How This Blog Began...

Haunting Doors

I'm at my parents' house and I'm trying to lock the exterior doors and I can't seem to successfully lock them. I feel unsafe. The doors and locks are flimsy. It is dark and no one is home. A car drives up the long driveway without it's headlights on, and I'm scrambling to get all the doors locked before the car reaches the house. It doesn't happen.

I've had that same reoccurring dream a couple of times a year for the past 20 years or so. I tend to dream about it right after a visit with my parents. I have issues with their doors. Growing up, the exterior door locks barely worked. Mom would put a chair in front of each door with the chair back propped under the door knob in hopes that it would be harder for an intruder to shove the door open. That's how it was. And pretty much still is.

Not one interior door would lock either. Mom and Dad would walk in my bedroom and bathroom without knocking. No privacy at all. Thank god I didn't discover masturbation until I left home. But I should have put a chair in front of my bedroom door anyway.

The interior doors were hollow as well. Worse yet, my bedroom wasn't too far from my parents' bedroom. A couple of times I heard their bed squeaking in the middle of the night, hoping they weren't doing what I thought they were doing, and praying they would quit very soon. When I heard that god-awful sound, I also made a strong agreement with myself, that if I ever have kids, they would have their bedrooms at the other end of the house. This may be the cause of me getting solid wood doors for my rental, and for hating hollow wood doors with a passion.

Naked With Shoes

I was naked. That was the theme for the musicians' party Bart and I were attending. Bart didn't want to dress up for the party so he kept his clothes on.

We got into the Butterfly cab, not as reliable as United, but he knew the way. A 20 minute drive, go over a railroad crossing. I wondered why I didn't have a cover-up on, like a trench coat or something. Here we are in the backseat of the taxi, pale as I can be. I crossed my legs, at least I had my heels on.

The theme had changed to wear clothes, but I didn't get that message. I didn't know hardly anyone and no one bothered to offer me a piece of cloth, only a drink. I felt out of place and wanted to leave immediately. I got on the phone to call another cab, and I waited a long time for that Butterfly cab company to get there. I was willing to walk home to change into something more comfortable.

I wanted Bart to leave with me. I was naked. But he wanted to stay. Three of the musicians had one extra ticket to a performance and they had asked Bart to join them. And Bart didn't want to miss the show. I wanted Bart's support, I was naked. Bart reluctantly went with me as we bickered back and forth. The show was at 10:30pm. It was only 4pm at the time.

I have another party to attend to on the 19th. If there's a theme change, I hope I'm notified beforeskin.

The Salad - The Black or White Egg

No gray egg about it.

I get in trouble, again. I left 10 minutes early, after closing, at 9:20pm, instead of 9:30pm. The clock-watching egg checked my time. I told her that she's being ridiculous.

-Closing duties were all done.
-We were dead all day & night due to the tropical storm Ida brewing in the gulf.
-We had no tables, no business.
-It was my first day back from surgery.
-I came in 2 hours earlier to cover a waiter's missed shift. Working over 10 hours.

That doesn't matter, she says. Well yes it does. It matters because I'm tired! It matters because I'm not appreciated when petty matters like this come up.

I don't understand why she can't be just a little over-easy?

The Salad - No Black Olive

The Black Olive, co-worker, gives her notice. She's leaving the Wilting Salad.

We think she's teaming up with Beet. Doesn't make sense when Beet beat-up and bullied Black Olive also.

Low Stoops

The dating track of about 2 years before Cape:

Name; Looks; Duration; Dumper/ee?
Todd aka Small Penis Man (1inch)-did not have sex!; avg; 1 month; dumper
Luke aka womanizing weasel; hot; 2 months; dumpee
Scott aka Asshole; a humpty dumpty; 1 month; dumpee
Cameron aka young hot Mormon; hot!; 2 months; dumpee
Nicholas aka young & depressed; hot!; 2 months; dumpee
Cort aka dead-beat dad & drunk; kissed like a lizard but hot; 2 months; dumpee

Meltdown

A Plan:
-Get married
-Move in with partner
-Stay with current job until Catelin or Capen or Catelin and Capen or Catelin and Sophie or Capen and Jack arrive.
-Start new job when he or she or they arrive.

Another Plan:
-Move in with partner
-Eventually marry or not??
-Stay with current job until house is renovated and fully rented out
-Get an inspiring and enjoyable career, with less pay, less/no benefits

Another Plan:
-Quit job
-Move in a hole

Being Followed - Part 6 - In and Out

Cate was upset. Afraid of dying. Worrying that she was going to die. Going under was scary. Second thoughts catered the room. Cape wrote on her hand "Fibroid" to make sure that was what the doctor ordered, to get Jr out. But If something would have gone wrong, the doctor would have had to perform a hysterectomy on Cate anyway, to save her life. That scared her.

Cate kissed Cape goodbye, and a few seconds (2 hours) later she woke up in a white bright room with a man and a woman talking about her. Jr went for some testing. And she started cramping and bleeding, which is normal after a D and C. They drugged her more to get rid of the pain and nausea, but other than that she was fine, the surgery was successful.

The doctor told Cape that he couldn't have sex with Cate for a month. She wasn't able to masturbate as well. Well maybe clitoral?

In and out of consciousness, Cate mumbled to Cape something about Wal-Mart, a friend stealing her shoes and then put nail holes in them, then ending with a desire to have Cape's baby, all the while chewed-up crackers rented a room in Cate's mouth during her three bazarre comments over a 3 hour recovery period in the hospital.

An hour later, Cate was released. Found in an alley all alone, she was begging for change to get a ride home. The 39 year old was use to getting dumped. She had never had a boyfriend past 2 months.

Being Followed - Part 5 - The Attack

The Doctor's office called to see if I could come earlier for surgery.
Fi Broid Jr was scheduled to come out today, arrival time 3:00pm. They just called and wanted me to come in earlier to surprise the little fellow. The best I could do was 2pm.

I guess I should make that will, just in case Jr gives me trouble.
Cats, house, car, electronics, contents. Check.
Anything else? Oh, I'll tell Bart to get rid of the black box in my apartment. If he forgets, Msh, you're on the job. It's under the bed. Still lots of good AA batteries in there.

Tango Twist

The schedule was tight for leisure. The booking agent scheduled Cate 10 straight days of gigs in Buenos Aires. Cate had studied Tango there before with the famous Norma and it was great to see her old friends again upon her return. Her acts included:

See You Manana

The Player

Dancing with the Ghost

The acts were successful, and received raving reviews. Cate was networking for future gigs. Life was great, until one dark night when she disappeared.

* * *

CON-MAN CARPENTER FOR HIRE

$30/Hour

Not Licensed
Not Insured
No Tools
No Accountability

That's fair.

I charge you for materials only, but slide tool receipts in there too. I'll get the wrong materials and charge you for returning them to get more of the wrong materials. I'll do this for months, keeping it real, putting in the hard hours, while you're working or healing from an injury. I'll go as long as I can go with this cushioned job.

"Shawn, how much would you charge to fix this 2ft x 5ft floor?" The client asked the "skilled" carpenter.
"Well, that's a 2 man job, I can ask my friend to help. He charges $15/hour, but he comes with his own tools." Shawn said.
"Well what kind of tools you need? A hammer and nails?"
"Yea" He replied.

The work you get is just SUPERB!

- Caulk on counter tops.

- Human hair stained into hardwood floors. Plus polyurethane spills in corners.









- A-line grout between slate pieces. Plus visible glue and missing grout.

-Sheetrock octagon arches.

- Plus Much More!

Once I get found out, I take no responsibility. No apologies, I just cover up and make excuses: "It's not my expertise."

Call Shawn or Reynolds
You can facebook me too!

I'm hot and I'm an actor.

I'll make you believe I can do good work on your house.

Crushed - Even in Dreams

The red head guy from "Go" spoke to the man in charge about me auditioning to become one of the dancers. The man in charge said he would allow me only 2 auditions. The red head guy knew that 4 was the number for me to win the judges over. The red head guy flipped out some money from a briefcase to buy another 2. They discussed more. And I was waiting for the answer, but I knew the answer would be no.

