Who Are The People In Your Neighborhood?

About a year or two after I moved to this KKKounty in Colorado, a couple and their son moved into the house across the street. I was invited to a house warming party, but left almost immediately. See, I’m an INFJ and there’s a certain intuition I get about a person and I didn’t like the woman, let’s call her PAM, at all.  So, this family is cordial, not friendly. No big deal because I didn’t want to talk to them, anyway. I do like to people watch and these people spend 99% of the day hanging out in their open garage. It’s like a porch for rednecKKKs.  Pam is about 45, obese, frumpy, unkempt, chain smokes and has the personality of a toilet seat. The husband, on the other hand, is clean and handsome...and probably also kind of dumb, but I notice that he has a lot of equally handsome younger male friends come over and hang out with him frequently.  Eventually, the husband goes on a trip and never comes back. I only notice because Pam has many, many, many, many, many men in and out of her garage at all hours. Now, I’ve had sex with over 200 people in my 50 years on earth, but never like my vagina was on a turnstyle. Sometimes, a very young nude man, with not a hair on his chest, will enjoy a post-coital cigarette out of her bedroom window. I don’t want to assume, but I totally assume they’re her 25 year old sons friends and part of me wants to applaud while the part of me who hasn’t been touched by another human being in 10 years wants to call the cops.  Is she selling? Probably. Many cars pull up to her house day and night. They walk up to the garage, make a phone call, the garage door opens, they go in, come out 2 minutes later and leave. Some actually have to garage door CODE. How about that for trust? Stay tuned for PART TWO.

The Murphy’s Law Of Attraction

by infjabberwocky  - Wait until you’re over 50 to learn how to cook...anything. Never read a recipe or watch a tutorial, always wing it. Use as many shortcuts as possible. - When speaking to a stranger or acquaintance, find something to casually insult them about. - When asked to reschedule an appointment, always insinuate the reason is something completely unrelated, like, the price of avocados or frequent difficulty finding a good walnut. - When at a store, always use a term of endearment when addressing staff. Baby Love and Sweet Cheeks are excellent options.  - When performing DIY projects like unclogging a drain with baking soda and vinegar, always pour half a box of carpet deodorizer instead of baking soda down the drain and eventually you’ll be able to say, ‘Gee, your hair clog smells terrific!’ - When cleaning a carpet stain, always saturate the spot with whatever cleaner is handy. I mean saturate. You want it sloshy. Rub until it spreads or goes deeper into the carpet. Go ahead and name your stain Alan Harper, because it ain’t going anywhere.

- When using a fast food drive-through during a pandemic, do not wear your mask and when the cashier holds the card reader through the window for you to insert your card, grab it like you’re going to steal it because, I mean, she IS handing it to you and besides, inserting a card with one hand is hard. - When hosing off your porch, always wash the ground first THEN the ceiling because you want all of the dead bugs and debris to fall onto your clean floor AND get in your hair. - When fixing your car, always remove parts before realizing that you don’t have the proper tools to complete the repair - When you finally move to a neighborhood that you like, sit on your porch and chainsmoke. To sweeten the pot, get drunk and argue out loud with Twitter posts. - Always buy a car that’s your favorite color. If it has no leaks, bonus. Never get it checked out by a mechanic, first. You won’t regret it. - If you find a package of meat in your fridge that expired in February and it’s now August, go ahead and cook it. Diarrhea is a crapshoot, anyway. 

I HATE YOU. PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME.

Mother died. It was unexpected and very sudden. It happened while I was talking to her. I attempted CPR. I’ll write more about it later. I have a migraine.

OPEN MOUTH, INSERT POOP SOILED FOOT

Now that I can have conversations with real people again, I've been saying the rudest things unintentionally. "We need to reschedule your job interview, so and so has stomach issues" Me: That's because most of the food out here has parasites. I have stomach issues all the time. What I Should've Said: No problem, at all. Please tell her I'm sorry and hope she feels better soon.

"Let me give you a tour of my house" Me: Jesus Christ your garage is tiny. No wonder you don't park in it. What I Should've Said: Your house is awesome. Thanks for inviting me over.

