Ma wants to sit down yo!

A mouse had babies in my apartment.   They don’t know shit from shamrock because they’re too young yet — they don’t know they’re supposed to run when they see me.  The one today just walked around my apartment with impunity, exploring, sniffing at my books on the floor.  He stopped to drink droplets of water on the kitchen floor — while I stood there.    Maybe he knew (she?) that I referred to mice as cute Disney creatures in a previous post.  Maybe he knew that I don’t kill mice, that in the previous days I merely trapped his brother and sister in a shoebox with bread, took them outside and let them free in the woods.  “This nice lady likes us,” they think.  How did the one sibling wind up in my bathtub like Sisyphus?  He’d get so far up the porcelain curve before sliding down.  I gotta admit he was kinda cute.  But how?  It couldn’tve climbed up the outside of the tub.  Baffling.  The one today I didn’t capture so it could still be in here.  It just better stay the hell out of the crack of my ass!  One time a couple years ago I swear one flitted across my ass while I was in bed.  I’m not infested.  And I’m not a dirty girl.  I think they just know I feel their pathos.  I left the little runt here today and went on my way.

On the train I fell asleep and was awakened by a man who sat across from me grumbling about some fellow black folks he was fittin’ to kill.  Talking to himself the whole time, using the rapper’s expletive, the so-called N word — he promised to kill up all of them because they had done something to him.  He was so angry, spewing all that killingness that I left the car.  I have a choice you know.  As this was one of the cars that you couldn’t walk through, at the next stop I got out of the car and ran to the next car before the train pulled off.

I went to my doctor’s.  She thinks the tingling in my face and arm may be because of a nerve healing after the oral surgery I had — so I’ll have tests.  I left there and tried to find humane traps at Whole Foods and Home Goods.  No go.  I thought my friend who I’m hanging out with tomorrow might know where to get them.  She knows about stuff like that.

The train going home was crowded so I had to stand.  “Yo ma you want to sit down?”  A man says, pointing to a seat next to a giant suitcase.  I thought he wanted me to sit on the suitcase at first.  I knew he was off — I shook my head and cast my eyes down.  He was a white male using black street vernacular, tall, wearing urban gear.  He had piercing eyes and a threatening demeanor.   He then yelled at passengers with a psychotic testosterone fueled rant, “Ma wants to sit down yo — let ma sit down!”   He walked toward me.  I shook my head and moved further away.  He targeted an Asian gentlemen reading a book.  “Yo, you smart.  Let Ma sit down.”  The poor guy looked at me and began to rise.  I shook my head furiously, determined not to speak as I didn’t want to say anything this man could attach himself to.  Thank God this was a car you could walk through — I made my way closer to the area between the cars.  The man continued bullying, “Ma wants to sit down, somebody gotta git up yo!”  He waved an arm at all the passengers.  A woman offered me her seat.  I thought about her personality type.  Was she easily intimidated, somebody who didn’t feel worthy of her own seat?  I swiftly made it to the next car while the train was still moving — I love being able to escape a car if I have to.  Looking behind me constantly, I could see the champion of my cause peering through the window.  I leaned back so my view would be blotted by a standing passenger.  I wondered if I should move still further, but I was fine for the rest of the ride — what the hell was going on in New York City’s subway system today?

At home I called my friend about our date for the museum tomorrow, planning also to ask about the humane mouse traps.  She has a consciousness about these things.  She’s into healthy eating — her sister is into holistic health.  I imagined a little box with compartments for food and water, maybe with a steel mesh window so the little buggers wouldn’t feel claustrophobic.  “Hey, do you know about humane mouse traps?” I said, telling her my mouse stories.  “Just kill the little motherfuckers with a bat.  You let ’em go they’re gonna be killed anyway,” she said.   Ah yeah, the day.

Mean-Spirited Tales

My book cover is complete.  ‘Mean-Spirited Tales’ is on there twice but I like it like that.  I just have to proof the interior. Create Space mailed it to me.  I hope it’s not  jacked up on the inside.  I had trouble formatting it on their site.  The people at Create Space tried to help.  A couple of the ‘specialists’ there had poor communication skills and talked over me, or cut me off before I could finish saying what my problem was.

I learned some communication skills from How to Win Friends and Influence People (I know it’s funny, right?), so I wouldn’t do that if I had that job.  Today I was sarcastic to a visitor at the gallery, so I don’t always practice what I learned in that book.  I was repentant, so that’s good.  I have tingling in my face after having my tooth pulled two weeks ago which makes me irritable.  I think I have nerve damage or worse.  I don’t want to be around people as much.  I’m going to the doctor today.  I was unhappy about having to go to the doctor, and I’m  upset because I might have to postpone a movie date with a friend because of it and I need my playtime.

