Bad Habits (21 page)

The men I was with began to go back and forth in conversation and kept pointing at me. In any other situation, I might have flashed my boobs to gain entry into a place, but here I think I would have been struck by lightning.

“
Sì,
” said Holy Igor, and we walked past him.

We did it. The Mafia men opened a door and we were inside. No one was in sight. The door we went through seemed more like an employee entrance, but that all changed when we opened door number three.

Remember when Charlie from
Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory
opened the door to the chocolate river candy room for the first time? How his eyes took everything in?

That was me.

The room we stood in looked like a secret cathedral unto its own. There were high ceilings with Michelangelo-like paintings on them. The faint, familiar scent of frankincense tickled my nostrils. The most interesting part was that each corner of the room had enormous wooden doors. They weren’t just any doors. They looked as if each one was meant to take you to a different part of Heaven.

“Where do these doors lead to?” I asked. “They look so important.”

Mafia man said, “You are standing in the room that adjoins the Vatican, St. Peter’s, the Sistine Chapel, and the pope’s apartment. It is the center that no visitors get to see. Clergymen can easily access where they want to go by opening that specific door.”

It really was an amazing sight.

It was just like being in a dream where someone says, “Choose the door to your new life.”

Even my Jews were amazed by the creativity of the architect who was able to have all these structures meet up in one room. But just when I thought this couldn’t be more awesome, one of my Jews put her foot in her mouth.

Pointing to a painting of Jesus, she asked: “Who is that?”

Nooooo!!!
was all I could think. I could see the Mafia men look at each other strangely. I wasn’t going to let this stop me from living a dream of my mother’s, so I started laughing with a loud cackle.

“You are so funny, Alyssa. Hahahahahaha.” My voice echoed louder than I’ve ever heard it before.

I was the only one laughing, but it was the only thing I could think of to cover the embarrassment.

Mafia man then pointed to one of the doors in the corner of the room.

“Through that door is the pope’s apartment. Ready to see it?”

I wish I could have done cartwheels all the way up to the door, but instead I shouted, “
Sì! Sì! Sì!!
”

With his permission, I opened the door and holy aioli! My eyes had never seen a hallway like this. Marble, gold, and cherubs hanging off the ceiling.

It was absolutely spectacular.

As I continued to walk, I started to take in how much money was around me. These weren’t cherubs from Target, if you know what I’m saying. Thoughts of cracking one off and feeding a starving nation crossed my mind.

“Psst. Come here.”

Mafia man then brought us down a hallway and we entered a closet.

Holy Stromboli, this is the pope’s closet! I was surrounded by all of the pope’s robes. Needless to say, there were a lot of them.

I looked at my friends and whispered, “Isn’t this amazing?”

They whispered back, “Not really.”

Mafia man then said, “Come here, Jenny.”

“Don’t. He might be trying to kill you,” Andrea said.

“What is wrong with you guys?” I said. “We are in the Vatican! People don’t get murdered here. Relax.”

I walked over to Mafia man, who led me to the mirror. He then put on top of my head … wait for it … the pope’s freaking hat! That’s right! That tall, giant hat he always wears was sitting on top of this Playboy Playmate’s head.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I stared at myself in the mirror in awe. It was totally insane.

I mean, come on.

Can you even imagine what the nuns at school would think?

I turned around to show my Jews.

“Look, you guys. How insane is this? I’m wearing the pope’s hat!”

I couldn’t contain my childlike excitement, so I started bopping around in an impromptu Teletubbies-style dance.

They both responded with a monotone “Wow.”

Alyssa was carelessly chewing on a KitKat bar, so I smacked it right out of her hand.

“What the hell are you doing? You can’t eat in here.”

I carefully took off the pope’s hat and thanked Mafia man immensely. Then I spotted the most beautiful selection of crucifixes. To say “beautiful crucifix” sounds like an oxymoron, but if these were for sale, the Kardashians would certainly have one in their home.

I brought my Jews with me to take a closer look to try to get them involved in some way.

I held one beautiful cross up and said, “My mother would absolutely lose her mind if she saw this crucifix.”

Andrea whispered, “Do you want me to put it in my purse?”

“Are you out of your freaking mind? No! What’s wrong with you guys? We’re almost done. Just be cool.”

Mafia man said, “Let’s go to one more spot.”

We entered a new room that was small and gold. And by gold, I mean GOLD.

In the center of the room was an elevator. This was no ordinary elevator. This is the kind of elevator that a king or queen would take to Heaven if they died. It was ornate and a tad bit scary.

Speaking of scary, Holy Igor had now joined our tour.

Again, the men started talking to one another in Italian and all I could do was smile and nod.

While they were going back and forth, I decided to check in with my Jews, whom I could hear giggling.

“What’s going on? Why are you laughing?”

“We don’t know what’s wrong, but we have the giggles.”

Oh no! They had caught a case of the church giggles.

Alyssa said, “We kind of feel like we are going to be murdered any second now and we can’t stop laughing.”

Their shoulders bobbed up and down as they launched into a fit of hysteria. Sweat dripped down my face. I was about to have a heart attack.

“Stop it,” I commanded.

Their shoulders kept bobbing. Squeaky noises held in a volcanic eruption of laughter.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” I mouthed it to them slowly with daggers in my eyes.

That one seemed to knock some sense into them. They could tell I was pissed.

“Do not screw this up or I will murder you myself.”