A Dog in Therapy

It was summer and I was 16. My friend, Kristi, recommended the movie "I Spit On Your Grave" to rent at the local video store. A rated R movie, it sounded interesting. We watched most of it, but my Dad came home early from work. The movie was in the vcr and I couldn't get it out in time enough. Dad said he would watch it with us, not knowing what the movie was about. I tried to lie about the movie, but I wasn't skilled enough. Got blue marks from the belt.

I wonder what Msh's cool city parents would have done?

I grew up with religion country-bumpkin hick-folks where fixing a dog or cat meant they were broken. Dad didn't believe in fences in the yard cause our dogs wouldn't have the freedom to roam around and dig into the neighbors' garbage.

We were treated like dogs growing up, but our dogs were free.

The Salad -- The Boiling Egg

I was scheduled for a 10 hour shift. The boss wanted me to come in early to work a 14.5 hour shift to help out the team. I was 15 minutes late. The boss wasn't too happy with me. I thought she should have let that one slide, since I'm on time on a regular basis, and, I did arrive 4.25 hours earlier than my regular shift, to help out the team.

Then I got in trouble for being on time.

Crime Scene: The Ghetto Guessing Game

"Ya gots a quarta?" the intruder asked on demand.
"Whaat?" I answered in confusion and tried to speak the bro language as he stood me on the bed like a paper doll.

I don't get ghetto talk.

"You knows, a quarta?"
We went back and forth with "whaat?" and "quarta?" a few times.

I wondered if he was asking for a quarter so he could use the pay phone to tell his Mama he was running late cause he got with a white girl--against her will of course.

Wouldn't he just ask for money or a purse or wallet instead of being so specific as to ask for a quarter?

I don't know the reasons why he would ask for a quarter instead of bigger bucks.

Well a quarter is bigger than a dime and, he did ask for the biggest of the common coins, I reasoned with his strange ghetto talk request. But, I am also having a conversation with a street punk idiotic rapist. Does he even know the difference?

Sure I have a quarter.

"Knows, a quarda," he spoke louder.
I guessed again, but with a louder response, "A camcorder?" as I shrugged my shoulders.
"Yeas, a corda."
I finally got it right. What a relief. Now he might leave.

Coincidence

These last few days or so, I've been thinking about the time I was raped and the fact that they haven't caught the guy.

It's been almost 7.5 years. I usually think about it every April. For whatever reason, I thought of it just a few days ago. I even started writing Chapter 1 this past Saturday and had thoughts of different opening scenes. The one I had chosen for now was when the overweight dark-skinned detective cased the scene and asked me if the rapist made the cluttered mess on the sofa rummaging through my things. And my answer was "no, that's my mess". I'm not a good housekeeper.

I got a phone call today from the detective. They arrested the rapist last week.

Being Followed - Part 4 - The Suspect

His name is Fi Broid Jr. He's a bloody little bastard, growing up, gettin' bigger, an aggravating littl' character, to say the least. Investigators advise me to act normal, according to plan, so they can make an attack on him when he least expects it. The aim is to get him while I'm asleep. They been tracking the little devil around for a while, since the Buenos Aires fall. They didn't take notice of him, well, until I complained that he was following me around. Maybe he's been there for years, but lately he's been taking a more active role and has become extremely aggressive and obvious. Investigators' plan of operation is to take him out on October 7th. Shhhh, keep this under your hat.

Being Followed - Part 3 - VULGAR

STOP IT YOU BLOODY CUNT!!!
That's all you did for 3 of the 4 weeks.
Thanks for the 3rd week off.

Why you stain my panties with your bloody vomit chunks?
You can't hit the pad while I sleep?
Why you have to blow it out to the back
like it's coming out of my asshole?
Looks like someone shot someone's brains out,
leaving the guts behind.

Pussy is tired and sore from holding & clenching on
to the ultra thick super size tampon that absorbs
your daily jelly globs of goop.

Why you such a bloody bitch?
Can't you be a FUCKING PUSSY!?!!!!!!

Failed Effort

I don't wear a bra when I'm lounging around my house. I've been known for getting my mail, which is right outside by my door, without a bra on. Okay, I've also taken out trash and gotten things out of my car without a bra on as well. Alright, I've sat on my porch and I've even answered my door from deliveries without a bra on. I'm okay with this.

But Bart doesn't like the fact that I run around without a bra on. I do it because I'm more comfortable and I don't care. But Bart says he knows what guys think and it's for my safety and protection to cover up. He's right since I live in the heart of crime, in a New Orleans neighborhood.

I wasn't wearing a bra when Bart and I decided to take a short drive. We were going down to the local convenient store to pick up some dinner. In and out. That's it. I decided to put my large brown scarf over my white tee shirt, with covering up the important part of the boobs. I was proud of my last minute invention.

Bart picked me up and we went to Verde Marte. I thought I was pretty savvy, I do say so myself. Getting away without wearing a bra and wearing a shaw over my shirt in the heat of the hot August New Orleans month.

But I didn't notice that my shaw moved away from my hard nipples when I opened the door and the strong breeze met the still hot air.

I was looking at the meals at the deli and noticing that the guy at the deli counter was staring straight at my breast. But I thought that was strange, given that I was covered up so well.

We ordered and waited for our food and Bart comes up to me and asked, "are you cold?" Excited about my cover-up boobs invention, I answered, "No Sweetie, I didn't want to wear a bra and I'm using this to cover up." And then he responds, "you would of never noticed the way your beamer lights are on."

Being Followed - Part 2

I woke up from a nap and put my right hand underneath Cloe's body. I wanted to get rid of the pain my body was feeling so I thought maybe something heavy, like Cloe, could steer the pain away for the moment. But her pounds failed me.

This is the second day of menstrual pain. I usually only experience one day of it. I have a migraine too. I'm loaded up on prescribed menstrual medicine. The menstrual pain has been traveling with me nonstop.

Earlier I ordered a McDonald's run from my neighbor friend, Nathaniel. "2 mcdoubles, 2 small fries, and 1 small sprite please." All on the dollar menu. My body craved meat for the low-ironed body. I left only a small fry. The food didn't help. Now I have to take a dump. The pain went to the bathroom with me.

The imitrex took in and I took a nap. I woke up later with the migraine gone, but the menstrual pain dreamed with me. I was in a store shopping for a pair of white open-toe shoes. I saw a lot of nice looking shoes, but no white ones. The closest pairs were two-toned. But I knew it was difficult to find a pair of solid white shoes given that the fall season in retail just took off. I analyzed the different unique styles of shoes. There were no price tags on any of them. I wondered how much they cost. The shoe store was next to the very expensive huge Coach store that I dared not to enter into. I skipped a wallet store too, to search for another shoe store. But then I woke up to Fraidy Cat on my head. I wondered why I would dream such a dream like that. I'm not in the market for shoes, I hate shopping, and I valved not to buy any clothes or shoes this 2009 year. I've been successful so far.

Stinky was by my side too. I guess they were all waiting for their Mommy to feed them as all three napped along with me. Mommy Cat doesn't feel good yet.

I've been having unusual periods-longer, heavier, and painful- since the Buenos Aires' sidewalk fall and the ladder fall. I got checked out by my doctor and she said that my unusual periods and the 2 falls were not linked together. It just happened by consequence at the same time. It can be corrected by surgery, but I didn't want to be operated on. I decided to pain it out with prescription medication and monitor it. Scraping and more, plus not able to drive home wasn't appealing to me.

The pain followed me to the shower. And then lingered with me to the kitchen to feed the cats. Now I'm trying to write the pain away. It isn't working yet.

Calling You Out

Hey Carpenter Porch Guy,

I know your type. I've seen it before. Thanks to Shawn, David, & Cort.

You have trouble cashing a check.
You have no licence and you're not insured.

You're either a drunk or a deadbeat dad on the run. Or both.
Family emergency. You disappear. Bullshit!

