Summer Insomniac

When I first started blogging I spent an entire summer here in the Hood by myself. My husband was working out of town and was only able to come home on the weekends.

I got a little mental that summer.

It was extremely hot. The temperatures hovered in the 100′s during the day and there was very little relief from the heat at night. The Hood became nocturnal. People would roam the streets fighting, multiple shoot-outs became an every single night occurence..I began to feel like I was trapped and couldn’t breathe.

I had never been afraid to be here by myself and I suddenly became afraid of everything. Things that never bothered me before – bothered me. My home turned into a cell surrounded by prison walls. I became an insomniac.

I had the summer off from work so I would read a lot. I tried really hard to get into Facebook, but only succeeded in becoming an on-line poker junkie. A friend suggested the show “Hoarders”….and, “Intervention”….I would pile the pillows up on my bed, staring out the window, knowing the night was coming and feeling the dread of it.

The t.v. became my companion. I would watch these people with their homes filled with trash and junk piled high from the floor to the ceiling. I would marvel at their sickness and be bewildered they would lose their children because they hoarded.

Cleaners would try to help them. They would come in wearing hazmat-like suits because the air was foul and their homes were covered in animal feces. I once saw them clean out a lady’s kitchen..they had to use shovels and when they got to the bottom of the rubble, they pulled out a few freakin’ dead cats!

Night would start closing in around me outside.

The addicts would come next. A dizzying array of broken people who thought they were being filmed as part of a documentary about their drug habits. Alcohol, crack, speeders, paint-huffers, a very bizarre mom who liked to hit herself. She would lock herself in the bathroom and punch herself repeatedly…she was thinking about progressing to a cutter….

And of course the ending of this show was always a tear-jerker. The unsuspecting participant would have to face their accusers…”Surprise!” Hand-written letters of please stop doing this, we don’t want you to die, I’m leaving if you don’t, your disease is killing me, too….will you accept treatment?

I would log onto FB afterwards and read the frenzy of comments these two shows generated. Some of shock and horror, some of how could they do this, and a few  humorous takes…I won’t lie….

This is what I’m doing with my time for the sake of entertainment flitted across my mind….the summer loomed out in front of me…sleep started coming less and less. I acquired 2 million dollars in cyber poker money.

I would turn off the t.v. , but immediately would be engulfed in the sounds of the night. The angry shouts outside the windows, the sound of the ever persistent gun-shots ringing out, pounding feet on the pavement – constant bombardment of police and ambulance sirens.

I sat here one night in front of the computer and watched a police car spotlighting my windows. The light danced to and fro all over my house and yard. A panicky fear set in. I was never afraid someone was out to get me or anything, I was mostly afraid someone would break into my house to get away…to get away from the cops, to get away from the person chasing them…what would I do? What would I be willing to do to stop an intruder?

I turned the t.v. back on – the constant background sound was better than sitting and listening for something bad to happen. I have a basic cable package so I said to hell with “Hoarders” and “Intervention” and started watching the Discovery channel and a few things on the History channel.

I got really into the Biography channel, I watched the bio’s of Jimi Hendrix, Ozzy, Janice Joplin and the making of several movies. I watched a re-enactment of the shoot out at the OK Corral, shark week, the guy who lived with the Kodiak grizzlies, and pretty much every episode of “This is how you make this” that came on.

But I quickly exhausted everything. I can only handle so much of cooking shows and if you’ve ever been an insomniac with basic cable you know that eventually everything becomes one big fucking re-run.

I made it through the first month of that summer on four hours of sleep a night, but then I started having nightmares and would sleep just an hour or two in the early morning before dawn and would be pissed off at myself for falling into exhaustion.

Then the rat came….

Summer Days

I never knew my grandma was poor. I only knew that summer visits to her house were an adventure in the making. My mom would warn me to be mindful of things when we visited her.

Don’t leave the lights on. Don’t waste the water by playing in the hose for too long. Don’t badger her for candy when you’re in town.

Of course, my grandma did what she pleased and indulged me in everything my imagination could come up with.

