Because John Lennon Wants to Know (Part I)

Enquiring Minds Want  to  know, you know -John Lennon (Photo credit: Pedro Netto)

So this is Christmas, and what have you done?

Well, Mr. Lennon, funny you should ask, because I’ll tell you if you have the time.  The world didn’t end and you’re still dead, so I reckon you got all the time in the world, right?  It really depends on what you mean by “done.”  “Done” like What I did for Christmas, or done in general?

Another year over and a new one’s just begun.

I know, right? Ho hum, seems like it should still be 2011 or something. It’s like I paused myself, yet the world went on without me.  How the hell did I turn 35? I’m the same age my mom was when she had me.  I suppose there’s still hope that somewhere out  there, there’s a neurotic alcoholic husband  for me too. I think I’d not be a good mom, so it’s probably a good thing my biological clock  isn’t a Timex. I can just take care of myself and my cats. Why would I want a pissing, crapping, crying kid who’d open my Barbie dolls’ boxes?  But I digress, what have I done? Nothing and everything! I have my own apartment, a first for me. I’m a late bloomer, you know. Well, more like I was weeded out of the garden, cast into a mulch pile, and re-rooted myself. But hey, I bloomed.

If my mom hadn’t died and my gay guy crush hadn’t gone rabid and threw me out, I’d still be living with someone now. I’d still depend on  that man’s approval just to get by.  I saw my gay guy crush as a gay guy god even as he grew mean. But oh, Mr. Lennon, if you ever saw him smile or heard him laugh, you’d see what I mean.  I thought he was my Soul Bro, but sadly, he became my Faux Bro.  I wanted to be with him until the day I died. Sigh, I guess I drank the grape kool-aid. Too bad I didn’t do much of his housework though or paid the back rent I owed.

Mr. Lennon, I know you’re all ‘money ain’t shit,’Kumbaya, and what not, but I’m still torn. I really didn’t pay about $200.00 in rent. I pawned my computer and gave them $80.00 and then I gave them $10.00, so if I really do owe them that money, it would be $110.00. But here’s where it all gets trickier than a truck stop hooker. I gave them money whenever asked. I took them out to dinner at about $70.00 for the three of us, gave them $65.00 to go out with when The Prick The Partner was upset about having skin cancer on his face (but they did give a lot back I think) and gave them $100.00 to fix the air conditioner in their van. The air conditioner wasn’t fixable though. But I got a lot of free meals and rides before I began having to pay for all my stuff, and cat food. And then it gets even more messed up. They wanted $100.00 a month after I moved out to pay for what they paid for: pot, food, etc.  And Faux Bro said if he factored in expenses going back to when I first moved in it would be double the amount, somewhere in the $2000.00 region. That part casts suspicion on the whole thing.  I must have been had somewhere in the equation, but they seemed so adamant that I owed them and that I was the advantage taker in the mix. Plus it seems that I broke everything I touched. It makes my brain hurt, and everyone says I don’t owe them jack.

I messed up:

A wine glass of sentimental value.

They say I broke a remote control (but I don’t recall it)

I made a couple of his keys on his laptop stick.

I lost and/or damaged a couple of books, one was damaged, plus I think a cat vomited on a couple others.

I tripped several times on the PlayStation 3 cords, causing the  part where the player connects the controller to short out. I replaced his PlayStation 2 when it stopped working.

I think he wanted to say I messed up the controllers on the Sega Genesis, but I think it was how they stored it.

I played a game on his IPod and it erased everything

An app I asked to  be installed on the PS3 erased all the game data.

I lost a set of keys.

Wow, no wonder they hate me. Good thing all I have to break is my own now. Jinxed people should be mandated to have their own apartments, where they can lock  themselves in and not be a nuisance, you know? I guess I’m still haunted by Gays of Christmas Past (Too bad Logo no longer airs gay-themed shows, because that would be a kick-ass name for a Christmas special). I wasn’t intending to talk this much on this, but…

My life is different now in a good way. I have a one bedroom apartment, a lot bigger than the rooms at the old complex. I’ve literally stuffed both closets in the living room and bedroom with all the random crap from my storage unit.  I’m about to get a hide-a-bed couch for the living room and that will be a vast improvement than the deflated airbed I’ve been chillaxin’ on since late September.A nice woman on Freecycle gave me a TV and random odds and ends that I truly appreciate. I could have more by now, but I can’t stand my social worker, so I avoid her at all costs. My decor is a mix of minimalist and très clutter. BUT WHO GIVES A FLYING F, because IT’S MINE! There’s nothing like living exactly as one wants, without fear of being verbally annihilated or thrown out. When I was with Soul Bro, I forgot how much I liked being alone. I wanted to be with him all the time until he just popped. There’s always going to be a part of me that wants to be with him, and a part of me who thinks it’s all my fault.

