Last night on the phone Jocardo came up with three t-shirt ideas based on offensive things recently said to me by people on the street. Now, even if Velva Sheen were still around, I wouldn't make or wear the shirts because it would be rude but that didn't keep me from laughing and thinking about it.
The offending pedestrians were racist and sexist but Jocardo is the methadone to their nasty habit. He has the gift of making the strange and awful funny. He is chronic pain management.
Not so very long ago I was having a bad time. I told Jocardo that I had spent an entire weekend bawling my eyes out like a baby. In between saying, "I'm sorry, darlin" and talking me through the roots of my sadness, Jocardo said he wished that I wore non-waterproof mascara so that streaming black rivulets would make me more like a Tammy Faye SNL skit. He also peppered our conversation with dramatic enactments of how that would look. Suddenly the only thing hurting was my stomach from violent bursts of laughter.
That same week I was in a bookstore with Jocardo and something else strange and awful happened. We were walking around when I was suddenly sweating and my face blushed hot. I took off my hat and wiped the sweat from my forehead with shaking hands. I got nauseous and dizzy. I walked back and forth a couple of times but stopped when I began blacking out and losing my balance. I held onto a table and focused on Jocardo through the tunnel of flashing lights and told him I had to go outside NOW. I stumbled to a bench, unbuttoned my coat and mumbled curses. Then I hung my head between my knees and said, "You know, when this happened to Miranda on Sex and the City, it was a panic attack."
Jocardo was ecstatic.
"Baby, you made a pop culture reference, I'm so proud of you!" I am notoriously bad with the pop culture but they are one of Jocardo's sick little areas of expertise. It made me laugh.