I bet you would have finished the job if you had not gotten paid in advance. Luckily for me this time, I didn't authorize payment until the job is finished, so the middle man doesn't get his cut yet.

From: A Dried & Tired Asshole

Limited

8 months after ladder fall:

The wrist snaps.
Tail bone could use a few naps.
The legs ache.
The pain I take.

The wrist ain't a cereal but cracks & pops.
Tail bone's no cushioned mop.
The legs hurt tight.
I constantly fight.

The wrist's stiff.
Tail bone could use a lift.
The legs sometimes limp.
And then I'm a gimp.

The Perverted Phone Survey

"Hello. Who's this?
Sure. Why not. Anything to help out your census.

Almost every day. Sometimes I take a day or 2 off though.
And I'm not interested during the heavy days at all.

My best time has been clocked-in at 3 minutes.
I can go as long as 22, but 15 is about average.

The 2nd one comes right away. Within 1 or 2 after the 1st.
However, the 3rd one takes longer than the 2nd,
but not as long as the 1st.

Well, usually 3 before work, unless I'm running late.
I allow about 15-20, but sometimes I only have 5 to spare.
But I've been known to have 2 in 5, and 3 in 6 or 7.
But if I go for 6 or 7, I have to make up time. You know, like cut something out, so I usually eat in the car on my way to work.

When I'm off from work, 6 is usually the number.
Sometimes I'll have 3, take a 2 or 3 hour break,
then go for another 3.
Or 6 in 1 setting, but not usually.

Best time is right after a shower.
Late afternoon is a good time too.

Alright. Glad to help. Thank you.

What? No I am not playing with myself. What am I wearing? No, that's disgusting. No! Who is this again?"

The Rented Hour

The water splashed in my face as I met the wind and I felt free at last. From high in the air I lunged into the waves while the winds and boats made love to the ocean. I zoomed away from my friend after our idle time together to enjoy the fast moving motorcycle on water. No looking back until it was too late, for I had lost my friend as he became just a small figure to the wonders of the big deep pool. No one in sight as I continued my run. Oh there goes a tiny little speed boat, I jumped their waves as I held on tightly to the handle bars.

The worrisome of looking both ways sped along with my journey. They made us watch a safety video. Don't want to be clobbered by a moving object on my motorbike. Damn, I worried the whole hour of crashing into someone to become either hurt or killed. But the fear didn't stop me from excelling fast and enjoying the moving waters. Moments of feeling free, but the worry really never left.

One hour isn't long enough. Damn, I'm far away. Where is my friend? I stopped for a few seconds to enjoy the short time I had left out here in the big waters. To maybe see a few dolphins like I did last time, but none in sight. Thinking if I had enough time to change my return route instead of the straight line I took to get here to nowhere.

As I headed back, the wind became my enemy as the strong waters shot bullets into my eyes, no matter what speed or route I decided to take back. With one eye shut and the other opened as they took turns, I knew I was loosing face, not sure if I can make the timed hour.

At some point, I closed both eyes together tightly to readjust the wicked salt that flew in them. Moments later, when I reopened one eye, I realized that I was flying dead on into a massive metal buoy. I swerved and missed it by a couple of inches, but the high waves and my sudden left turn jerked me off the wave runner and I flew high in the air and landed in the deep cold water.

I gathered myself and swam to the cycle. I was kind of worried that I might be eaten by a shark. I always had that fear. I noticed a familiar hat that looked like my friend's, floating in the water nearby the slightly invisible buoy. I didn't pick it up nor did I do any further investigations, because I was running out of time and didn't want to be late. But I wondered if my friend was okay or did I just leave him behind?

It took a few times to climb back on the bike, for my right wrist isn't that strong and flexible since my ladder fall. I had to use my forearm in place of my wrist to pull myself back up. I continued on with the strong winds and waters that battled against me and thought for sure that I would surpass my rented hour and my friend was left for dead.

In the end, I never found my friend. I wished I would have at least saved his hat. But I did make it back on time, barely.

The Arguer

I had issues letting my ex run the house renovation project. For good reasons. Not that he could do a good job, but the fact that we just don't get along. And he doesn't see that. He sees that I went with other people instead of him. I wanted peace of mind. I knew it would be a disaster going with him. I didn't want the constant fight and bicker. But that's his middle name. He loves the challenge of arguments.

So I'm low on funds from all the butt fucking without lubrication, and decided to finally give the ex a chance. I knew he wouldn't fuck me up like the last 2 guys did, but I also knew that I would have to pay a stressful price with our severe communication problem in our dysfunctional relationship.

I wish he would stop bitching and moaning and playing the blame game: "I should have done this," "If you would have listened to me," "That's just stupid," "It's not my fault". On and on and on like that bunny with the battery.

I don't care. I don't want to hear it. Move forward and get the job fucking done!

"Why do you have to fight me on everything?"
"No I don't."

A Lost Fear

A plane flies over my house
and the loud sound of it seems close by.

For years I used to fear a plane crashing down
hitting my house as I lay on my back in bed
naked while masturbating.
And the thought continued
that later I would be found,
naked, with a device inside of me.

In this thought of mine I didn't fear dying
I just feared what people might have seen.
And then I thought
maybe one day they would all laugh
and tell a story of a girl they found dead
who had been masturbating right as the plane crashed.
And someone would say
at least she was feeling good right before she went away.

The Salad -- A Cracked Egg

"I'm always early!" the bubbly Egg cheered. The new manager arrived this week, replacing sliced Karrot. "I would just get stir crazy if I was 3 minutes late" she added. She arrived 1 hour before her shift began. I wanted to chime in with a laugh "I'm usually always on time, never early and sometimes late!" but I didn't. The eager Egg has to sit high on the wall. She would probably not appreciate my humor.

"Come on you guys, what's going on? You haven't made your numbers in quite a while. I'm a numbers person and I am use to getting results," she bellowed. I don't know who she thinks she's talking to, I use to count money for a hobby.

"My restaurant was in the top 5 in the company for the last 9 months" she bragged. The anxious Egg managed one of the restaurants in Philly. Well, lets look at the real numbers as to why her stats were so good. All 11 restaurants recently closed down in Philly in the last year. And then her business started booming. Hmm, I wonder why? Is it because her restaurant was the last one standing? No, I think it's because she's just awesome! What's interesting enough is why did all the restaurants close in that area? And then a few months later her restaurant closed for good. Was it lease problems in all 12 locations? I don't believe all 12 restaurants had the same lease problem. Just my statistical analysis point of view.

I guess the delusional Egg wasn't informed that our restaurant was in the top 3 in the country a couple of years ago, right after the famous Katrina rolled in. I wonder why our numbers were so great back then? We had the same people working for us as we do today. Was it because a lot of businesses were closed down and the few people in town were looking for somewhere to eat. Nah, I think it's because we're awesome!

We've been fighting those numbers ever since the busy days after Katrina. Not to mention that the sluggish economy has kept almost all businesses down, across the board, well except for her flourishing restaurant, that also closed. Go figure.

"I'm use to working from open to close" the little Egg declared, almost shocking us. But then we found out the little chipped Egg's restaurant was only open for lunch. Like the one I ran uptown, a few years ago. And further more, her restaurant dealt in smaller volume than my uptown location.

Our restaurant does 3.5 times the volume more than the one she ran in Philly. In volume and size. And the foot traffic, well it's massive compared to her previous Philly location.

I wonder why the cracked Egg was chosen? She's missing some yolk with her delusions of grandeur. But I'll give the little critter a chance to see if she can pull the numbers in. She's excited and motivated with her unrealistic fomulas. I'll wait until until she's fried to give further analysis.

The Salad -- No Beet

Beet's leaving the salad. She realizes that the salad's wilted and wants a fresh salad to toss around. At least her beetings will be gone, and hopefully I won't get anymore.

