The Society for Angry Ladies

Alfred Hitchock once made a bizarre murder club where people had to trade murders and execute someone they didn’t even know to avoid capture by the police. Likewise, donors of kidneys can “pool” their resources in case they don’t match the kidney of their own sister, who technically owes them one but tries to get out because she says (they) drink too much. 

In this case, The Society of Angry Ladies & The People Who are Affected (SFALPWA) was meeting at the First Baptist Church because their attendance was down. We had them put some wood over the baptismal font, which is flush with the podium floor, so we could walk freely. I tapped the microphone. 

“Brothers and… sister… we are here because everyone has been Affected by angry women.” 

Joanne wore a nametag even though we told her that the society was anonymous like Al-Anon. She said, “Do you mean Effected?” 

These are not important concerns -- what is most vital is that we return the kindness and happiness to our beach town because the clouds had finally gone away but the uptight moods had not. We discussed our problems in a circle by moving the pews. They are those long pews, and this cost us much energy, but the Baptists keep a nice supply of sprinkled cookies which they said they would share. When the pews were arranged in a circle, and everyone was sweaty and huffing briskly, we began to tell our stories. 

Boris, the man who looks like Elvis, started. He said that his woman would not join him at McDonald’s anymore because she was angry at the prices. Boris said he always ordered from the Value Menu but this wasn’t good enough because his wife said they were “Adults and could get better quality food next door.” 

We all understood. 

Blaine got up with his long warlock hair and said he was living out of a car in the parking lot of Lucky’s Supermarket because his lady would not abide by his rules. I gave the audience a wink because everybody knows that Blaine used to live with his mom. In fact, it was generally understood that Blaine’s mother paid for everything while he pursued his third career at forty years old and wanted to be a Disk Jockey at a time when everybody was streaming. 

Joanna said she had the perpetual sadness that she attributed to being a mother of a young child. No matter how many times she brought “it” to the park she would not feel like helping it on the swingset, she would not sip her latte with joy but stared at BBQ briquets on the grill and wondered at what temperature a human cooks. 

Yes, these were very sad situations. The obvious answer was that we needed these Ladies to feel the great romance of life and get plugged. That is to say that people are like beer kegs with the angels and demons always escaping. To return to a homeopathic solution, we had to get them plugged. 

Everyone understood but Blaine could not possibly do this thing for his mom. JoAnn was shocked by the obvious sincerity of the solution and she raised her hand and asked, “Do you mean romanced or…?” 

“Yes. Plugged. Whatever that means based on the situation. It is an old Tibetan Method of Recovery.” 

The Pastor’s Helper was listening to our discourse because they have some rule about what is possible on church property. His name was Brian and he ran the church music selections. I looked at Blaine and whispered, ‘maybe you can take his job.’

Brian asked if it was not good and proper to simply pray for the afflicted? To send them daily devotionals, to fast if necessary, and release the demons like Mark 9. We were not all familiar with Mark 9 and could not judge the ideas of Brian who was very convinced of his own methods. 

“Look, you have Celeberate Recovery for anger, weight loss and all sorts of abuses. It doesn’t work for everyone. The Society for Angry Ladies and the … umm… People Who are EFFECTED need the pleasant singing and chirping of vital romantica.” 

I went on to explain how my housemate, Spanish Mary Poppins, would no longer sing while she did the sweeping. She used to wash all of our dishes we forgot because of the OCD and now she simply walked them out to the patio and threw them in the fire pit like a Greek. It was getting so bad that she didn’t even take off her shoes on the carpet, which is white, and she walks right by painting and doesn’t correct that the paintings are tilted to the right or left. She is afflicted by some dark spirit to be sure. 

Mr. Big Spiritual Brain (Brian) didn’t have a response but let us carry on even though he was the only member of the Baptist who had not reached the golden age. The average parishioner was around 75 and Brian was still a lad and understood he had much to learn. 

I took out some flash cards and passed them around. The baptist kept little pencils on the back of their pews to fill out tax paperwork and these were employed for the use of the SFALPWE members. “Please put in the name of your loved one, why they are angry, and drop them into the offering hat.” 

For this purpose I had found one of those magician hats and took in all the names. People then lined up as I shook the hat, and they came to the stairs, avoiding the slender wood covering the baptism font and knelt down as I put a card in their mouth. “Go give them love.” 

Blaine looked perplexed because he was given his own mother’s name. I took it back and said that was just a bleeding of the pipes, a drainage of the mash. “This time don’t tell anyone who you are to help.” 