DOLL PARTS

As I strolled past the bookstore, something made me stop and turn. An odd feeling of urgency that I needed to go inside. I nervously opened the door and found the building completely gutted and abandoned. It was dark and there were shelves and furniture strewn about like the aftermath of an earthquake. I paused and thought to myself, “this was a thriving business a few days ago, what the hell happened?” As I cautiously made my way around the metal cabinets and puddles of dark water, I noticed an enormous door partially hidden by a fallen bookshelf. Somehow, I managed to shove the shelf to the side, climbed over a pile of wet books and hesitantly turned the knob. I slowly opened the door and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark. A hallway. A filthy, wet, smelly hallway. Wait, what was that? A noise? Whimpering? I’d better investigate. There have been a lot of reports about missing children in the news, lately and you never know. I slowly made my way down the hall, pressing my fingertips against the slimy wall to guide my way. A light? Was someone here? As I turned the corner, to my left I saw a small room that reminded me of the kind you’d see in an ICU. There was an operating table with a black trash bag laying on top. It was partially opened and there was a dog...a poodle...half in and half out with its legs moving in an erratic running motion. I looked closer and saw that it was partially dissected. Were people experimenting on it before hearing me walk down the hall and took off? What the hell is going on here? I decided to leave the dog for a minute and continue my search. A few feet on my right was another room with what appeared to be large dolls, like Madame Alexander dolls, piled on top of each other. Jesus, they look so real. Wait, are they real? Are they actual kids? Can these really be children piled on top of one another like discarded tires? Are they alive? I don’t how to check for a pulse when my own heart is beating like Keith Moon is in my rib cage. Something in my gut told me to get out. Run. Stop trying to play True Detective and find someone to help. I turned to leave but stopped in my tracks. What if I leave and the person or people that did this are here and get rid of all of this before I return? What if they won’t let me out? What if I can’t remember how to get out of here? What was that noise? I can’t hear over my heart pounding I tell myself to stop breathing so heavy. Stop. STOP. I hold my breath but still hear the breathing. It’s not me. I can still hear...

THE CUCKOO ALWAYS RINGS TWICE

I love being a Gen X'er. I love that I was born a week after Woodstock. My dad was serving in Vietnam and wasn't there for my birth. I grew up as a latchkey kid and no one batted an eye about not having supervision.I walked to and from school alone and my only protection was 'don't talk to strangers'.I rode a bike everywhere else.I roller skated as much as I could.I watched TV with only 3 channels and a huge antenna.I used a rotary dial phone that took forever.When I was bored, I read.I listened to music on a huge stereo or a transistor radio. As I got older, I got to listen on a Walkman.I stayed out until way after dark and got a spanking if I didn't hear my mother yell for me.When we were teenagers, we went to 16+ clubs. Often times, we snuck into bars. We drank a LOT. We had a designated driver. Usually some kid we kind of liked, who had a car, but never did anything naughty. We smoked a LOT of cigarettes.Some kids did a lot of coke and meth. I didn't. I'm a control freak and with alcohol, I can stop drinking and sober up. With drugs...who knows?We ALWAYS had to look for a payphone. We always kept a few extra dimes hidden somewhere on our person. A sock, shoe, pocket...I love the music we grew up with. From the 70's to the gothy or new wave or poppy 80's. It was rad.I love that we were valley girls and that Frank wrote a song about us. You're welcome for 'like' and 'oh mah gawd'. I love that we were there to stand in 2-hour lines at the movie theater to watch Star Wars, Empire, and Jedi. I love that we got to buy every damn Star Wars toy and they weren't cheap plastic junk.I love 45 records. I love vinyl. I love cassettes. I love 8-track tapes! That went off on a disorganized tangent... I wish I'd learned computers. I didn't get one until I was in my 30's and even took a few classes, but I never really anticipated them becoming the backbone of our existence. Now, without those skills, I have no job prospects and am homeless and unemployed. Crashing on couches at 49 is not a good look on me. Although I love, love, love to create graphics. I'm not fabulous at it, but I've seen worse. I wish I had gone to school for that before I lost my job. Like Cher said, "if I could turn back ti-ummm". I hate that I'm almost 50. I hate that everything hurts. I hate that I had to leave my hometown in California to be a cold mess in this freezing 6,000-foot elevation in Colorado I call Highrise Hell. It rarely gets above 50 degrees and when it does, your fucking face melts off. I miss humidity. I miss seashells. I miss seagull poop. I miss heading east to the mountains and west to the water. I miss that someone would always stop to help if you were stuck on the side of the road. I miss cops that are helpful. I hate this altitude. I hate that it's made my sinuses clog, my eyes puff, my skin sag and my teeth fall out. All of this has nothing to do with being a Gen X'er, I just have massive ADD and my train of thought is often derailed...down a cliff... Anyway, I mostly LOVE growing up in a time when we could all be free. Skateboard, bike, invent games, be outside, have fun and learn with reckless abandon. Our parents, other adults and law enforcement didn't give two shits about us and we couldn't have been happier.