The Lame Lay

I just laid there,
staring at the ceiling
as she pumped away
at me.
I could barely move
as she dug her claws
into me.
I closed my eyes a few times
and waited for her to stop.
But she kept poking
inside of me.
I felt my blood and juices come
out of me.
I was on my period,
but that didn't matter.
Her fingers were
inside of me
and more of my juices poured
out of me.

She had me pinned down
and made me hold a device
as she continued to pound away
inside of me.
I usually just lay there
and let someone else do all the work.
But this time was different,
I had to participate.
Even though my juices flowed,
you would have thought I was enjoying it.
But I wasn't.
I wanted to take a break,
so I could catch my breath.
But she did not allow it
or even notice
that I wanted one,
for her face was buried
in my insides.
I knew I would be
sore for a couple of days.

And when it was over,
I wiped my blood and spit
from my face.
Then paid and left.
My buildup of

gutterpunk plaque
was gone.

The Salad

All "The Vegetable" series are now refered to "The Salad". We are all in a bowl mixed in with each other, fighting for survivor before we get eaten, beaten, or spit out.

Wanting A Renovation Rescue

I'm lost. I don't know what to do.

My house has been under renovation for over a year now, not much done. Hired the wrong people and wasted more money & time on their fuck-ups. I can't finish the project. I have a full-time+ job. I want someone to take over and do a good job.

I would like to give the job to my ex-boyfriend. He would charge me less than what contractors charge. However, he's always busy with his other job, and when he is free, he's unavailable. He was hired 2 months ago, and nothing has been done, nor any initiative/plan to get it done. He'll come up with excuses that he can't get a whole of me, but the fact is, he has a key to the house and I can be contacted thru email and phone. He has said he has left me messages and I haven't returned his phone call. It's interesting, b/c I've called him several times in the last 2 months and he has always been busy with his job, taking a mini-vacation, or watching a game. And when we have been in contact with each other, he wasn't available to talk. But he blames me, and then we argue and hang up on each other.

Yes, I know the simple answer. My ex-boyfriend is confident of taking over, but he has to blame me for not getting in touch with me. But he has free range. It's too much drama.

I am currently getting an estimate from another contractor. It's going to be expensive. And I can't afford him. The contractor has already mentioned he charges anywhere from $50 to $100 per sq ft. I asked the contractor if he would take the entire sq footage of 1800, even when 600 of it is almost completely done. And he said yes. So if he were to take this job, at minimum, it will cost me $85,000 to complete. This was a rough figure. He is going to give me a more accurate written estimate in a couple of days.

I want this to go away. And I don't have the money for this contractor. I would like to give this project to my ex-boyfriend. He would make money. I would not spend as much. And a good project would be had. But I don't see the light.

The Vegetable -- A Petty Stir Continues

Today was the first encounter to work with Black Olive since our incident on Saturday. We didn't say much to each other, just what we had to in order to get by. I think it's childish the way she's acting toward me, giving me the cold shoulder. It's interesting that she rather be right, then seek the truth.

I've always tried to get along with everyone in order to keep the peace; avoiding confrontation, apologizing for no wrong doing. There are tire marks all over me. I'm not going to lay in the street anymore.

The Buzz

I'm so high right now, that I have great confidence that I can learn to play a song on my man-magnet guitar. The song is called "It Doesn't Matter". I just need to contact my boyfriend to get the chords. He's sleeping now, he'll be up in a couple of hours. Damn, my high will be gone by then.

The Mouse Trap

A short horror film gets a review.

King of Big & Small quotes: "This much-anticipated summer action thriller left me in the dark--literally. I questioned the director's choice to shoot the beginning of the film in the dark. But I then realized the artistic genius behind it. The shaky camera, the barely visible interior of the house, and the co-star's "Get 'em, get 'em" all peaked my curiosity and kept me from getting up out of my seat and leaving the theater.

Chloe's choice to torture, instead of kill, the creepy antagonist, lead me to wonder if perhaps there wasn't some evil lurking inside her, especially after hearing her menacing growls.

Toward the end of the movie, the frantic screams of the co-star, along with the Blair Witch style of filming, made the price of admission worth it. The ending was brilliant and left it wide open for "The Mouse Trap, Part Two."

All in all, a good movie."

http://www.youtube.com/user/thedebcard

The Vegetable - A Petty Stir

Black Olive acted unprofessionally on Saturday, June 27, 2009. She yelled at me and accused me of lying and an employee overheard her yelling at me.

It was 4:50pm. I just got back from lunch and needed to do some paperwork for EOW business update to send to Beet. Black Olive commented I was just now getting on the computer. Yea, I said, I just got back from lunch. She said I went to lunch at 4pm. I said no, I went to lunch at 4:15pm. She started yelling at me and said I was lying. I told her I was telling the truth. She walked away and said she didn't want to talk about it.

Lettuce over heard Black Olive yelling at me. Lettuce and I went to lunch at the same time. I had to retrace my steps. I wondered, maybe I did go to lunch at 4pm instead of 4:15pm. (but even if I did, what the fuck is the big deal of 15 minutes??) I spoke with Lettuce and she confirmed that we went to lunch at the same time and that we went at 4:15pm. I asked Lettuce to confirm that with Black Olive, but Black Olive didn't want to listen to Lettuce and told her that this was between the Black Olive (her) and the Olive's Pit (me). With further investigation, I looked through the media and noticed that I did a transaction at 3:59pm. So if I did go to lunch at 4pm, then I would have had to excuse myself and quickly leave my customer, without any small talk and not properly bagging her purchase, jump/run 75 feet to get to the back room, and not wait for Tomato to come out on the floor. And that just did not happen.

4pm, 4:15pm. So what! I didn't take an extra 15 minutes, but so what if i did. I work 10 hour shifts+ with only a 30 minute lunch break. The point is, Black Olive yelled at me, accused me of lying, and Lettuce overheard her yelling at me. Black Olive acted unprofessionally and had no right to yell at me. I did nothing wrong. I value honesty and integrity in all parts of my life, and that includes the workplace.

Black Olive will probably tell Beet that I took a 45 minute lunch and lied about it. Even though I have a witness, I'm sure it will get twisted around and I'll get in trouble.

Wasteful Windows

I'm obsessed with this job abuse bullshit. Well if you figure why, lets do the math. I spend 50 to 55 hours a week there, that includes the 30 minute lunch breaks. Add 5 hours of drive time per week. Getting ready, another 5 hours. Listening to vmails at home, 1 hour. Thinking and stressing about it, 5 hours on average workday and an 8 hour shift on off days. Talking about it, 3 hours a day, 21 hours/week. Documentation, 10 hours a week. Sleep time is tricky. Sometimes I don't sleep that well, I worry about the bad day I just had. So lets say 2 hours a night on average, 14/week. Dreaming/nightmares, another mystery. Sometimes I dream about this fucking mess. So, lets just add 15 minutes a night on average, 4.45 hours/week. If you add all that up, it's 156 hours and 45 minutes a week that I spend on this crap in my system. Well, there's only 168 hours in a week. That gives me 11 hours and 15 minutes a week that I think of something else.

Rock Relates

"I got myself a career, not a job. If you got a career, don't talk to anyone who has a job. They don't want to talk to anyone who is happy in their career. I had a job back in the day and was only given a 30 minute lunch break...."

Chris Rock said something like that in one of his funny stand-up routines.

Job Abuse - Documentation

Company Work Guidelines: 42 -45 hours a week.

Thursday, 5/28/09: After being back to work for 2 weeks, Beat pulls me in the office and gives me 3 verbal warnings.
1. Being in the office. --But Beat gives me tasks that require office time.
2. Not communicating being in the office. -- Well I did communicate with the manager on duty. But Beat said I still get a verbal warning because I didn't communicate it with the part-time employee.
3. Using poor judgement, I should have communicated sooner about the special napkin supply issue. I communicated to Beat at 3:30pm, Friday, about running low on special napkins, but I was too late, she had already left the restaurant.

Saturday 6/6/09: Switched shifts with another manager for next week's Thursday, 6/11/09 so each manager would have 2 night shifts each (to be fair) and communicated the switch with Beat. (Thinking if it was a problem, she would tell me since it was communicated to her 5 days in advance.)