 

Destroy Everything You Touch

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Parade Part II

We must be on Miami Vice without the water…or the Florida.

“Weee!”

More bike, less brains.

What happens if you let your dogs swim near the nuclear plant.

Where’s Barbie?

Siberian Tiger in its natural habitat.

The glamorous life of circus elephants

The reality. Look close and you’ll see an elephant snout.

Only in the South –Southern Belles and Ronald McDonald

Back in the 40s n’ 50s,  our heroine’s mom used to ride the sideboard up the driveway when her father came home.

Favorite of the Parade –A youngin’ won an art contest and the reward was a ride in an old car and  be eaten by a “Wild Thing.”

Tara… on wheels

Beauty Queen Barbie and Little Miss Such-and-Such

Teddy Bear a Go! Go! Go!

Sometimes you got to throw your weight around to get in this parade.

Now that’s a car! Considering people were significantly smaller then (height as well as girth), both the gentleman in the previous picture and myself would’ve been out of luck.

It’s not just the cars, it’s the:

A.) Midlife crisis

B.) Erectile dysfunction

C.) The people

D.) All of the above

These people train dogs to help disabled folks. They even had a bull dog , but couldn’t get a shot.

The photographer hates clowns, but loves Spongebob.

The local aquarium’s float scores points for cool.

Oh, to be so svelte, so graceful!

In this production we have the peasant girl, faeries, a  queen, and the ever popular Lady America Typical (sitting)

The photographer has mixed feelings about beauty queens. Nice float though!

They’re all waiting for Ashley Wilkes.

More gratuitous Southern Belle footage.

Black Beauty was one of the photographer’s favorite books as a girl. That’s one gorgeous horse.

Juan Valdez  tiene un dia en la ciudad.

Mammy bitch slaps that hussy, Scarlett,  helps the Buffalo Soldiers, and marries Rhett Butler…or at least that’s how the photographer would rewrite the manuscript to Gone with the Wind if anyone wants to know.

Beautiful faerie resting her wings with a ride.

Dora the Explorer is actually smaller in person than you’d think.

‘Fishers of Men’ float. They may have took that Bible quote literally, because the guy in front of the photographer appeared to have a hook in his lip .

Beauty queens

Awwwww!

Old South Volvo!

This blog has gotten way too “spidery” of late.

Infamous Southern Hospitality

Infamous Dog

Parade your princess, but…

…rush off the queen.

End of Parade. Look for “After the Parade” coming soon!

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Morally Bankrupt; or, I Really Wanted That Barbie Doll

So we’re back to my regular sort of post. I sometimes worry that I will one day not be able to come up with something or will totally end up never writing another humorous word again. I don’t even set out with ideas for humor in my posts for the most part. I just fall into it and lots of times I am not sure how it will be received. Maybe tonight is the night I lose my ability to make mundane incidents humorous or interesting. But they say write for yourself and it’ll all come out OK, so we’ll see how I like it .  Say, we should keep a tally on what I think about the direction this post is going,  It’ll be like the director’s commentary version of  a film on DVD. Morally Bankrupt -The Director’s Commentary. What the hay, why don’t y’all have a capital time as well? Take a sip of your favorite 40 oz. malt liquor beverage each time I say something that could be remotely construed as humor, regardless if it’s truly funny or no. Or if alcoholic beverages aren’t your cup of tea, perhaps take a puff from  the blunt you must smoke in order to truly understand my very deep writing. Or if neither  tickle your fancy, might I suggest a sip of  Wal-Mart brand add-to-water fruit punch like I’m drinking. It all works just fine in a drinking game I’m sure. Let’s begin!

(Cut! Here’s where I yelled cut because it was 2:30 am and I yearned for the comfort of  my pillow. Pretty lame movie so far, isn’t it? Bet you’re wishing you rented Twilight instead.

But anyway, ACTION!)

It’s Sunday and I decide I will spend much of the afternoon at the pool….You know, before a hurricane sweeps us all away later this week, or worse, makes it impossible to use the pool from debris. For breakfast, my mother is preparing a new end of the month masterpiece of cookery: Pancakes made exclusively of  flour and water, garnished with margarine and homemade brown sugar syrup -apparently we’re out of Aunt Jemima too. While not exactly IHOP, it does  very well when you’re craving something sweet and semi-tasty at the end of the month.

