His wife then came to the table, all jealous, sat next to Sybil and started pushing her around. I then kicked this huge bowl of caesar salad off the table. It flipped and landed on David Hasselhoff's head, causing him to flip backwards on the ground.  I looked at Lewis and said now that is a fucking blog post!

I woke up and typed notes so I wouldn't forget this glorious dream.  

You either die a hero or live long enough to enough to see yourself become a villain 

The Whitney Houston Suite

During this glorious visit, Sybil decided to stay at the Beverly Hilton.  It is just far enough away to be a complete pain in the ass to see her.  With no regard for the fact I have to drive back and forth she has regaled me with tales of how the trip is costing her $6,000 and as soon as she gets home she is calling corporate because her room is shit.  Her words, not mine.

Being the invalid that she is, she needed a handicap room.  I let her know months in advance that she should put a request in for one. Her response was I should mind my business and she took care of it.  When Sybil checked in, the first thing I noticed was her room had a tub shower. Unless the room had a hidden crane in the closet, there was no way she was getting in that tub to wash herself.  At best she might be able to wash her hoof by dipping it in the toilet. When I asked her about the room, she told me she complained to the front desk, but they told her there were other people in the hotel that needed the handicap rooms more than her. Again her words not mine.

After further probing I discovered management offered Sybil another room, but she refused it because she claimed it was too much trouble. Translation, if she takes the other room she can't go home and protest the charges on her credit card based on elder abuse.

Sybil also told me that she was faint so the hotel sent a sandwich to her room.  When she checked her bill (does it daily) she saw they billed her for said sandwich.  She complained until they removed the charge. The sandwich was also shit (again her words) and she didn't finish it (left a piece of crust) so why should she pay for it. Why indeed.

Even the finest graduates of Cornell's School of Hotel Administration are not prepared for this.

There's been an awakening

In years to come, most people will remember December 18th, 2015 as the day the new Star Wars movie came out. I will remember it as the day Sybil came for two weeks. My own personal intergalactic battle with good and evil. No CGI required.  This nightmare was done with all practical effects. J.J. Abrams would be proud.

I've seen The Force Awakens and most of the dialogue matches up perfectly to her trip. See for yourself. Major spoilers ahead:

There are stories about what happened.
It's true. All of it.

Escape now; hug later.

Show me again the power of the darkness, and I'll let nothing stand in our way.

I was raised to do one thing... but I've got nothing to fight for.

Okay, stay calm... stay calm... 

I am calm.
I was talking to myself.

He almost killed me 6 times!

You're a monster.

NOOOO!

I need help with this big hairy thing!

Your son is gone. He was weak and foolish like his father, so I destroyed him.

I'm being torn apart. I want to be free of this pain. I know what I have to do but I don't know if I have the strength to do it. Will you help me?

Look how old you've become.

I'll show you the Dark Side.

I have a whole collection of posts related to her visit that will trickle out in the next few days. Sorry for the delay, but it is hard to type when you are in the fetal position.

Text M for Murder

First and foremost I must apologize as I am unable to write as fast as Sybil talks so I do lose things here and there. I really need the recording device Nixon had or a stenographer.

The following is how I remember the conversations I had this afternoon:

Barry: What's up?
Sybil: What's up? The police are here that's what's up. I will call you when they leave.

Ten minutes later...

Sybil: The police were here because a former aide of mine sent me a text message that she is going to murder me.
Barry: Really? Read me the text message.
Sybil: I can't the police took it.
Barry: They didn't take your phone. Read it to me.
Sybil. It said, ugh, you're in bed with him and there was a knife.
Barry: What? You are making no sense. Read it word for word!
Sybil: I did. It was from her number.
Barry: Can you simply read it word for word.
Sybil: I did. She threatened me.
Barry: Read me the fucking message word for word.
Sybil: The phone is upstairs.
Barry: Call me when you have it.