SILENT PROSE

I post a lot on here because I know, literally, NO ONE will ever read these and I find it cathartic. I can write and MAYBE someone will see and relate but if not, no big. I’m invisible here. It’s nice.

SOMETIMES YOU FEEL LIKE A NUT. SOMETIMES YOU DON’T.

If you’re reading ANY of my posts, please know that I’m just using this forum to get out of my head. I don’t need attention or approval or advice. I’m just trying to write. I love to write. I’m bad at writing, but I love it. I especially love it when I don’t have to read comments from people telling me to ‘cheer up’ or ‘go fuck yourself’. It’s almost like being ignored in a chatroom. A very psychotic chatroom.

PULL IT REAL GOOD

I loathe the word ‘trigger’. Probably because people on social media use it to provoke others. “Oh, someone is triggered!’

I think I’ll use the word spark, instead. Or ignite. Something with fire. I like fire. I wanted to be a firefighter, but I don’t handle heat well at all. Kind of ironic.

LIFE’S THE SAME EXCEPT FOR MY SHOES

I waste more time repeating scenarios in my head that will never, ever happen than I do thinking about how to improve my current situation.

C-U-NEXT-TUESDAY

Mommie Fearest: If someone (someone is my nickname) scrubs the dish drainer because it’s full of mold, I’ll stop and get you something to eat. Also, I threw away all of your utensils because you left them in there to dry longer than 2 hours, and you know the only silverware allowed to sit in that drainer is mine. So, I guess you’re going to have to find a way to buy yourself some new ones.

Me: I appreciate you throwing my eating utensils away. It was very considerate of you.

Mommie Fearest 2 hours later: I know you’ve been really sick and before I left I told you that I was going to stop and get you something to eat, but you didn’t answer your phone, you must’ve been busy goofing off (I was cleaning), so I didn't get you anything I just got myself something (3 large enchilada meals) so you’ll just have to eat peanut butter.          

Me: I’m deathly allergic to peanut butter.

Mommie Fearest: Well, that’s not my problem, is it? Me: I need to start recording these conversations.

PARDON MY VAGINA

9/12/19

Once, back in the 70s, a bunch of us neighborhood kids were gathered around a creepy old man that lived in my apartment complex. I can’t recall what he was doing that had us all so intrigued, but I remember that he was sitting and we were all circled around him like he was a campfire. I remember I was crouched down with my knees on the side of my body and my elbows resting on them. As I was watching whatever it is he was doing, our next-door neighbor snatched me from behind and literally dragged me into her house where she proceeded to SCREAM at me about sitting with my legs wide open so the perverted old man next door could stare at my crotch. She told me to keep my legs closed at all times and sit like a lady.

I think I was 7 at the time.

Ever since I’ve had a thing about people keeping their legs closed while sitting. Penis AND vagina. No difference. Everyone, keep your goddamn legs together.

ONE IN A MILLION

9/11/19

Once, I left my Lemon Twist on the porch and watched as a kid down the street grabbed it and took off running. I went to the kid's house to get it back and the mom cussed me out.

Once, I left my Malibu Skipper outside to get a tan and when I came back to get her, she was melted.

Once, I drank from the sprinklers until someone told me that I’d get worms.

Once, I had an itch on my hairline and went I went to itch it, I felt something huge in my hair. I didn’t sleep that night.

Once, I got a new pair of shoes and went out into the apartment hallway to tap dance in them and locked myself out. I was so afraid of my parents that I slept next to the door all night.

Once, I was riding my scooter at night when a kid I didn’t notice grabbed my handlebar, which sent me flying over them. Once, while I was being babysat, we all went to the beach early in the morning when it was still cold. I was wearing an orange sweatshirt from SDSU and jeans. I got caught in a rip current and swept out to sea. I was about 6. I couldn’t swim. I must’ve passed out because I opened my eyes once and was far from shore. When I opened my eyes the second time, I was grabbing a clump of sand and shells. As I pulled myself out of the water, my adult babysitters laughed and asked if I had a good swim. How I survived that, I have no idea.