I asked her once if I could take a bath in the backyard…she filled up the tin wash tub and I stripped down to my underwear. I soaked in the tub and then laid there and floated with my feet dangling over the edge. I even snatched up her dog Brutus, as he ran by, and give him a bath, too.

(my mom was horrified that me and the dog took a bath together – my grandma thought it was funny as hell)

If I wanted to go into town for candy, well, she would just tell me to load up the back of her Chevy truck with the bottles. (She would save up all her returnable coca-cola bottles and I would scavenger through the neighborhood finding anymore I could get my hands on) and we would haul them into town. I would leave out of the Piggly Wiggly with a five-pound sack of penny candy.

She also had this ginormous bed that had a mattress stuffed with feathers. Even the pillows were stuffed with little white feathers. My mom would threaten to spank me if I jumped on the bed. It was delicate and would bust open at the seams…and then grandma would have to sew it back together.

I would do front flips, back flips, I used to jump so high, I would touch the ceiling. When you landed on the mattress you would sink deep down into it…like the mattress may swallow you up. It would literally snow feathers…and yes, I would eventually get a whipping.

Every meal at grandma’s house was good. It was always a feast. Almost everything she ate came out of her garden. New potatoes, squash and green beans and Sunday supper had to be a meal of fried chicken.

The chicken was fried a crispy golden brown in a well seasoned iron skillet. (there was always a can of Crisco on the shelf that she simply called ‘frying lard’) The beans were slow cooked in an iron pot with a piece of salt meat. The tea was brewed in the sun in a big glass jar that sat on the window sill. The plates never matched and you drank the sweet tea from a mason jar.

After Sunday supper we would go to the dam and fish. What she always called the ‘spillway’. It was where the big fish lived.

I would have my coffee can of worms I had collected that day. She her chicken livers (the bloodier the better). We would toss our lines and wait for the bobbers to get pulled under. We would sit in the hot summer sun and talk.

She would spin tales and answer my million questions about life. She would never grow tired of me or find any subject not worth discussing that I could come up with.

In fact, now that I look back on it, I don’t think she was poor at all….I think she was probably the most richest person I had ever known.

The New Toaster

My mom loves to shop. She window shops, she comparison shops, she bargain shops, she loves to find things on sale.

I accompanied her to Wal-mart once to buy a toaster.

The VERY FIRST toaster she looks at, is a simple two-slicer, white toaster. She takes the box off the shelf and contemplates.

“Good choice, mom.”

Wrong words to say. It immediately goes back on the shelf.

“What kind of toaster do you have?”

“I just bought a new toaster, too. I bought that silver one right there.” (I’m thinking it took me all of maybe three minutes to pick it out and throw it in the cart.)

“A silver one, huh? Why did you get that silver one?”

“Because I have a stainless steel stove and a silver bread rack in the kitchen. I thought it would match.”

I get a head nod and a look of approval.

“Look at this one! You can toast four slices in this one all at the same time!”

“Mom, you live by yourself, I don’t think you need one that toasts four pieces of bread.”

I get a look of disapproval.

“You could come by and have breakfast with me.”

“I’m not really a big breakfast eater.”

“You know they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You should eat oatmeal for breakfast, it’s good for your heart. Your  heart needs all the help it can get..you still smoke, don’t ya?”

I hang my head in shameful silence.

“MJ and grandson might want to come by and have breakfast with me. You know MJ quit smoking…and grandson likes those waffles that you pop in the toaster. Have you ever had those?”

“Yes, mom, I have had an Egg-o before.”

“You will get old one of these days!”

(now I’m thinking, darn, what the hell did I say wrong)

I point out a red toaster.

“That’s a nice toaster, but it’s awfully red. I think it’s too bright and it would hurt my eyes if I looked at too long.” (but she STILL looks at it for five minutes)

“No, I do not like this red one at all. They even want five more dollars for it. Just cause it’s painted red?”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to answer this, so I don’t.

“Do you have a toaster oven?”

“No, mom, I do not have a toaster oven.”