They continued to take holy communion and walked out of the Church knowing they had divine purpose and would make our town beautiful and calm again. 

About a week later…

I was dealing with Elyin’s dead wife who would not date in the spiritual relm but kept asking Elyin to kill himself so they could be toghether again. I conjured her so man times just to listen to why Elyin should kill himself it was getting very tiring. We all agreed to meet after two weeks of trying to plug and I hoped that someone had convinced my sister to give up her kidney to the pool of donators. Dialysis was very time consuming and they always played soap operas. 

“Ok, ok, STOOOOp, please.” 

Even a non-corporeal being can completely bruise the temples of the living. “Why do you care if Elyin dates and is happy?” 

The ghost muttered that she had never known another man and didn’t want to start over after death. The truth was that Elyin lived in his room, talked to his sister and had generally taken Christmas and the New Year alone. I worried that there would be too much cleaning if he took his life. 

This woman was really staunch on that verse that says “what is bound on earth is bound in heaven.” I was just trying to drink a gin tonic next to the fireplace I had conjured her big mouth when I suddenly realized, “Hey, there’s no marriage in heaven.” I smiled lovingly and said those are the words of Jesus and she must go and date in the after-life because none of us know the day of judgement. She was pretty pissed at this quote and said, “You have translated incorrectly! There is no sex in heaven. The two shall become one flesh. That means they are the same whether one believes or not and they finds out they cannot explain why they still think after death. I have nothing to do but keep thinking. It hurts my spirit.” 

That was funny. (The spirit says it hurts her spirit). I think we must have talked about twenty minutes at that point because gin does not generally affect me right away. It is important to keep track for the sleeping buzz because a person can be laughing and pacing themselves and all of a sudden wake up with a huge hang-over and do nothing. 

Sip. 

“What if I got you a living lover? A boyfriend at least, a spare. Would this help you any?” 

She had to think about it and I would occasionally see some demon or apparition from the back of the fire that was very encouraging. Even in purgatory an angry woman can keep dead from sleeping. I think they wanted to play a craps game if I could wince and see behind her. Someone/something even tried to push her out of the fireplace into my living room but I keep a screen on the fireplace for sparks. Dead people shouldn’t behave like that. 

This dead woman’s name was Marquette and she was pacing around and talking to herself and finally asked, “Do you have to tell Elyin?” I shook my glass to see if the ice would melt. That was a very strange question. How would the man respond? I could not say. I mean competition is usually good and maybe Elyin would think of Marquette before his mighty math thesis he has been working on for years. The man says he can’t die until he gets a prize from the Nobel Commitee. Everyone has their thing. 

It seemed to me, at that time, that everything we ever did or said would be broadcasted at Judgement Day. On one hand, I am sure that people will get bored hearing the sins of their neighbor. What if Attila the Hun was in front of me in line and it was going to be a week of naming all his faults? How can we judged the problems of the 5th century by our modern standards? If he did not take over Rome because the Pope humbled him with a ring, then this is perhaps his Recovery. Some people are born to invade and pillage. I think I’m part viking. 

I sucked up the last bit of tonic. “How about a Dentist? An actual Surgeon of Dentistry?” I had this lonely dentist alcoholic buddy who was all mourning that his wife left him and he would not pick up the toys of his children because he wanted to remember how they had last played last in his house. 

The wife of Elyin said, “What’s wrong with you?” 

I nearly choked on my ice. You can’t bring spirits anywhere these days because the restaurant owners charge corkage fees and they rather show you new spirits. I asked Marquetta if she might consider resting in my flask because it very difficult to start a fire in most taverns without permission. Did she think she could regulate my limits so that I could enjoy the company of strangers and still be able to make it home without an Uber?

“Ubers are expensive and now it's a felony to be happy and drive.” 

From her side, Marquetta want me to dance with her even if no one else could see her. I asked what kind of dancing because I am not one to spank a woman’s ass in public while she squats on the dance floor. I cannot say if this is a latin invention but its not my style. My people do the waltz.

“The Waltz?”

I got up to show her, the occasional twirling and dipping and she laughed and said it would be fine.We compared notes on all the things she wanted to do. I had to bring the spirit to the dog park, to the beach, she promised not to bother me too much while shopping because I don’t want to come home with Special K and yoghurt. “Remember that you are dead and don’t have to worry about weight loss any more.” 