Holy Igor then proceeded to unlock a drawer that had a key inside. He held it up like it was the key to the room holding the Ten Commandments.

“Danananananana,” Holy Igor said in Italian, which I’m guessing meant “Here’s the key!”

Mafia man said, “He’s going to let us take a ride in the elevator. It takes the pope to do Mass in the Vatican. After he changes, he comes in here and rides the elevator to the church.”

“I’m not going in that thing,” Alyssa said.

“Yes, you are,” I said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You are going to fucking do it,” I whispered into her ear like a gremlin.

Mafia man said, “I know it looks scary, but that’s because it’s one hundred years old.”

“Now I’m definitely not going in it,” Alyssa said.

“Yes, you are,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“No, I’m not.”

Then Mafia man, in a calming voice, said, “Trust me, it’s okay.”

We all entered the elevator. It was a snug fit and tension was in the air.

Then my worst fear happened. No, we didn’t get stuck.

My Jews lost control of their church giggles and started busting out laughing to the point of losing oxygen. I’m glad they weren’t wearing a skirt like I was because I didn’t want to witness any pee trickles that were happening. They were half on the ground and half standing, holding their stomachs and laughing their asses off.

This is where the pope preps to come out and do a big, holy Mass, and my Jews were losing their shit.

I was totally and completely dying. I tried stepping on their toes as hard as I could, but nothing would stop them—not even the stabbing of my stiletto heels was knocking sense into them.

“What’s going on?” Mafia man asked.

“They have a fear of elevators and, you know, it’s like gallows humor.”

“Okay, well, let’s go back down,” Mafia man said. “I don’t want them to be scared.”

Damn them! I couldn’t believe it.

The elevator started to head back down.

Finally, the girls started to get their giggles under control, but then Alyssa all of a sudden got the bright idea to come out and say she’s a Jew.

“We should really tell you something. Andrea and I are—”

I interrupted and shouted, “They are so excited to be here!”

Not that there was anything wrong with saying they were Jewish, but I had lied about them being Catholic. I didn’t want to get ratted out. The elevator door opened to Holy Igor standing there with a big, creepy smile as he started to speak Italian again.

Mafia man translated: “He has some holy water blessed by the pope that we could dip our finger in and make the sign of the cross.”

Shit, shitballs, shit-o-rama,
I thought, because I knew two things: my Jews didn’t know how to make the sign of the cross and they were about to blow my cover.

Holy Igor approached Alyssa and said, “Nanananana,” which I think meant “Go ahead and have some holy water.”

Alyssa backed away as if the water were going to melt her. “No thanks.” Holy Igor looked confused and started moving closer to her.

Alyssa shouted, “I said no thanks, weirdo!”

Then Andrea rescued her by announcing, “We’re Jewish! We don’t want any! Oh my gawd!”

The car ride home was pretty quiet. I was never hired again by the Italian designers and now you know why.

When we got back to the room, I laid into my friends. They apologized profusely, but they explained how scary and weird it was for them. They went on to tell me that they were thinking about me and how special this would be for my mom, so they brought me a souvenir to give to her.

I gasped as they pulled out the crucifix from the pope’s closet.

Most of Los Angeles is guilty of enjoying a Vicodin without having a painful ailment. What people who have not taken it before don’t realize is that it also heals emotional ailments for about four hours.

Sorry. “Heal” is the wrong word.

Vicodin numbs emotional aliments for about four hours. Unless you take two. Then your emotional pain will be numbed for eight hours.

I wasn’t aware of this oasis away from emotional hurt until an LA troll said, “Want to party with some Vicodin?”

“Party with Vicodin?” I asked.

“Yeah,” the troll said. “Take one and just get creamy. You can have a beer and make it even better.”

“Okay!” I exclaimed. I swallowed a Vicodin and immediately felt all of my muscles relax. I felt so happy, so peaceful. I didn’t have a care in the world. This was the best idea ever.

I couldn’t believe I wasted so many years tripping my balls off on hallucinogenic drugs. This shit rocked.

Or so I thought.

I then chased it down with a beer and became violently ill. I spent the entire night barfing in a stall next to a hen party of girls who were either peeing or snorting or both simultaneously.

I was so scared; I thought I was going to die. I was so mad at myself for trusting a troll I didn’t even know. That night I must have had two devils on one shoulder high-fiving each other.

Well, I never mixed the two again. But because the drug is so yummy—better known as addictive—anytime I heard even the mention of someone having tooth surgery or back pain, I would bodycheck anyone in my way to ask, “Got Vicodin?”

Then, just like clockwork, the universe delivered Vicodin to me on a truck.

I threw my back out and tore ligaments from my mid-back to my neck. I laid in bed for three months.

I could barely move.

I don’t think I ever slept in those entire three months. I was taking Vicodin every three hours, twenty-four hours a day, and was still in excruciating pain. The drug eventually made me incredibly depressed, and I experienced the worst constipation of my life.

Because I couldn’t walk, going to the bathroom was a trip I would make only once a day. It was like trying to give birth, and if I was lucky, I would conceive a piece of shit that was the size of the queen bee of Nerds candy. It’s like a gremlin grabbing hold of your asshole but from the inside.

I would sit on the toilet screaming, trying to get the Vicodin pebble out of my butt. It took an hour to squeeze out one pebble.

I had heard about people who were taking forty Vicodin a day.

There is no way those people were shitting giggles, bricks, or anything for that matter. I went twice in two weeks and shit a grand total of four pebbles.