I LOVE YOU, MOMMIE FEAREST

9/11/19 In 2013, my mother sold her cozy one story, two bedroom house in New Mexico and bought a massive 3 story, 4 bedroom house in Colorado.In 2014, my mother begged my son and me to leave CA and come live with her in CO.My mother recently had major hernia surgery and we felt bad for her and left CA to come and live with her (thinking it would be temporary) My mother doesn’t hide the fact that she hates her grandson, even though he’s afraid to speak to her and hasn’t been disrespectful. When she’s not yelling at him because the bread is moldy then she’s giving him the silent treatment.My mother calls me ‘stupid cunt’ so often that sometimes it’s how I sign my name.

N’TEENTH NERVOUS BREAKDOWN

9/11/19

Living with myself is difficult enough, but at least I keep my mental breakdowns in my own mind. The woman I am unfortunate enough to be living with not only has arguments with herself that she thinks no one else can hear, but she loses her shit over stuff like the ice trays not being aligned properly or the trash and recycling cans not being EXACTLY 2.5 feet apart on the curb. Mind you, she has no problem dropping Doritos on the floor and leaving them there for eternity. She has no problem using the lavatory and won’t flush the toilet but pours bleach in the bowl. She refuses to wash her hands in the bathroom sink and will waddle to the kitchen to use that sink. Why? Because there is usually a good amount of fecal matter on her hands and she doesn’t want to get it on the faucet handle. It’s ok to get on the doorknob, the counters, the utensils, and the dishes, but not on the faucet.

She just cussed me out because I put a freshly refilled ice tray on the top shelf instead of the bottom shelf. I actually have a new asshole to shit out of. She never told me to put the new tray on the top, mind you. I’m just supposed to know. Or read her mind. Or both. But apparently, I'm “a stupid piece of shit” because I didn’t know that. The worst part is, she didn’t cuss ME out. She cussed me out to herself, completely oblivious that I was standing right next to her even though she had just spoken to me a split second before her tirade. IT goes something like this...

Her: I miss Timmy (my cat who died last year) Me: Me, too (opening the freezer door, closing it then whipping it open again) Her: GOD DAMN IT! That stupid piece of shit! How does she not know how I like the fucking trays?!? I wish she’d just die and get out of my fucking house! Stupid cunt! Me: ... P.S. She BEGGED my son and me to move in with her after she moved from New Mexico to Colorado and bought a huge 4 bedroom, 2 story house. I wasn’t sure why because she claims she’s too disabled to walk yet went from a single-story house on a cul-de-sac to a 2 story w/ a basement on a really steep hill. We felt bad for her and left CA to come to CO and live with her. Little did we know that she’d confine us to tiny bedrooms and forbid us from using any other room in the house. To make sure we understood, she had almost all of her living room furniture hauled away. Seriously. To keep us from sitting in the living room, she called GotJunk and had it taken away.

HELLO WORLD THERE’S A SONG THAT I’M SINGING

9/10/19

I don’t think I’ve ever been happy a day in my life.

I don’t think my brain is capable of it.

If I ever start to feel happy, I remind myself of something bad and pop the balloon.

People ask, ‘you were happy when your son was born, though, right?’ No. Not really. All I could think about was, ‘shit. he’s here now’ and how much work it was going to be and that I was too young and too lazy to be a mom. Yeah, I know. I love my kid. I saw my kid as a chance for a clean slate. To do something well for a change. To be the mom my mom couldn’t be for me. Needless to say, I failed miserably. Like, miserably. My intentions were good, but my actions were stupid. Thank God for menopause, right? Nature’s way of stopping idiots like me from reproducing.

LIVE IN CONCERT: UNINTENTIONAL A

9/10/19

I’m pretty sure I’ve been living my entire life believing that everyone is mad at me.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what I did to offend them. Probably because I’ve been unemployed for 6 years and literally have nothing better to do than to think and stew.

With strangers, I assume they’re offended by my looks. By how hideously ugly I am. They probably think I’m a sloppy drag queen. Or perhaps, I didn’t move my shopping cart over enough to let them pass or maybe I did a California roll at the stop sign.

With friends, I’m sure I posted something rude that I wasn’t aware of.

The older I get, the more of an unintentional asshole I become. Unintentional Asshole is the name of my new band. I was just laughing about how someday I’ll have to make a list of all of the people & businesses that I perceive as having ‘wronged’ me. Seriously. Being talked down to is the worst thing you can do to me. Correct me, please, but do it without making me feel like I just graduated Kindergarten. Oh, and correcting is a lot better than scolding.