“I have a toaster oven. I like to cook frozen pizzas in mine. They are good for in the summertime – you don’t have to heat up the house. Lets go over and look at them and I’ll buy you one.”

“No, No! That’s okay, mom, I do not need a toaster oven.”

“Why can’t I buy you a toaster oven? Don’t you think I have money? I have money. I have lots of money.”

(you might could buy me a beer here in a minute, but I sure as hell don’t say that)

She gets back on track and decides to look at a black toaster. Oh, it’s a nice one and look – it’s even on sale. She wants to read the box (?) Who in the holy hell in their right mind wants to read the box for a toaster? You pop in some bread and a few seconds later out pops toast, dammit.

She starts digging through her purse for her glasses. She’s an old lady with a big ass old lady purse. She never puts anything in the same place in this purse so I end up looking for the glasses only to realize ten minutes later, the woman has her glasses on her head. She thinks this is funny as hell.

“You will get old one of these days!”

(Yeah, I know, I think I might have aged a couple hundred years in the last hour)

She reads about the black toaster. She wants the black toaster, but God help us all, there is a hole in the box. And absolutely, without a doubt, it is the ONLY one of these black toasters left on the shelf.

“Well, you know it’s the only one left sitting here because it has a hole in the box. What if I get it home and it’s broken? Then I’ll have to bring it back and exchange it.”

(It’ll be a cold day in hell before I come back and exchange it with you)

She picks up the first toaster we looked at and says, “Ya know, I think I like this one the best anyway….” and puts it in her cart.

Epically Awesome Award of Epic Awesomeness

Thank you to my friends, SnB and Alex for this award of awesomeness. I think you are both epically awesome!

Yay for me, I got a promotion at work.  A few more pennies in my pocket and a helluva lot more responsibility. I probably won’t do too many post about the kids …I’m not sure I feel ethically right about writing about them anymore…but I couldn’t resist a few of these…

Some Epic Moments this past week at work:

• Amazing Animals – I have a sweet little girl who is six and she is moving to Japan soon. She is so very bright and well-mannered…I will really miss her. I asked her if there was any certain animal she would like to learn about before she left..she replied with, ” I love whales! Will you teach us about the whales? Especially the ones that live at SeaWorld, you know, the Shamooses?” (more than one Shamu)

• Writer’s Corner – My one lone little boy decided to act out his story he wrote about unicorns (I have no idea what the hell is up with these unicorns) He threw down his notebook and got really animated. There was a battle between the unicorn and this troll and the troll had stolen all the rainbows in the world.  (He imaginary sword fights with his horn until he defeats the troll) The unicorn climbs to the top of the mountain (he climbs up in his chair and stands there for effect) Me and the little girls are looking at each other, I say, ”This is getting good!” He lifts his leg up and makes this really, really long fart noise and announces, “Yep! He farted and out came ALLLL the rainbows back!”

• The top of the Monster Slide – (sinking of the Titanic) “Jump overboard! Jump overboard! Were sinking!” followed by, “Ohhhh….SSShhhhhhiiiittttttt!!!!” as he hurls down, down the slide…where I’m standing and waiting for him with my arms folded across my chest. He stammers out, “Oh, I’m sorry Miss Whitelady – I always accidentally cuss when I’m going to drown..”

• At the Outside Table – Group of little ones playing cave people. They ask me to join them and would I like something to drink? One cave girl tells the cave boy to go to the refrigerator and get me a juice box. I say, “What! You live in a cave! There are no juice boxes, or refrigerators – in fact, there is no electricity!” Cave girl looks at me, while she is beating two rocks together and says, “Well, dang! It really sucks being poor cave people!”

• On the Hill in the Sun – “Miss Whitelady come play with us! We want you to be the queen!” I sit down for a minute in the sun. I let them braid my ponytail and weave flowers into it. They make me a magical wand out of a stick and a grass crown. They pretend to tattoo my face – a heart with the words, “I am the queen” inside of it.  This one little chunky butt boy who has a serious crush on me comes over and sits beside me. He wraps his arms around my arm…looks at me all dreamy-eyed (I’ve got grass sticking out everywhere!) he tells me he thinks I’m so beautiful…I have a total awww melt my heart moment. I tell him he can be my king. He is the sweetest little boy, I’ve never heard him say an unkind word. This one little girl decides she is going to perform for us. She belts out a Justin Bieber song at the top of her lungs. She’s terribly off-key, but grinning the whole time. My king looks over at me and says, “She stinks like dog poo, can we chop her head off?”