Tuesday 6/9/09: Given a new task at 6pm as I was walking out the door at end of shift. I stayed 2 hours extra in order to complete the task, with working a total of 11 hours with only 1 30 minute lunch break.

Wednesday, 6/10/09: Told to do schedules for month to be completed today. Not allowed enough office time to do it. Worked total 10.50 hours with 1 30 minute lunch break.

Beat tells me that I used poor judgement by switching shifts and that I am not a team player and that I am only out for myself. I told her if I wasn't a team player, I wouldn't have stayed late in order to complete the late unorganized tasks that were given at the end of my shift the day before. She said that is expected of me.

Beat falsely accuses me of retaliating against another employee. She said she could fire me on the spot.

Retaliate definition: (verb) pay someone back, hit back, strike back, reciprocate, take revenge, get back at someone, get even with the score, get your own back wreak vengeance, exact retribution, give as good as you get, take an eye for an eye, make reprisal, give a taste of his or her own medicine, give tit for tat, return like for like

I did not do any of that. I communicated with the employee to let them know reasons why I was in the office and that the manager on duty knew I was in the office.

Beat tells me that she has seen no improvement with communication and using good judgement.

Sunday, 6/14/09: Worked 10am to 10pm, with 1 15 minute break only.

The Vegetable -- End of the Rope

I switched shifts with another manager in order make shifts fair to two nights each. She had 1 night and I had 3. The beet tells me that I am only after myself and I'm not a team player.

One recent example of me not being a team player:
--After working 9 hours and at the end of my shift, we get a message to complete several tasks. I stayed 2 hours later than my shift in order to get the task done.

Murder At The Bend

Body and guts found in hallway of the above shotgun apartment. Head missing.

Suspects:
1 black male, thin and tall.
2 colored females, with 1 average-looking and the other obese.

The black male, middle-class upbringing, appears to be dominate and overpowering. He's strong & athletic. The average-looking female came from a broken home and was abandoned as a youngster. She appears to be nervous, but quick on her feet. The obese female was picked up in Treme. She was living rough on the streets for years. All 3 have a history of violent killings.

Witnesses aren't talking and keeping low profile.

Giant is afraid of going barefooted. Especially in the dark.

Testing Time

The Eager Beaver almost made me late for a job interview. I have a ritual just about every day after a shower. 3 times before I go to work and however many times when I'm not working. Now periods get in the way. This morning I went for a 4th and realized that time was running away from me. I needed to get across town near Kenner and only had 20 minutes to get there. I knew if I showed up late, I would have no chance. Well thank god for all the recent layoffs and slump economy. There was no traffic and I'm zoomed in there 2 minutes before the interview.

The Good Things of the Dark Month

wonderful, loving man
Stinky and my cats
good friends
caring parents
good health
multiple orgasms

The Dark Month

I'm getting a lot of bruises from all the beatings.

Rap Song: '3' - Continuation

One of the metals is a fake.

Vegetable 4 - The Olive's Pit

Beet is beating me down. After just 2 weeks of being back at work, I received 3 verbal warnings for either stuff that isn't true or not warrant for a verbal warning. I'm not getting a fair trial.

I'm being chewed up and about to be spit out.

Vegetable 3 --The Funny Joke

Karrot hired a little Cheeze right before she was sliced.

1st scheduled shift: worked entire 3 hour shift.
2nd, 3rd, 4th, & 5th scheduled shifts: deathly ill, did not work.
6th shift: left early; needed to study for huge exam.
7th shift: did not work; 2 flat tires, to the rim.
8th shift: left early; forgot she had a bridal shower that night for her best friend.
9th shift: left early; injured herself with a hanger, went to the after hour care.
10th shift: worked entire shift.
11th shift: did not work; broke 2 toes & 1 finger. called me at home on day off. told her to call mod & bring in doctor's note. saved her unknown number into cell phone to avoid at all cost.

The Backup

Learning to play the Bongos.

Got rhythm, timing, and looks.

5% chance of getting the gig.

5 days to practice.

Hope

I'm an artist living in the business world.

I want to fall off the ladder again.

The Vegetable 2 -- The Planned Slice

Karrot sliced. Didn't like her anyway.

Beet's a bitch. Her plan isn't finished.

Fuck um.

Searching for drink.

The Aggravation

The cat hairs cover the sheets of the bed. I try to get a nap.
My mind races to the burdens of the moment. It will not take a time out.
The short nap becomes a long restless wait of thinking
and hoping to get some shut eye.
But instead, I think of the day and breathe the nearby cat hairs.
And one hair in particular aggravates my left nostril.
I wiggle my nose and put my finger in it and up it and give it a whirl.
Off and on, it continues to tickle me. An hour plus goes by
and I get up and change the sheets and pillow case.
Clear of the hairs and no cat nearby.
I try another go for a nap, but unsuccessful again.
The stress eats me up.
And the same spot in my nose triggers an itch.
It can't be the same cat hair or a new one exactly in the same spot, I wondered.
My thought geared toward a microscopic worm
finding comfort with soft tissue like a booger.

request: words of encouragement

Tails To Tell

This story is influenced by a pool party I attended with friends yesterday. We played the game, Gestures, after we got out of the pool. One of the words to charade was pigtails.

I asked: "what are pigtails? Oh, I've been saying pic-tails for years."

And here is one of my many comedy stand-up stories for the road some day:

I get ponytail.
They look like a pony's tail.

I don't get pigtails?
They don't look like a pig's tail.
And a pig don't have 2 tails.

I get pictails.
You get to pick your own tails.

The audience heckler:
"A lot of people referred to BRAIDED ponytails as pigtails because of
the thinness (like the thinness of a pig's tail)."

I continued with my story:

What about the people who just have thin hair and not a lot of it, like me. All those years I've been pulling my hair up into one tail, thinking it was a ponytail. But I was just putting it into one pigtail. And what about those people with short or medium hair length? Have they been putting their hair up into a pigtail too, since a pony has a long tail?

I still don't think pigtails look like a pig's tail. A pig's tail is short and curly and yes, thinner than a pony's tail.

Is really the correct definition of a ponytail is that you have to have long, straight, thick hair to look like you have a pony's tail (aka ponytail) on your head?

And very short, thin, curly hair to have a pig's tail/s (aka pigtail/s) on your head?

And the BRAIDED bullshit doesn't reflect pigtails at all, even though hair may look thinner, one braided ponytail is still the same amount of hair as a non-braided ponytail. I've even seen actual horses' tails braided, when that is the case, does that mean a horse has a pig's tail on his/her butt-end?

I just don't buy the pigtail theory. To have a correct pigtail, you have to have short, thin-hair, defined curls. My hair would be in that category if I just didn't have this frizz shit. The mousse may help to get the defined in and the frizz out. Oh that might work, short, thin-hair, oily curls. Just like a pig. Pigs come off oily in the mud. Yea, I'm getting the definition now, but not a lot of people have pigtails. Just people like me, when I put oil in it, or when I just don't wash it for a while, the natural oil.

And why don't they call dreadlocks, lamb hair or sheep-tails?

Whomever decided, way back when, to call a half of a ponytail, a pigtail, was just stupid. Or maybe this person was genius. To con the whole world into thinking & calling 2 small ponytails on 1 head, the famous Pigtails. I would like to laugh with this person!

a true debism: I'm sticking with my pic-tails! That way, I can pick any tail to wear on my head!

Masturbating to Miles

My mind continued to change like a rotating window. Pop-ins and pop-outs. Almost everyone I crossed paths with came by. Some stayed longer than others. Some I wanted to spit at.

No one in particular I could focus on. "Think this person, think this person" my mind would say to me. So this person would drop by, but this person wouldn't stay long, because that person was in the next rotation of the revolving window.

Worries came about. My enemies distracted me. "Come on, get the fuck out!" I yelled at them. They would, but then someone else would come by that I had no desire for and decided to stick around and hang out. Even Acquaintances wanted-in on some action. Some even wanted to chat. It didn't matter what sex they were, they all came by and took a glance, or two. "WTF! This isn't a circus. Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?"