I then hung up and listened to the Back in the High Life Again by Steve Winwood. Seriously. It's an awesome song and I just downloaded it.

Literally as the song ended, Sybil called me back.

Sybil: Here it is.
Barry: OK read it.
Sybil: You and him are in bed together.
Barry: I don't know what that means. How is that threatening?
Sybil: Well, I was scared.
Barry: Of what?
Sybil: Well when I asked her for references, she made a joke asking if I was afraid she was going to murder me. I didn't hire her and she won't leave me alone. She called a few times.
Barry: So a few calls, an incoherent text and you felt you needed the police?
Sybil: I didn't like the message.
Barry: Your story has changed so many times. You would make an amazing witness.

I didn't bother asking what the text "you and him are in bed together" meant. Best case, it never happened. Worst case, Sybil has a new boyfriend and the aide doesn't approve. Either way, I'm going to pretend it's none of my business.

No words

I'm still in shock I'm forty years old. It's been three days and yet I still feel thirty-nine. The actual "birth day" was pretty uneventful other than some crying and fifty phone calls from Sybil.

After the whole bicycle debacle I didn't expect much from my mother. At best a re-purposed Easter card wishing me a good day, at worst nothing. Turns out I need to reevaluate my expectations.

Sybil called me that morning to get my day off on the right foot.

Sybil: Happy Birthday.
Barry: Thanks
Sybil: I sent you something. You are to call me as soon as it comes.
Barry: Okay. Talk to you later.

At this point I made the assumption she sent me a check for $40 and went about my day. For a second I pondered the idea she went to a store and bought me something, but that seemed absurd. Would she get me a polo shirt? Maybe some GIJoes? No way!

When I came home later, I saw a small vase outside with some crappy flowers you would expect to see at a Nurse's station sitting by the door. I laughed to myself just assuming they were for someone else. I then read the card, "Happy Birthday, blah, blah, blah, love Mom.

I really have no words for this. I'm a forty year old man and my mother sent me flowers for a milestone birthday.

Obviously based on my rage level I decided it would be best to not call Sybil to thank her for her generosity. A few hours and five messages later checking on the status of the gift I finally decided to talk to her.

Barry: Hello
Sybil: Did you get my gift?
Barry: Yeah
Sybil: Why didn''t you call me?
Barry: Because it's a shit gift.
Sybil: What?
Barry: Who sends their son flower for their 40th birthday? Who sends their son flowers, period? I would have rather you given me the cost of the postage.
Sybil: Someone told me it was a good idea.
Barry: I have to go.

The next day, Sybil called to ask me to inventory the gifts I received. I responded swiftly with "Who cares."

That was the end of it. Since then there has been no more mention of the day. Maybe she is saving for my 50th.

AirBnB for old people

Sybil: Go by Sunrise Assisted living in Hermosa and see what it's like.
Barry: Are you going to go into assited living?
Sybil: I want to come out for a few months.
Barry: Not sure you can stay in assisted living like it's a hotel.
Sybil: Well go see.
Barry: Why don't you call first to see?
Sybil: I want you to look at it.
Barry: What's the point if they don't offer what you want?
Sybil: Why are you so nasty?

Why indeed.

Happy Birthday, what did you get me?

In my short life the the earth has gone around the sun forty times yet I have accomplished nothing. I digress, since I'm about to officially become middle aged, Sybil asked me what I would like to celebrate. Being  a man child I expressed interest in a new bicycle. Shockingly Sybil said she would provide me with a credit card to make the purchase.  I said thanks and hung up the phone before I ruined it by screaming, "CHOKE ON IT."

Twelve hours later I called Sybil and the conversation went like this:

Barry: Hi, how are you?
Sybil: I'm not buying you no bicycle. You have a bicycles. That's absurd.
Barry: Uh huh.
Sybil: I saw in the paper, a painter I knew is in jail for not paying his taxes.
Barry: I just pulled up to work. I have to go.
Sybil: Have a nice day.

She gave me life. That is gift enough.