Mabel on the Radio

I had to go do some training this morning for work. When I get to my appointment, I’m told that the computers are down, they are so sorry, we will have to re-schedule…whatever. Things like that can’t be helped.

So, I’m in my car driving back to my Hood and I’m randomly flipping through the radio stations. Most people are doing their early morning talk show stuff and I come across a local rap station that was doing a, ” Call-in and bust-out your homies in the Hood” segment.

I need an early morning laugh, so I’m tuned in and listening …there was a story about a lady with a ghetto kitchen table… the caller said it was supported by crates because it only had one leg and he said every time someone would slam down the dominos…the table would collapse! He went on to say that the lady that owned the table, refused to give it up ….because ya’ know, it STILL had that ONE good leg…

Me and the DJ are laughing right along (I can imagine him shaking his head). He says, “That’s pretty ghetto, folks!”

The next call was from Mabel….

When I heard her voice, she immediately reminded me of an old-school female version of the Hood character, Ray Charles.

Mabel – “Am I on the radio? Am I on?” (she was so excited)

DJ – “Yes, Mabel! Who do you want to bust-out this morning?”

Mabel – “I gotta bust-out one of my friends that lives over on the Avenue!”

(the Avenue is where I live… I perked up and thought, Aww, shit! Here we go!)

Mabel – “I gotta friend over on the Avenue – no offense to the folks on the Avenue, but ya’ll are some ghetto-fied folks over there! I gotta friend that pulled out some pissed-up mattresses outta her house! Piss stains ALL over ‘em!  These mattresses was PISSED-UP!”

(I’m smiling in spite of myself and thinking…eeeww…do I really want to know where this is going?…I kept listening)

“Now, she pulled these pissed-up mattresses outta her house, you can see the piss stains from a mile away! These was some PISSED-UP mattresses! She threw them out in her front yard and the kids all come over and jumped on them like they was a trampoline!”

Me and the DJ are laughing out loud now…

“Oh, no, Honey! All the kids on the street come over and jump up and down on these pissed-up mattresses and think they has got a trampoline! Then my friend, she comes out with a broom and sweeps the dirt off these pissed-up mattresses and has her a bbq in the front yard. The thugs come over and they put the meat on the grill and get drunk! The next think ya’ know, they is drunk and passed out in the yard…ON THESE PISSED-UP MATTRESSES!!!! I aint never seen nothing like it in my life!! I drive by and say, Will you look at that? You got the BED-BUGS and the BED-THUGS all rolled into one…”

I must be a sick individual…I hurt myself from laughing…(I think I need to introduce Mabel to Ray!)

White Man’s Jesus

My new neighbors (always new neighbors) had a party for Easter and about thirty people were in attendance. The grill was in the front yard, ribs and chicken were cooking, an old school R&B station is rocking the house.

The liquor was flowing and the blunts were being passed. Cars started lining the street and people got out dressed in flamboyant and colorful Easter-Church attire. Other than the noise level, the party really wasn’t bothering me that much. Folks were mingling about, laughing and talking…bits of their conversations were drifting across the street and into my window.

The general mood of the party was a happy one. The liquor and weed had everyone in a warm and fuzzy state. Jokes were getting told, an area of the front yard was deemed a dance floor, high praises were being given to the cook.

My neighbor that lives next to me decided to join in on the festivities. He walks across the street and mixes himself in with the crowd and commences to get piss drunk. Somewhere after a rib and four or five bottles of Colt 45, he gets into a religious discussion with the man of the house.

I was marginally aware that the mood of the party had suddenly shifted. The laughter was dying out and the music got turned down lower. A few of the folks with kids decided this would be a good time to leave.