(CUT! That ain’t nothing, really in the annals of  Budget Living. Mama smoked her last cigarette last night, so this morning she took tiny bits of tobacco that fell out  into the pack and started chewing them in her mouth. She said that it tastes terrible, but you get a tad of nicotine. It reminds me of this woman I used to know named Candy who lived in a trailer park……and had no compunction to pick up cigarette butts off the ground to smoke. Um yuck, but I didn’t share this recollection with Mama or remarked “could she get more ghetto/trailer if she tried?” I deemed that since she’d been several hours without chaising ‘Puff the Magic Pall Malls Dragon’ that I would keep such observations to myself.)

(Back again, really should try to start blogging earlier in the day, so that it doesn’t take a week to write something. Exhaustion and my penchant for becoming distracted work against me, plus I’ve always been the slowest at any damn thing imaginable, but oh well. Y’all got other blogs to read as you anticipate my next words, right? Oh and hurray, first of the month passed. Cigarettes and other vital hurricane supplies got. I didn’t figure this hurricane would amount to anything.  I was sitting out on my lounge this evening and the wind picked up -so I adjourned to the covered patio in the hopes of not being whacked in the head. Though who knows? My head is indeed somewhat addled to begin with, so perhaps being bonked on the head by  a stray pine tree branch just might be the cure for knocking my brain cells into place. But anyway, back to the ‘film.’ ACTION!)

Yeah, Sunday. Pool. There. While I’m bobbing about in the deep end, I listen to a curious conversation. I believe the woman’s original aim was to sit in her floating lounger and read, but it didn’t seem to matter to Mr. Horny Ex-Con. He set her as his object and talked and talked. There is one thing to be said about being a bit less than comely, and that is that such crap seldom happens to you. In fact, the only guy I ever had trouble with was a drunk, simple-seeming Mexican fellow with one reddened cheek (punched or skin condition?). He kept advancing on me and tried to mess with me, to which I screamed in the most hateful voice I could muster, “Leave me the hell alone!” and left the pool.

Mr. Horny Ex-Con proceeds to relate how his life has gone “since he got out as he put it.  He says that he spent nearly a decade in prison and there were plenty of homosexuals and guys who did the homosexual thing while in prison, but no rape because everyone from particular states looked out for their own. That was interesting to know , so it wasn’t Oz, but he never said what he did to merit 10 years in prison. Somehow I doubt it was jaywalking, especially if he’s the roommate of who I think he is, who’s an “Evil One” indeed.

I nearly laughed when I heard him say, “All the women I’ve met since I got out in March have turned out to be lesbians.” Bwhaaaaaaaaaaaaah ! I think just about any girl would suddenly claim to a sapphic bent if he was talking to them. Not that he was ugly, no he ain’t, but what the hell do you do to go to prison for 10 freaking years? The woman was finally spared his wooing by his admission that he needed to pee. Did Romeo and Cyrano have such hurdles to overcome as a full bladder at an inopportune time? I sometimes think that I’m not missing much by no one dying of love for me or lusting after me from my observations on these matters.

Now to my hideous lack of morality, my great sin almost committed. I would have done it too had a couple of variables not interfered with my depravity. Really, it is pretty bad. So here’s my confession:

Some little girl left her Barbie doll at the pool and did not come back for it by closing time. So I approach the Pool Matron and say, “Um PM, do you know whose Barbie is that?” She doesn’t know.

“Do you think it would be OK if I take….Oh, nevermind.” Pool Matron’s little son grabbed the coveted Barbie. “I just thought I might…..since it’d been there all day….and the pool being closed tomorrow….but maybe someone will come back for it.”

So the little boy and his mother spared me from what in retrospect can only be conceived by me as sorta-kinda-maybe stealing. Now, to be fair to me a little, I recall last year Pool Matron saying she threw stuff away that got left behind, so with that logic, I’d hoped to have that pretty black Barbie doll (I love ethnic dolls the best, so sue me).

I consider myself a moral to beyond moral sort of woman, so my mind began the deserved attack upon me as soon as I left the pool. “Thief! Stealer of children’s playthings! YOU SUCK!!!”

My only solace is I looked at the pool the next morning and the near-purloined Barbie was not to be seen. I bet Pool Matron’s kids took her home that night. At least it wasn’t me.

I nearly had a similar temptation a few weeks beforehand. I was still cross at the little rat bastard that took my goggles after I specifically asked him to return them when he was done. Well, someone left goggles at the pool overnight. The next day I saw they were still there, and I thought to myself, perhaps if they are still here by the end of the day it would be OK to take them and the person who left them won’t come back. So I borrow them for a set of laps, then returned them to where they sat. By the end of the day they were gone, but sort of doubt that they were restored to their rightful owner. But at least it wasn’t me lest the  poor soul who lost them came back. I am not a believer in “Finders Keepers,” but it seems as though I need to remind myself. I’m not happy.

(Cut! That’s a wrap!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HiKPZRFnIIM&feature=channel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAX37IIJ4O0&feature=channel