Meatballs and Mercury Retrograde

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Meatballs and Mercury Retrograde

By KrisTina Antosik

I recently broke up with someone who wanted to marry me and who my Italian family in Mount Vernon loved. Why did they love him? Well if you know anything about Italians and just read the first sentence you’d know…cause he’s Italian. He could’ve been a serial killer, similar to my past boyfriends, yet because he’s Italian, he’s like one of their own.

My typical type is Italian as well, however I’m spiritual enough at this point in life to focus more on the eyes of the person rather than the breed of them. Never the less, I still seem to attract mostly them, probably because being half Italian myself, we’re the same kind of crazy –but not completely. For instance I’m crazy enough to attempt to talk about and explore my mind about what’s beyond the stars etc, yet if I were to ask any of my boyfriends that, they’d probably respond with “What the fuck does that matter, how are those meatballs doing?” paired with a hand motion and De Niro-looking expression.

I broke it off with the most recent one because he was about to pay for tints for my car, and an entire vacation for the two of us to a place I’de always wanted to go: Disney, ya know given I barely had a childhood and all. Some that didn’t have much of a childhood, become hookers, while I still have a longing to see what Disney looks like, at age 28 –you’ll likely fall into one of those two categories, or drugs. Which, if you blend the last two options together, doesn’t sound like suchhh a bad idea, -if I were a drug addict that is. If I were a drug addict, I’d rather see Mickey on acid, then my pen at home, is all I’m saying.

Anyways, knowing he wasn’t the one, and allowing him to pay for such things, wouldn’t have felt right. Oh, and I was 90% sure he was gay. The other 10%, was left for miracles. I love gay people; I just don’t want to marry one, just based on the sheer fact that I’m not one.

Wish I was, but I’m not. Hey if being gay was a choice, I’d choose it. It’s hard being a hetero now a days. Hard to find anyone who’s the same amount of hetero as you, and I’m sick of dealing with men. No offense to men, I love you guys, which is why I keep you all as friends –for your own safety really (jk).

My family in Mount Vernon did not think he was gay….Of course not, he’s Italian, how can he be gay. I don’t know for sure, if he was gay (there is that 10% I left for miracles) but here’s what I do know: I don’t have time to marry someone who is coming out in ten or more years, leaving me where? To write award winning books about the experience? Not so much, because by then, so many people will be in that boat at that point, it’ll have it’s own genre “Former Wives Looking at the Open (and now empty) Closet” genre.

Back to the present, I went down to my family’s house on Sunday for father’s day. For those of you that don’t know my parents passed away when I was young, yet these people helped take care of me and think of me as family, and they’re the closest I’de ever had to family myself so God Bless; so keep in mind throughout this writing, that I love them dearly.

Also keep in mind, what many soul-readers know, that “Mercury Retrograde” is occurring from early to mid June until July 2nd according to cosmologists. I’m not entirely sure what that entails, but from what I do know, it has to do with the positioning of the moon and heightening people’s emotions. So what would that do to an Italian family per say?

 Well, maybe since they’re emotions are naturally heightened by default, perhaps it would go in reverse and I would walk into an apartment of candles burning, calming music, and my family all in  Ghandi-get-up’s, sitting cross legged in a circle surrounding one meatball to split –spiritually enlightened to the fact that now that’s all they need.

Orrr…..…I’de have to discreetly walk in there with a machine gun in my back pocket, just in case a scene from Scarface breaks out, in order to protect them from eachother. Either way, as an Italian you gotta do, what you gotta do, and so I went. It was pretty much the second Scarface scenario, just replace the blood with marinara sauce and we have ourselves a deal, as to what that scene resembled.

There was one quiet moment at the dinner table, because I guess every war needs a break, or moment of silence to some degree; in which I said “Ya know, there’s something going on right now called Mercury Retrograde, and it goes until July 2nd, but this is why all this is happening…the pull of the moon or something causes chaos, so it’s not you guys”…..

…………..

I picked up my head from the pasta I’d been stirring around since I was full, to see everyone staring and chewing blankly at me, and Linda the woman of the household, sitting right next to me looking at me as if I’d morphed into some sort of Anime, except imagine that expression, but frozen. Big Bob the man of the household finally broke the silence by asking me what I was selling.