"Come on, you can to this! I know you can. Focus. Focus," my voice would say to me...

What was the name of the hurricane in Curb Your Enthusiasm?
a. Cheryl
b. Katrina
c. Wilhelmina
d. Edna
e. Velda

What was the last name of the family that Cheryl & Larry David rescued from the hurricane?
a. Black
b. David
c. White
d. Greenmeadows
e. Jew

What am I doing!

20 or so minutes into this, I knew nothing was going to happen.

I left Davis.

And then I found Mingus.

Caught in the Moment

I sit on my balcony of the shotgun, under the shade of the roof above me.
And Shade is nice.

The doors are open and the wind moves thru the house. I catch the wind on the tail end.
And Breeze is lovely.

The Mingus music travels outside to my ears. And to the nearby neighbors backyards.
And Tune is soothing.

And for the moment, the zone didn’t zoom by. And I’m in a good mood.

Masturbating to Mingus

The horns started to dance to a sexy tune.

And then the horns screamed and I screamed alone with them.

And I kept screaming to their scream and the doors were open. And I wanted to continue to scream but I closed my lips. And my sound still kept sounding. And my sound sounded like a horse's giddy-up.

And finally the horns spoke, "are you done, are you done?"
"No, I'm not," the sexy horn's voice appeared as the horns strutted slowly down the alley into the silhouette darkness.

The nearby table blew kisses into the moonlight.

And I rested.

Wishful Thinking

There was a dog outside on the patio of my parents house.
He was black and white with a collie body and a lab face.
The dog had appeared and decided to stay for a while.
My 7 year old nephew was excited and real happy about it.

But according to the dream rule,
Dad had to give the dog up to the pound,
to see if anyone would claim Blake's new dog.
That was the rule in this dream of mine.

In the first round, no one had claimed the dog.
But Blake was sad while his dog was in jail.
The dog came back, no one had claimed him for this run.

But the dream rule was that the dog had to go back
to the pound again for one more round
before Dad could claim Blake's dog solely.

The dog would be gone for days.
And Blake would be sad again,
not knowing where his dog was
and if his dog was ever coming back.

And Dad would be sad, because Blake was sad.

Dad said he was going to work real hard to train
Blake's new dog who may enter into their lives.

Dad didn't want to break Blake's heart.

The Job

I feel the weight on my shoulders, arms, and legs. The load is heavy. I walk from room to room, and it just follows me. I lay there, hoping it will disappear and find something else to entertain. But it just lays with me, on top of me, all around on me. I give it tears, and it just takes a shower. I talk, and it dances to the music. I drink wine, and then it gets mad, while enjoying another shower. I take a drug. There, it leaves. A sign of relief. ahhh.

In the morning, the uniform is already on and pressed up against me. I push and pull, but it enjoys the laughter. Then I lay there to give up while it rapes me and takes a morning shower. I go to breakfast at the corner bar, and it watches and hangs out near me at the next table, waiting for another failed attempt to escape. I successfully sneak out; leaving the heavy jacket behind. But when I return home, the armor is waiting for me to put it back on.

MoMS BaLL - MaRDI GrAS 2o09

MoMS BaLL 2009:

- ouTrageoUs - nuDiTy - SeXY - beauTy - viViD - boLD -
-- wHere paiNt, canDy, and sTraPs...
beCome tHE coSTumes foR tHe niGht. --

thE moCk bAll oF aLL...

http://www.youtube.com/thedebcard#p/u/7/6CHfTc1Wg-I

Mardi Gras Day 2009 --The Message

I was minding my own business enjoying
a lovely conversation between jesus and 2 doubters,
when all of a sudden a couple of hicks came by
and wanted to see my hair under my armpits.
I didn't mind. I knew jesus didn't mind either.
There were no razors in adam & eve days.
Why should I be judged now, especially
in the presence of jesus. I didn't care for the hick
to touch my armpit though, but at least
he didn't touch my boob. So afterwards,
I continued to watch the miracle worker
do his work in my presence.
And as I watched him work,
I was rudely interrupted
by one of his peeps.
She wanted to give me a hug.
Sure why not, everyone
needs a hug I thought.
But I thought wrong.
The claimed follower
just wanted to feel me up.
Oh she claimed it was jesus
who hugged me, but we both knew
she enjoyed caressing her breast against mine.
That's okay, at least I know I didn't do anything
wrong in the presence of jesus. Then I told her that
jesus would want her to spend money in New Orleans
to save the city. She didn't seem to get the message
as I walked away. And maybe I didn't get hers.

http://www.youtube.com/thedebcard

Deb Quotes

Deb Quotes "will be updated as often as I think of more thoughts."

1. Saying nothing is better most of the time, but it's hard to control.
2. I think there may be something out there, but I'm not sure.
3. It takes effort to leave the bed to pee.
4. Sometimes I forget to eat. I'm not hungry.
5. Writing is a recording of my thoughts.
6. I dream, but then I run out of hot water.
7. I was always a Democrat, but didn't know it.
   

The Enemy

I don't know how to play the game.
I'm honest. Too honest.

I say what I feel.
I say what is on my mind.
I don't hold back.

It gets me in trouble.

Losing What I Found

I took Work & TV out of my life the last 2 months or so. It made room for others that were on the back burners. Some of the others were not even discovered. Some I never knew I had on the back burner.

I feel like "George" from Seinfeld when he took sex out of his life and became smart. I feel Alive. I not only discovered writing & drawing, but I've become more of a feeler. More compassionate. More passionate.

I cry more. Maybe I just notice more. I've always cried a lot. I don't hold back. I say what I feel. Sometimes it gets me in a lot of trouble. But that's just me. I've tried to hold back, not to express what I feel, but I'll just cry doing it either way. 2nd guessing myself. So why do I have to hide how I feel, when it makes me feel bad when I try too.

When I read or hear or see sad stories, I cry. Yea, I’ve always cried. But when I retell the stories that I read or hear or see, I cry when I retell it. I state it with passion and compassion. I didn't know I had empathy until I was on this crippled journey.

I have a weaker stomach since the accident. Well, at least I think I do, maybe I just notice more. When I see someone throw-up, I will throw-up. My cats vomit all the time. If I wait long enough, it will disappear. Cloe, my fat cat, will eat her vomit and my other 2 cats' vomit. But Cloe needs to loose weight. And I don't know how to do it without throwing her outside. (She will not go outside!) So I try to pick up vomit spills as much as I can so Cloe doesn't gain any more weight. I vomit when I do. Gag sometimes, if I'm lucky. It's just warm cat food.

I also vomit when I see my vomit.

I've become smarter too. Learning a lot. Going to Wikapedia and Dictionary and Google searching. Finding new worlds in blogs and facebooks. Trying to pronounce better. I still have trouble with that. I don't think mispronunciation is in my genes, although procrastination and going-on-tangents are.

I just found out the other day that I had 2 breaks in my pubis, one was dislocated and the other held my pelvis together. That is why I didn't have to have pelvis surgery, just a lot of bed rest to heal. And did you know that the pubis is, in fact, the pubic bone, one of the 3 bones in the pelvis. I broke the front and back of the pubic bone. No wonder I couldn't and didn't want to have sex for a few weeks.

My organisms are more intense, and more often. More passionate. Maybe it's because I haven't had an organism since the ladder fall. A lot of buildup waiting to be exposed. But I had no desire after the ladder fall. The pain became priority for the first few weeks. But now that I'm stronger, I can't get enough. They come faster and seem to never end. I have to end them without ending, because they just come, now and all the time. I've finally got my scream controlled. But when I first started coming, weeks after the ladder fall, it sounded like a girl was being murdered. I'm sure the neighbors thought something was weird, but didn't call the police.

So I'm afraid to go back to Work, when I go back to work. Not afraid of TV, but it'll be there after work for relaxation b/c of work. Sure I can find balance, somewhere? But when I do find the balance, I still will not have much time to have for myself.