Their discussion turns into a debate which then turns into an argument. I have no idea what the foundation of this argument was, only to say it involved Jesus. Yes, Jesus.

The man of the house came out on the porch with the party crasher and bellowed in a voice-quivering, southern preaching monotone, ”That’s not how Jesus wanted it!” and “Jesus didn’t come back for that!”

but, it sounds more like, “AND I SAAAAY - JEEEESUS DID NOT COME BACK FOR THAT!” His voice was lowering and raising in a Martin-Luther-King-I-Have-A-Dream speech kinda way. It was hard to tell whether he was sound in his convictions or dude was just really pissing him off.

Then party crasher says the unspeakable thing…I heard this quite clearly. He counters with, “Ya know what I think? I think you believe in the white man’s Jesus.”

Now apparently, this is quite an atrocious thing to say. (people actually gasped!) White man’s Jesus is frowned upon in the Hood, I guess. Man of the house punches him in the face. Knocked him right off the front porch. He was out like a light. They drug him across the street and dropped him in his yard.

Arch enemies were made.

I have listened for two straight weeks, as these two ass-holes have sat on their respective porches and verbally assaulted each other.

It goes something like this:

“Fuck you, mother fucker!”

“No, Fuck YOU, mother fucker!”

“Suck my dick, bitch!”

“No, you suck MY dick , bitch!”

One day, it went on for two dang hours. Over and over and over and over. (It reminds me of when my little brother and I would do the: No, I didn’t. Yes you did. No, I didn’t. Yes you did. Until my mom would say she was going to go get a switch….) It’s so stupid and childish to me.

Yesterday, I had to call 9-1-1 twice. Man of the house had a party AND party crasher had himself a party. Worlds collided.

I heard Lady of the house yell across the street to party crasher’s girlfriend, “Why don’t you step out into the street you scab-face funky bitch!” (now, that wasn’t nice).

By now I’m at my front door watching through the glass. I see Mr. Jones (my good neighbor) standing in his car port by his boat. He’s got a beer in his hand and is watching his youngest son get into his car so he can go to work. Mr. Jones has his hand-gun tucked into the back of his pants. I have my phone in my hand. We wave at each other.

Party crasher barrels out to the street. He has decided no ones going to hold him back anymore. Some random guy walks up to him and puts his dukes up.  The cuss words are coming fast and furious between them. Party crasher starts swinging – wildly, blindly! The Duke dodges to the left, dodges to the right. (this guy has some boxing skills and has been in the gym)

Party crasher gets in one good hit to his shoulder and then he’s basically worn out. The Duke looks at him and his whole entire face breaks into a smile. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying anymore because of all the ruckus, but I could read his lips…he mouthed, “Is that all you got?”

BAM! Several tight to the body jabs! Party crasher fell to the ground and lifted his hands up in a ‘no more’ gesture. (1st 9-1-1 call is placed)

Crazy-haired woman comes running out of the house..now this crazy woman has a pair of hedge clippers! Man of the house grabs her and restrains her. He has to wrestle the clippers from her…she was soo freaking mad! She was bound and determined to do some stabbing (?), trimming (?), maybe she was just going to snap off some digits!

A fellow from my side of the street sees they are on the losing side so, he picks up a piece of dead tree limb (thank goodness it was rotted). I watched and held my breath. It was just like in the movies – slow motion – he rares it back and slings it as hard as he can across the street. It flies through the air, end over end, and smacks Lady of the house in the head. (2nd 9-1-1 call is placed)

The soft spongy wood explodes into many pieces and never slows her down. (scab-face has locked herself in her car and she is NOT coming out…in fact, I would say she was praying for SOMEBODY’S Jesus to help her)

Lady of the house does get her fight, though. This one Hood chick stepped up to the plate and said, “Bring it on!” They fist fought like hell! They finally ended up in my yard with Hood chick’s mini skirt up around her face. She was showing the whole world her panties….

Ahem…the police finally do arrive. My street went on lock-down. Only one person went to jail and I think it was because she had an outstanding warrant.