Then all the women chimed in and told me to eat. I swear Italians just push diabetes on you. It’s like Carb-Central every Sunday and when you almost eat a normal amount they think you suddenly came down with a case of sudden anorexia. I don’t know how some of them stay so thin, maybe they eat that much on Sunday’s because that’s their food for the week. I actually did move to Florida one time, and did come down with some “anorexia” as people call it, and now I know why. It was PTSD from this sh*t.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for all of it, but My God, and God Bless really, I love them all very dearly. Although sometimesss I wonderrrr how much they really love me in return…. Not that I would ask for anything in return but here’s an example.

They loved Joe, that was my most recent’s name. I’m glad they remembered it, because to me, you might as well have called him Joe Schmo. We’d be 3 weeks into the relationship and I still could barely remember his name. You see he chased me for a year and became my friend when I was getting over someone else, and he was so nice to me that I eventually agreed to be in a relationship with him because ya know, he wasn’t on America’s Most Wanted. –As you get older you’re standards seem to lower; but I’m not sure mine should’ve lowered this much, he really could’ve been on America’s Least Wanted. He’s 10 or 11 years older than me, and although he was nice, had the maturity level of a Toys R Us kid, the body shape of a beanie baby, the masculinity of a Barbie (which I didn’t even play with growing up, I was more of a Pound Puppy type of girl), and an overall resemblance of a platypus. Not judging, we all look like some sort of animal I feel. Anyway my family just loved him, loved him, adopted him as their own. Meanwhile they only met him twice, but the first time was enough. Because we all know, it only takes one time to know, if someone’s Italian.

They trusted him with my life. Big Bob even said this past fathers day, “you know, you coulda had a ring with Joe…” and I’m thinking yea, that’s why I ran. Anyway my newest thing is to not recycle everythinggg. I always thought it was ok to keep exes clothing to either save it if we were friends to give back to them, or use them as rags to clean my house. Well in accordance to what I’ve learned with energy etc, the real process of letting go in order to let new in, is to throw out their sh*t. Thus, I was throwing out all of my exe’s sh*t, until I came across Joe’s Yankee sweat zip up jacket.

It’s a really nice jacket and honestly it’s Yankee’s. I can’t throw out Yankee gear, it’s against my religion lol in a sense. Thus, I did the only thing I knew possible to do, hand it over to the Yankee King, the one responsible for brainwashing me enough to even be doing this, Bobby. Bobby is only a few years older than Joe, and has been a big brother figure to me since I was 2 months old. This is Linda and Big Bob’s son, he also has an older sister named, guess..Maria whom I love as well. Maria had a son named, guess, yes Anthony –whom I consider my nephew. Either way, I went to give the jacket to Bobby, and Linda chimes in that  she “does not want it in the house”.

Now these are the people who supposedly loved Joe, I told her it’s ok, just wash it then Bobby can use it. She was very hesitant and it wasn’t because of why I broke up with him. I could’ve said “Joe tried to murder me” and they would’ve been like “ Idk, Kris, …..idk, wish you kids would just work it out” or “but whyyy did he want to kill you Kris…think about that, and maybe hide the knives the next time

Now all of a sudden “We don’t know what kind of germs he has!”…….lol so wait.

See this is the stuff stand-up comedy is made out of.

Standup comedy, consists of events that initially traumatize the person, yet that person chooses to digest it, in such a way, as to not poison their system. They can either choose to feel negative about it, or make fun of it. The situation is usually so ridiculous; they are faced with a Y in the road per say, either cry at the absurdity of it, or laugh at the absurdity of it. Comedians choose to use it for good, is what I’ve come to realize.

So wait, they were ok with that man entering parts of his body into mine –cause let’s face it we’re not all growing up in a nunnery and they weren’t born last night. Yet they weren’t ok with Bobby wearing a jacket of his, after it’s washed thoroughly?

I wanted to say to them “So you were ok with me combining DNA and making minions with this man, and me having to stare at these mini beings that looked like him, my whole life, and allowing his offspring to primarily take over my life for the rest of my life, but if Bobby so much as brushed on his sweater passing by ‘omg Bobby take a shower!’…..do I have that right?”

But I thought nahh, Mercury Retrograde and all that, I’m not going to bring it up. Yet Mercury Retrograde is still going on, and I still can’t help but wonder….”You wanted me to start a blood-line with that guy? The same guy you won’t let your son borrow a sweater from?” Sometimes the only way to heal, is with humor. Yet the sad part is I’m not even sure if I’m joking when I say this, but in their defense, maybe they too, innately knew he was gay. It’s sad when that’s the last line of where your life isnow, and what’s even sadder is when that last line, brings you relief.

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