It's not just work, the 40 to 50 hours I work every week. It's time after work that suffers too. The traffic. The drive home. The exhaustion. The relaxation and stress relief that you find or search to find. The nap or the drink or the couch potato you become just to relax and relieve yourself of the time and energy you spent at work. It's the thinking of the work too. The stress, the presentation, the preparation, the project, the dreams and nightmares....

I'm afraid of returning to work. I'm afraid of work b/c I will not be able to enjoy what I found, when I found myself.

Jail

I just finished my home improvement project and went outside to see the white appliances in line. There is a rat and he jumps on me and lands on my back. He goes down my white dress. I squirm and do the Elaine dance to free myself. Another rat is bigger and his mid section is a vomit orange. He jumps toward me and I catch him with my left hand. His mouth had opened and tightly held a grip to my thumb. I hang on to the dirty rat as he digs into my skin. And I wondered if I am safe.

The Charm of the Farm

Bart had walked ahead of me, a normal walk, to get to Wayne's house, 2 doors down from where Bart lives. Wayne was on his front porch chatting with another neighbor. I wanted to thank Wayne for carrying me up & down the steps a couple of times when I was first injured from my ladder fall accident.

Bart was cheering me on at the huddle, "come on my little Turtle" as I slowly caned my way to Wayne's house.

I told Wayne how much I appreciated his kindness. He said it was nothing; he knew how I felt. He broke his leg before and didn't go to the hospital until 20 hours later. Then the next year, he broke the same leg around the same place.
"Dis time I droves my self to da hospital with my duce and a quata." Wayne described.
In confusion, Bart and I replied, "What?" at the same time.
Wayne explained further, "My duce and a quarta. My bruir."
I was still confused, but Bart understood. "You know deb, a tall boy, a beer."
"Oh, yea" I understood. He drove himself to the hospital with a tall boy.
"Not my brueer, my bruirc." Wayne corrected us.
"What?"
"Brewk."
I shrugged my shoulders, "I don't understand?" Bart and I said in question.
The other neighbor replied, "You know, bru-ok."
We were both still clueless.
"You knows, a big choar" Wayne chimed-in again.
"Ooooh, a Buick." Bart and I finally got it.
"I use to have a 1979 Oldsmobile Delta 88 back in the day." I related to his story.
"Den you knows what I'm talkin' bout."
"Yea you right." I finally agreed. High 5...anyone?

I forgot that Bart had told me that the neighbors called him Burt.

A Few Good Days

"GIT your ASS into GEAR girl!" Doc said, more like a command. "3 weeks, you hear me, 3 WEEKS! That's it."
"Can't I Milk my bones a little more, Doc? Can't I?" I pleaded and then added "and speaking of milk, I need to run some errands."
"You CAN't Run!" The Sergeant shouted.
I wondered if the next line was: "You CAN’t handle the truth?"
"You CAN't even walk Fast!" He continued his shout.
Nope, I guess not.
"Or climb ladders" I chimed-in confidently. Then thought about my decision I had made, oops, I shouldn't have said that.
"3 WEEKS then back to Business." His voice became louder. He didn't scare me though.
"But I like being a crip." I stood up for myself. "I like being a gutter punk. I like to sponge off society and git my weekly check from the government."
"You NO Gutter punk!" Doc raised his voice again. Is he going to demand 10 push-ups from me? He quickly pulled off my cap. "You DON'T HAVE dreadlocks!"
I snapped back at him, "Well I USE TOO!" Bart had cleaned me up a month ago. I calmed down a little, "But I still have HAIR under my ARM PITS!" I lifted up my arm and stuck my dark weeds into his face. "You see." I was so proud. I grew them in the last 2 months. They didn't need any water either.
"FOCUS, FOCUS" Doc blasted and snapped his fingers. A spit left his mouth and hit me on the cheek. Now that's too close, I mean, he's just too damn close to me.
"I want to know what YOU CAN do, young lady."
"Thanks" I said with a smile. He called me young.
He grinned and not in a good way. His face started turning red. Am I a small child, and is he my dad and getting aggravated with me?
"Wellll Doccc...
I can write, I can read.
I can draw, that ain't all..."
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" Doc interrupted with his roar.
I made a face at him when he wasn't looking. And mocked him too.
"Well I can rock and I can roll.
I can drag and I can tag.
I can stand, on demand.
I can crawl and I can howler.
I can walk with my walker.
I can bend; I can do a half spin.
I can crack and I can pop.
I can do hip-hop, but I can't flip" Doc screamed, "I said CAN!"
"FLOP--I CAN USE a rail. I can hurt my tail.
I can use a cane. It's a real pain.
I can walk slow. I can hang with Joe.
I can be fun. I need some sun.
I can limp and I'm A GIMP!"
Doc’s strong emotion expressed a rhetorical question, "THAT'S ALL?!“ The Grouch slightly paused and then continued with his loud vocals “I don't want to see your face for 3 WEEKS. YOU'RE DISMISSED. Now, git out of my sight & quarters, and don't hit your behind on the way out!"
"Yes Sir." My gimp ass wrist gave him a salute.

The Interview

In April, 2002, almost 7 years ago, you were raped. You lost your freedom and life for a couple of years. But what did you find from this god-awful experience?

I found family.

In August, 2005, 3.5 years ago, Katrina rolled-in. You lost your house and all of your contents and some could not be replaced. What did you find from this sad experience?

I found friendships.

In December 2008, 2 months ago, you fell off a ladder 5 feet from the ground. You broke 3 bones, 2 in the pelvis and 1 in the wrist. You could not leave the bed for 8 days. You didn't bathe for 2 weeks. You peed & pooed in a pan. And your hair was mangy & knotted-up. You did not watch TV. You did not go outside much. What did you find from this horrific experience?

I found myself.

The Decision

It's hard for me to make a decision.
I stress out.
I want to make the right decision but it's a difficult decision to make.
The wrong decision is a decision I have to live with.
And not making a decision is a decision I make by choice.

It's hard for me
to make a decision.
A hard decision
isn't an easy decision.
And an easy decision
isn't hard at all.
But the decision
is a decision
by any decision
whether I make it
or not.
I stress out.

It's hard
for me
to make
a decision.
I want
to make
the best
decision.
But often
I make
the worse
decision.
I search
for the
best decision.
But the
frustrated
decision is
often made.
I stress
out.

It's hard for
me
to make a
decision.
I have too
many
decisions to make.
Eeny,
meeny, miny, moe
I
can't make a
decision
by it's toe...

It's hard for
me to make
a decision. But
my decision is
finally made. My
decision is to
NOT make a
decision when there's
a decision I
have to make.
I stress out.

It's haRd 4 mE
_______2 MakE
_______1
_______ decision.
Butt
___ I think I mAde
___mY
___Decision.
b U t t __ I ' m
uN-
___sUre
_______of the uNwanted
___de-
_____cisiOn
________I finally made.
____i
___StReSS
________________ouT_______________.

------Sin-cerely,
____________inDe-
__________cisivE
___________deB


To: all
of the in-
decisive peo-ple
out there.

Deb quotes, "I feel your pain...I feel like this just about everyday."

+++++A+true poem about The True Deb.+++++

___________a
__________pOem
___________by deb

PS __I'm unsure of the unwanted decision I think I made. I made that decision but I'll have to think about that decision twice, as I think about my first decision that I made, if indeed I made the right, the hard, the best decision of all. My second decision thinks that I made the wrong, frustrated, unsure, unwanted decision. Too many decisions for me to decide. I can't decide. I'm not making that decision at all. hmmm.... ;)

Influenced
by: home
re-novations,
phone-
calls,
stress,
family,
fi-
nances,
work, relations-
ships,
life....

....to be continued...I think. Maybe. I don't know.