I’m overwhelmed, but still taking care of my agenda.  I take the steps and look back to see that another task is complete.  I promised that I would put my short stories on Kindle during my hiatus from work.  I’ve been here for seven years.  It’s a great gig.  But with the economy tanking things shifted around, so I moved to the gallery which is closed between December and March.  I didn’t know if I would be called back, but didn’t look for work during this time.  I wanted to use the opportunity to publish my book.  I’ve been back since April.  My job is not stressful so I have energy for ‘marketing’ my book.  I had one story published but got tired of waiting for literary journals to publish my other work.  In the old days, self-publishing was considered cheesy, so I didn’t want to do it.  It is a lot of hard work to ‘do it yourself’.

Sometimes I feel like I’m doing all this for nothing.  But I need to get it out of my system.  I have a novel called “The Unavoidable” that I want to publish then I need to move on and write something else.  I’m spending more time blogging and wrapping up book issues.   At least I can say that I wrote a book.  After writing these stories I thought, these stories aren’t going to read themselves — I have to publish a book.

Splendiferous

Who cares about my free phone camera fuzzy photo chronicles?  I do.  If you don’t mind, I’ll inflict my photos on you  insert this imagery of individual charm and personality anytime I want.  Thanks.  You’re dying to see a caption.  Eh?  Down below, there it is:

Me on the back porch of Glyndor Manse, basking in the splendiferous view whilst imbibing an afternoon cup of Joe, composing content for one of my daily postings.

My favorite parts of the movie The Devil’s Advocate

I thought I’d write about The Devil’s Advocate after watching it yesterday then changed my mind.  “Nobody’ll give a shit,” I thought.  But then Brigitte mentioned the movie in her post, which is a sign from God.  So, here are my highlights from the movie:

[sing along everyone]

Romans 16:19 says!
Romans 16:19 says!

Be excellent in what is good
Be innocent of e-veel
Be excellent in what is good
Be innocent of e-veel

[still singin’?]

And the God of Peace will soon crush Sa-tan
God will crush him underneath your feet!
And the God of Peace will soon crush Sa-tan
God will crush him underneath your feeeeeeet!

In this scene, the church folk sing this little ditty.  A pudgy black woman dolled up in her Sunday best, looks so adorable.  She’s singing, clapping moving side to side.  She wears a white bow in her hair.  She reminds me of a little girl telling the devil, “You’re gonna get it good!”

I always sing along when I watch this movie.  I like the God of peace will soon crush Satan part best – that’s when I shake my finger at the Devil.  For the next few days after watching, I sing the song, to myself, out loud, while walking up the hill to the bus on my way home from work, letting out the farts that I had to hold in all day.  Coworkers pass in their cars, “Sandee, want a ride up the hill?”  “No, that’s okay.  I’ve got to, decompress,” I say – hehehe.

This next part I like in the movie is the Devil’s speech which gets to me because it’s so darned true if you really think about it.  Tell me if you don’t feel the same way after watching it!  The devil says he’s a humanist.  How about that?  This scene makes me want to stand up in the pews and testify – tell it Devil!

This next scene is a girl on the witness stand talking about a game she’s played with her friends called Special Places.  “Is this game sexual in nature?”  The defense lawyer (played by Keanu Reeves) asks.  The young girl whimpers, “Yes.”

I’m like “What?!”  Special Places!  That sounds haawwwt.  With roiling hot adolescents?  This game never made it to my playground.  When we were adolescents we played True Dare Consequences Promise or Repeat.  Special Places gets to the point if you know what I mean.  How many special places do you have?  True Dare was all over the gaddam place.  We kept it focused though.  Everyone always chose Dare.  It was I dare you to tongue kiss this one, or I dare you to put your hand down that one’s pants – eeeevery once in a blue moon it might be I dare you to f-u-c-k somebody – I neee-ver ever did that.  But I heard Judy Head-Blesser did!

In this last part the Devil says that on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the most depraved act of sexual theater known to man, he got it on with Mary Ann at about seven — whooooa!  But this is the Devil.  He should’ve been able to get up to ten — at least.