I wonder how long I would live if I made a giant sign for my front yard that said:

What Would Whitelady Do?

Hood Eggs n Cream

The Plaza grocery store is a small store that sells a lot of off-brand foods. Funny things like instead of Ragu spaghetti sauce, this one sells Ragoony. I decide to run in there yesterday and quickly grab some eggs and ice cream…

As I enter the store I have a brief moment of foreboding trepidation ..there is a sign taped to the door stating that all shoppers must keep their face visible at all times. No Hoods Allowed. My bank has similar notices on their doors…(to discourage gun-toting armed robbers).

I enter anyway and there was Country Jean and Country Jo. Two bleached blonde cashiers wearing matching red smocks. Country Jean hollers out, “Hey, Honey! Welcome to the store!”

I smile.

Country Jo says, “Can I help you find something, Baby?”

“Eggs?”

“Sho’ we got eggs! Right-hand back corner, Sugar!”

I make it to the back, head to the right – there are the eggs! I pick out some that say, “Fresh From the Farm.” The ice cream bin was a couple of feet down. I get one of those 3-quart tubs made by the, “World’s Fair!” If it’s good enough for the World’s Fair, it’s good enough for my family.

I head to the front to check out. That’s when the grocery store phenomenon happens..ya’ know when there really aren’t that many customers in the store, but for some strange reason you all decide to check out at the EXACT same time….

Country Jean’s got about eight customers in her line. They all have just a few items, but she’s talking so much about how it’s karaoke night at the bar that her line is moving really slow.

I pick Jo.

Everybodys avoiding Jo’s line. She’s only got one customer, but the lady has two shopping carts filled to the brim with stuff.

There is some old-timey jazz music playing over the speakers. There’s a little girl standing in front of me pushing her mom’s second cart. The little girl gets caught up in the beat of the music and does this dance. She catches me watching her and gives me a big sheepish smile. I wink at her and am rewarded with an even bigger smile.

I start thinking I’m gonna make it out of this place unscathed…and then…

Hood Mama with the behemoth boobies comes up behind me dragging her cart. She’s got seventeen children with her and the whole family is in pajamas. They’re loud and cussing each other…kids in the cart, in the seat of the cart, underneath the cart, hanging out on the sides of the cart, milling about the cart.

I inch up a bit to put some space between us and give the kids some room and her boobies some room. But now I’m trapped. I have the conveyor on my left and racks of candy and a soda cooler on my right and Country Jo just started on the woman in front of me second load of groceries.

I notice little smiley girl squeezes her way out and goes and hangs out at the bubble gum machines. Yep, she’s a smart one.

Gigantosaurus’ kids are all over the candy rack and opening up the cooler door and trying to pull out bottles of soda. I’m getting elbowed and my feet are getting stomped on. Hood Mama did pause for a moment to say excuse me as she wrangled one of her little ones out of the cooler.

I think to myself…just turn around and politely say, “Could you please back up and give me a little more room..” As I go to turn my head..a fight breaks out amongst the kids and Mama and her boobies get pushed on me. Now I got a pair a double zz’s practically resting on my back. I’m scared to turn around…I’m a short person – I mighta got some unwanted free milk.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move up, I sure as hell couldn’t move back. I couldn’t move around for fear of motor boating this lady.

Everytime the woman would heave out a breath – her boobies would journey up my back to my shoulders. There just can’t be a god in heaven that would allow this shit to happen to me…

Then Megalo-Mounds asked Country Jo if you could buy Easter baskets with food stamps?

Country Jo says, “Sure can Sweetie!”

It was an all out stampede.

The children came running forward and thrust Mama forward, too….there was absolutely no place in hell for this woman’s boobies to go…a booby flopped up on my left shoulder..one flopped on the right…I wasn’t sure if I was getting assaulted or molested.

I was wearing this woman like a mink stole.

Later that evening when my husband told me the World’s Fair! ice cream was the worst tasting ice cream he ever ate in his life…that it tasted like it was churned from water instead of milk….I almost killed him.