Fear

It was dark and I couldn't see.
I waited but my eyes did not adjust to
the darkness that was before me.
I got out of bed.
I had no direction as to what
direction I was walking towards.
Somehow I made it down the small hall
and into the next room. The TV
was laying face down on the floor.
Someone had been here.
Someone had been here while I was here.
And with a quick second thought
someone may still be here.
And I'm here.
But if someone is still here,
what direction do I go
to get out of here.
I can't see. I can't see where
someone may be.
Maybe I should try to go forward
toward the front door, to the nearest
way out. Someone from behind me
grabbed me.

Cripps du Vieux

I didn't see much of the parade.



I think I need to fire one of my bodyguards...





He does have a nice ass though.

It Sucks To Be Me

Movie star life is great. But it does have its drawbacks. You lose your freedom of being a normal person. Some of your good friends don't want to hang out with you, b/c they don't want to hang out with a movie star. They just want to hang out with their friend. It's the price I pay every day of my life when I recently was discovered. My friends don't want the entourage, the big production, or the hassle that comes along with my fame. Some of my friends just avoid my phone calls all together, while others just make excuses not to hang with me and my guards.

Just recently, I invited my friends to tag along with me and my buddies to see the Krewe de Vieux Parade. The first Mardi Gras Parade that rolls out every year. It's my favorite parade yet. The parade route is near my mansion home, roughly 2 blocks away. Very easily to get to. And you can make stops along the way if you need to. Stops like bars for food & drink and convenience stores for necessities like cigarettes, snacks, drinks, film, & tampons. And homes, bushes & sidewalks for emergency purposes like teeing and gagging.

I called 7 of my good friends and one said yes. But the other 6, well...some of them didn't even bother to answer the phone. And some did. It was very interesting. I got all the excuses in the book as to why they couldn't meet up with me and my people at the same parade they were attending as I was. I heard excuses like "you live in a bad area." I laugh inside. The whole parade is in the bad area. "It's dark for 4 blocks." You mean dark as in night? Well, it's dark in every block at night. But the well-lit streets, the vehicle headlights, and the houses & business lights nearby provide all the light you need. "It's just too dangerous." Well, aren't you from New Orleans? And didn't you live uptown in New Orleans all of your younger life? And aren't you going to New Orleans to see a New Orleans parade? Everywhere in New Orleans is dangerous, even your chosen New Orleans' spot to see this New Orleans' parade.

My area is probably safer now on a parade night than a non-parade average night. There are more people and more cops out on the streets. More people walk in groups. And the cops are practically at every block of the parade route. And more police cars circle the nearby parade routes, which includes the area of where my house is located and the route we would take to get to this parade.

But I get it. And I don't blame my friends. It's really the fact that I'm a movie star and my friends want to have freedom and enjoy themselves without all the fiasco that I have to go thru. They have to be part of the bullshit to hang with me. Even being near me in public is a big deal and a big unwanted nuisance. I know, because I feel the same way as they do. I don't want to be held back from my freedom, which I recently was robbed of. And I don't want to hold anybody else back from their freedom. I want my friends to enjoy themselves.

Being a Movie star is tough. You're trapped inside. You can't just go out into public without all the hype. You can't just walk like a normal person and be treated like a normal person. People stare at you. Strangers talk to you. And they talk and whisper about you, in front of you, in their presence of you.

I get it. But movie star life still sucks. If I had a choice to be a movie star or a successful working unknown actor, I would choose a successful working unknown actor. Then my life would be normal.

The Marriage

Stinky & I have been involved with each other for 15 years. We’ve known each other since a young age. We have a great relationship. He’s definitely the man of the house. What he says goes. Except when he tries to eat plastic. I try not to give him a hard time; he’s bulimic. But I won’t stand for his tantrum right away. I yell at him. The yell usually stops him; he just wants attention from me. I’ve been working all day and he’s been working all day; he just wants to relax in our relationship of passion & pizzazz. It’s hard to spend quality time in personal relationships. It’s about trust, commitment, & compromise. I see his point; our relationship should come first over our careers because we love each other very much. We depend on each other.

We’ve developed a bed routine over the years. Yes, we still sleep together, every night, just like any passionate couple. We lie at the foot of the bed and spoon each other every night. He stretches his beautiful long black body close to me. We hold hands too during the night. I put my right hand into his left hand. I put my right wedding finger into the palm of his left hand. He holds on to my finger as he squeezes & caresses his fingers up against mine. It’s romantic. It’s true love. Every night.

But two nights ago, I had a bad dream about Stinky. The usual bed routine where we stretch-out & spoon each other made the dream. However, this time, Stinky was cold and dead.

I woke up immediately (no time to waste) and freaked out. Just as the dream predicted, Stinky was laying there beside me in his usual spot. I touched him; he didn’t move. And he was cold. I quickly started panicking with fear inside. I shook his lower half body. Finally, I got a rise out of him. Stinky woke up and was startled by me. It was as if I had just awakened a cranky old man. He stared me down and then his eyes began to speak, “You know I was trying to get some sleep deb. I was in a heavy state when you rudely woke my ass up. I was gettin’ some pussy. ‘Thanks’ for waking me up; are you happy now?” Yes, I’m so happy. I hugged Stinky so good, put my arm underneath him, and spooned him. I felt his warm body, and then we held hands.

The Vegetable

Bad Dream:

The phone rings. Ali answers and then says "it’s for you.”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“It’s Karrot.”
“Tell her I can’t walk.” I whispered.
“No you tell her. I can’t stand the red-head bitch.” Ali walked away from the phone.
"Well I don’t wanna talk to the kunt either.” my voice traveled toward Ali’s direction.

The phone was never picked up.

It’s the Andy Griffith Dream

Starring:

Dad as Paw
Oppy as Debbie
Ron Howard as Himself

Paw is digging a hole with a shovel. He’s in his own little world of thought. Ron motions me over toward him. Ron’s on the sidelines with the other fans, waiting for the next scene. I walk over to Ron. He asks me how I’m doing. He had heard about my accident. What a nice man, I thought, to ask about me. I couldn’t answer because we were interrupted by a yell.

Paw yells, “Debbie, now come over here and help me dig this pond.”
“Comin', Paw.”

Feeling Trapped

I’m upside down. Lloyd is drunk and says he likes to be upside-down. I, I, I’m claustrophobic? I wake up. The heavy cover has pinned me down and my head is between 2 cats. I throw the cover off me and lay back down again into the exact dream of Lloyd is drunk and likes to be upside-down, and I’m upside-down and hate it. I can’t breathe. I’m claustrophobic again. I wake up. The cover is on me. The ear warmers are still there. I move one of the fur balls out of my way and spoon the other. I push the cover halfway down to my knees and deal with the coldness of the air. I fall asleep again to different dream.

A Description of This Person

This person comes over and crashes at my place. This person doesn’t ask me how I’m doing. I mention in conversation that I’m hungry.This person and this person’s babysitter leave to go to a coffee shop. This person doesn’t invite me. This person doesn’t do the polite thing “can I bring you back anything?” either. This person takes food out of this person’s car. Food of bananas, apples, and biscuits. This person offers food “You want a banana, biscuit, apple?“ to this person’s babysitter. The babysitter politely says no. I wouldn’t mind any of them. This person doesn’t offer me any food as this person walks pass me to the kitchen. I say nothing. This person puts food in my refrigerator and leaves.

Tight Leash

My owner doesn't let me out that much. Sometimes he opens the door and I get to peep outside. I can't roam the streets. I can't be alone. Sometimes, he'll go watch me pee. He occasionally says, "You wanna go out for a ride?" I'm at the door faster than the words "Here girl!" The owner gets the leash and some plastic grocery bags. What are the bags for, I wondered.

I make my way down the steps, one-step at a time. It looks like I drag my ass since my ass is so close to the ground. It looks like I move slow, but I move at my fastest pace. My owner pets me on the head as he passes by. I look up at my master all happy and smiling. Glaring into his eyes, breathing heavy with my tongue sticking out and my forehead lines crunched together like crashing waves. And my master looks and smiles down back at me and says, "That's a good girl, I gotta treat for you."

He took me to a coffee shop and we sat inside. What happened to the park?