Crazy Old Aunties Deserve to Die

I walked to an ad on the train platform — a picture of an old woman with smeared lipstick, spiky drunk hair, holding a glass of liquor and a cigarette.  She wore flashy clothes too young for her wrinkled personage, and she was dancing.  The caption:  Crazy Old Aunties Deserve to Die.  Why I’m of this ilk.  I’ve written about it mmm hmm, in this blog.  Crazy ‘ol Auntie Sandee, the middle-aged death metalist, alcoholic.  Me and the poor old woman in this poster — people just don’t understand!  The ad was an off beat anti-smoking campaign.  Generally they were saying people make excuses when it comes to smoking.  But I quit smoking — quit the same time I quit drinking.  Considering the circumstances it was a wise decision.

A long time ago Crazy ‘ol Auntie Sandee went to the bar and met a boy quite a few years younger.  From the Canary Islands.  We talked and talked and talked.  He leaned over and in his Spanish accent said, “I want to kiss you.”  Yeah, yeah, so I made out with him in the bar loosey goosey, whatever.   All I remember is waking up alone to discover that I had apparently had safe sex with someone. Twice. I threw the condom wrappers away and went to work, recalling vaguely saying the night before, ‘Oooo, that’s niiice.”

A day later I get a call.  “Hello Sandee.”  It was the Spaniard!  “I have no idea what happened here the night before.  Why don’t we meet at the diner so you can tell me what happened and then I can see what you look like too.”  I recalled a handsome young devil but I was drunk.  I needed to know.

He was a handsome young devil on some kind of a work visa.  He would be leaving in a month.  He was studying to become a lawyer — I had sex with him.  In a blackout.  I wasn’t present, wasn’t there, didn’t get to experience this because I was in a blackout.  This made no sense.  I stopped drinking immediately.  Crazy ‘ol Aunties do indeed deserve to die when they deprive themselves of being present to experience having sex with handsome young men with European accents.

Cheap A** Phone

Primitive insertion of fuzzy photographs from a ‘free phone camera’

Some of you know I’m a Luddite who doesn’t give two craps about high tech gadgets.  My phone is the one advertised as ‘free’.  I paid $19 for it.  Ha!  Anyone surprised?  The other day I wanted to capture the beauty of where I work.  Why, I’ll just use my cheap free phone camera, I said on my meditative lunch time stroll.  I finally figured out how to transroll (my made up word that I love) pictures that I take on my free phone to my email, to further roll into my picture files.  See the pictures up there?  One was supposed to capture the Hudson River but you can’t see it really because of the piss poor quality.  One shows where you can take yoga but you can’t really see that either.  The pictures aren’t iPhone or Blackberry camera quality but didn’t come out all that horrible.

I didn’t think to photograph Gregor Samsa, the engorged water bug who just lay hanging out on my living room floor, terrorizing me.  I would’ve appended it to my Gregor Samsa post so you could see what I was afraid of.  As they don’t move for almost an hour sometimes, taking a photo of my bug model would’ve been easy to do.  But I’m sure y’all like flowers more.  Wouldn’t you like to work at a place like this?  You’ll get half the money you’re used to getting but dammit it’s worth it.

Gregor Samsa

If they didn’t fly it wouldn’t be as bad – if they weren’t so huge.  I’m frightened of these creatures you see because I did see one fly across the room once.  Clear across. I thought it was an urban legend that water bugs did this.  It’s something to see — all ten pounds of, bug.

They engorge themselves with water and can’t move so they stay in one place for quite a while giving you the opportunity to kill them.  But I just stand there petrified, poised with a container to put over there heads, afraid they’ll see me coming, leap up and fly in my eye.  I don’t want to squash them because they’re so big that they have guts like people, which is gross.  So, I stand there crying — as I did last year when I found one in the tub.  I stood at the edge of the door with a container moving forward slightly but I couldn’t do it.  I stood there 20 minutes before tip toeing away to get the phone to call — who?  The police?  I’m serious. I started balling when it began twitching.  “I’m calling the police!”  I screamed, picking up the phone realizing then how ridiculous this would be.  I settled on calling the super.

The night before one scurried from behind the book shelf, and just lay there – engorged.  THEY ALWAYS DO THIS!  I did my routine of getting a container to put on top of it.  I usually put the container on it and leave them in there until the super gets here to throw it away or until I get the courage to slide a cardboard under it to carry it to the garbage bins six flights down.  Once I left it under the container for a week until I was SURE it was dead.  Every day I came home from work and kicked at it to see if it still moved.  But the night before last the engorged creature fled behind the book shelf before I got the guts to trap it – I always stand there staring at it first, sometimes crying, sometimes not.  These are the times I miss my boyfriend being here.  He was good for killing critters.