Marquetta snickered and said that she was probably very heavy by now. There is an endless buffet in purgatory and people stuff their faces because they can try everything and there is no guilt if you thow food away. I tried to listen but really needed to know if anyone was working on my sister’s kidney or I would be joining her in the afterlife far quicker than was expected. 

Can you imagine Elyine getting his Nobel Prize, jumping into the North Sea to die and find me in pergatory with his wife? This was not proper. I had to live to keep us apart and make all things right. I asked Marquetta to please wait till Sunday and not pester Elyin so much. I promised to take her to the movie and she wanted to watch the new Nosferatu. The woman was very artistic and read voraciously. 

On the second meeting of SFALPWE (Society For Angry Ladies Who are EFFECTING others), I had to make a general call to tally the first two weeks results. I didn’t really care if someone found coupons for Elvis Hair's wife. I didn’t much want to hear about JoAnne reuniting with her human child because I was going to be a spirit, myself, in less than 6 months if my sister wasn’t inspired to give up that kidney. 

“Any good news on the medical front?” 

I couldn’t wait to ask. It was all anonymous like a Secret Santa but JoAnne stood up and said that she was working with a woman who felt trapped into getting her stomach ripped open and losing vital weight by donating a kidney to a stranger. It was not important for others and so I spoke with the most generalized attitude when she said this. 

“And how is that going?” 

I pretended not to care though Marquetta was sloshing in my pocket flask. She really wanted to get out and go dancing again, like this woman without a body can never forget how much she loved to dance. She doesn’t even have hips!

JoAnne said she would like to donate her kid’s kidney so that she could call the mission complete. I paused to consider breaking the rules for a minute. Would a tiny toddler’s kidneys even fit? What if the organ antirejection drugs failed and there was this kid toddling around and could never join the Secret Service because they need two of everything. What if this kid could never really enjoy college because his mother had cosigned him to sobriety. I took a sip of the flask out of habit and gave Brian that look which says, “It’s for MEDICAL purposes.” 

What if … (just hear me out) the toddler gave a kidney to Brian, who was much younger and totally boringly sober, Brian gave me the adult sized kidney, I continued to drink Elyin’s wife till he won that award, and JoAnne.. What did she want again? 

Seemed like Tom Sawyer had it easier trading up for a pockent knife. There’s a man on the Discovery Channel who will trade a broken pencil sharpener for a knitted hat then up and up: knitted hat for used curling iron:old gilded hairbursh:rail road pocket watch:vintage mustang gear shifter: all the way up to a 911 Porsche. This is the great disaster of a murder pool or an exchange of plugs because not all trades are the same to everyone. Warlock Blaine just wanted a little respect from his mother and we were standing there with kidneys which must be sewn into people in under 30 minutes if the ice doesn’t melt, and children who watch their mother stare at BBQ grills in the park for too long. Everybody knows they’re filthy and you must cover the park BBQ grill with aluminum foil or the fifty dollars of meat will taste like the last person’s grill. 

JoAnne was probably worth more than fifty dollars in body parts. I took another swig of Marquet. Yeah, economist come up with paper money to avoid the imbalance of trade. I bet JoAnne didn’t even need her kidney. BTW, you can buy a house in Califonia and say that the seller is your cousin to avoid getting reassessed. If the assessor is not religious and does not believe that all people are cousins, you can adopt the seller for 1500 bucks and have taxes from the 1970s which should be about 1/10th the cost of current values. Government loves inflation. 

I listened to JoAnne prattle on about the point of view of my sister who lived in a sunny beach town and didn’t want to wear a one piece swimsuit that year when she preferred the bikinis and had exceedizee at Gold’s Gym for so long that she deserved to wear that bikini. The spirit of Marquette kept whispering, “Gut her.” At least I think it was Marquette but apparently you have to call out your apparition in purgatory or some lonely ghost will jump the line and turn your corporeal life into their own amusement. Sort of like Bum Fights. 

Marquette had to be sipped again while I thought. Brian began playing that didactic harpsichord music, which is like the Academy Awards, and means that your speaking time is over. I didn’t care so much because I was the host/founder/major speaker of the SFALPW(E/A) due to the need for my kidney. It’s all I had wanted for Christmas but Jamie sent me en edible flower arrangement. She’s not really getting the 'sibling duty' thing for some reason. I sent her a cooler full of dry ice by the good people of Igloo. 

Elvis Hair (Boris) said that his wife had just turned 55 and they could enjoy the Senior Menu at Denny’s or that McDonald’s would give them a small cup of coffee for 55 cents. The man was simple and very happy.