Blame it on Meditation

Sometime in January
After a month of old man coughing fits, hives covering my right boob, a wrenched back and a whirlwind visit to Los Angeles where I played a cutthroat game of Password with my geriatric parents, I meditated.
Meditation in itself is nothing new to me. I've been meditating in some shape or form for close to three decades. I used to have one of those top secret mantras I used for a while. It made me hungry and I often passed out. Too much oxygen.
I did mushrooms and meditated in my hot pink flying bird wallpapered bedroom where I was convinced I was on the top of Macchu Piccu, not my mom and dad's house in Massapequa.
Check out these nifty mushroom cupcake toppers from

http://goosegrease.etsy.com/

My dad even bought me this book called "Inner Tennis" where the author swore you could improve your overhead if you just visualized and stared at a tennis ball for 40 minutes a day. I tried it and It worked. I won a lot of matches when I wasn't doing psychedelics. Alas, those Carlos Castaneda days are long gone.
So in December amidst the spittle, the phlegm and the two bulging discs I got quiet. I asked God for direction. Just general direction, mind you. No ten commandment, no burning bushes. No no nothing that big, because I was feeling pretty lousy and quite frankly didn't feel up to moving a mountain. I was just asking and hoping for a healing meditation. Just between me and the guy upstairs, a quick connect to remind, Him (big H) I was not doing too good.

Uh God...It's uh me GiGi.
You got a quick minute? Thanks for Obama by the way.
Anyway, I feel like crap. Nothing as bad as a lepper or someone like your gal Mother Theresa might have visited, no nothing like that, but I do have to crawl to get a kleenex . Cough, cough, spittle, spittle.
and then it was like the call was dropped. I hear a rumble and a mumble. Lots of garbling. Uh are you still there? And I hear...
preat duh ceilings
What?
Prea senors (with a tilda)

My ears were pretty clogged. I took a moment and said,
Just hold on God and let me go get a q-tip. Might take a little while God, cause as you know I'm still crawling.
And just like that, I heard...
GiGi ...play the seniors. Train and play the seniors in Tennis. Blog about it. And get your crazy friend Gillette to do it with you.

Well here it is March. Maybe I didn't get all that ear wax out. Because in February God made it rain a lot. The courts were wet, and Gillette's and my finances and writing gigs were dried up.
Me and Gillette got depressed.
So I went back to the baking business.