There was a piece of my kinky hair on the floor not far from where the bug had been which made me think of Gregor Samsa, that poor bastard from Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis who woke up in bed to find he had morphed into a large bug.  At one point he starts collecting dust if I remember correctly.  I thought of this creature behind my shelves with a trail of dust and kinky hair on its hind parts.

I think Gregor Samsa is dead now.  But I know he has friends and that they love the humid Manhattan air.  I sprayed the crap out of the area behind the shelves and have the can still by the sofa.  Gregor Samsa, if you’re still alive, get ready to die.

I’d rather have a mouse.  I know they’re rodents but they’re mammally, like one of Paris Hilton’s dogs.  They’re like little Disney creatures peering out from inside of your favorite pink coffee cup.  I wonder if they eat bugs?

The Beast

My good friend — she’s so sweet.  She tried listening to death metal to see where I’m coming from.  “Sandee, I tried, but I couldn’t take it,” she said.  Awre.  What a friend!  She tried.

But can you dig it? — I’m listening to this and it’s making me feel very alive.  If you can’t stand the music, check out the lyrics:

Elapsed Chainless Activity
Timeless Contradiction
Born Without Flesh
Stand – Still Movement
Nothing is In Perspective
Smashing Ground
Concious, Aware…
Mindflight Fully Digested
Consequences Beyond Rational
– Thought

Aiming of the Featherless
For it is Bournd to Existence
Sources Floating – Shimmering
– Events, That Make the Warrior
Proud

BlackHole Invulnerability
Black Flames Gallantly Dancing
Threading Human Soil
Sworn to Intoxicate the
– Planet

Magnitude Unveiled
Profused Tailored Terror
Forlorn Hope
Locked Behind Crumbled Doors
Impoverished Life
Desolated Globe

XXX

 

I hate the little twerp.  Sometimes.  It’s an interesting and stilted chemistry, so I’m baffled at the goodies he yields me, when he’s not there, for intervals of five minutes – bastard!  What a paradox.  That sexy prick.  The pheromonal reaction of our chemistry is involuntary.  But it doesn’t put me off.  I’m cool.  He won’t know.  There were guys who seemed perfect, but I had to force a reaction, and wound up thoroughly disappointed.

Deep incongruities between us keep a functional distance with regard to this issue.  There’s no way in Hades I could find myself emotionally dependent on him.  I don’t suffer from dilated pupils or rapid breathing around him; but I do harbor that affection that makes an episode like this partly possible.  I don’t actually need him in order to take care of my business.  The imagery he inspires is that cake in the refrigerator at home that I think of at work.  I come home and I kill it.

Beverly the man

I said in Le Clown’s comments that I dated a chick with a dick, and he and Jennifer Worrell said I should write about it – thanks guys for suggesting the material – here it goes:

[First, let me deconfuse you – I refer to Beverly in this story as Beverly, him/her, he/she, he, she, him, her – they’re all the same tranvestite.]

I went out with a chick with a dick – what?!  We met in the Tiki Bar or whatever the fuck the name of that place was.  We talked for the longest.  Though the bar was dark, this was clearly a man dressed like a woman — long blonde wig, white head band,  tasteful muted dress cut slightly above the knee, and white go go boots.  He/she was a white man, about 6’ 2”.  Beverly hipped me to the fact that he was just a man who liked to wear women’s clothes, but that he liked women and didn’t want a sex change.  We flirted with each other because I loves me a man dressed up in women’s clothes.  I told him/her that I wanted my ex-boyfriend to dress like a woman but he said hell to the no!  I think always of that sexy Tim Curry in the movie version of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

We left the Tiki Bar or whatever the fuck it was called, and went to the Cancun Bar.  He/she asked if he could kiss me at that bar.  We sat at a small table.  Hells yeah!   Wow!  Beverly the man was the shit!  Beverly was the best kisser!  I met him/her another time at the Tiki Bar and I got soooooooo plastered, that he/she said I should take a cab home.  I slurred my address to Beverly and she told the driver and poured me into the yellow cab.

He/she called the next day and we made a date to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  I would have liked if we kissed on those big stairs where all the students and tourists like to hang out.  But Beverly couldn’t make it as it turned out.  I forget what happened to him her.  This was quite a while ago and I was drunk.  I wanted to have sex with him/her and write about it and/or tell alllllll my friends.  I told my relatives at Christmas dinner last year about this —  including one of my favorite Aunties who’s a minister – well all my aunties are my favorite – anyway, they didn’t judge me and they did laugh and ask lots of questions, which I liked, seeing as I could provide the x-mas entertainment and all.