The funniest show on TV right now…can I get that kids meal yo?
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I dream, big bright vivid detailed dreams. I almost always remember my dreams when I wake, or my dream is so intense or troubling or happy that it wakes me with it’s intensity. After Katrina I had nightmares about New Orleans for years, that we were drowning, that we didn’t escape. Thankfully, I no longer have those nightmares, but they have been replaced with a recurring dream that show no signs of ending. My dream co-star was my ex for a few years, but he has now been replaced by my current dream guy Tom. Tom and I are in New Orleans, during Katrina, and we are in standing water. Though I should be frantic, I’m not, because I have Tom and he will take care of me. He has Cricket under one arm and Squeak under the other, and together we wade out of the city. It’s not lost on me that in my dream Tom has the two most precious things in the world to me in his arms, and that instead of worrying I am reassured. I have had this dream at least 10 times in the past month, and it always ends with our rescue. I understand that this is not about Katrina, it’s my dream of being rescued, of being safe and secure and loved. There is a full moon tonight, and the dogs and I are all restless. I will almost certainly be dreaming about Tom in a few short hours, and I will be safe and happy. I am willing to do almost anything to have him truly love me, in my waking dream, not just in sleepy time.
*I posted this at around 11 p.m. last night. I then decided I would message Tom on facebook,mainly to make sure he saw the post. I type his name in and he doesn’t pop up. I look at our message history and it says I cannot start a conversation with him. He has unfriended me. I have given up my apartment and I am applying for jobs in Atlanta based at least partially on him, getting to know him, falling in love with him, I have such big plans, I am so hopeful. It all comes crashing down on me. I had imagined him as being so sweet and kind and a true gentleman…you sir are no gentleman. It’s my fault for creating an obviously incorrect idea of him, I wanted him to be my knight in shining armor, instead he is an old and sad stereotype…like me.
I cry a little and don’t sleep much. When I do fall asleep, I don’t dream of Tom rescuing me, and I don’t dream of Katrina. I have another stress dream that I have had numerous times over the years. I am in the woods with the dogs, and there is a bear. Cricket and Squeak get away from me, running off toward the bear. I then understand that the bear has killed them, and there is nothing I can do to help them. I wake up crying, and reach for my babies, to make sure they are okay. I fall back asleep, crying, understanding there is nothing I can do to help me.
In the beginning there was House music
And House music had its own groove
And from this groove came the groove of all grooves
When one day some DJ’s declared
“Let this House be progressive”
And progressive house was born
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The Struggle is Real Ya’ll…Konichiwa Bitches
I drove to Ocala to place nine and one year old siblings in their forever adoptive home this evening. I feel really good about this case. It’s especially rewarding because we battled with the Guardian ad Litem program, who were advocating to split the boys up, because they didn’t feel the nine year old was adoptable. The brothers are laughing and playing and singing songs. I’m taking them to their forever home, with their new mommy and daddy, and I’m Feeling Good!
This white boy had every song on Licensed to Ill memorized. At the end of their concert in Birmingham, a huge inflatable penis came up through the stage. My friend Trey’s mother (who was already pissed because of all the cursing) rushed us up outta there (cursing).
Brass Monkey and Paul Revere, that was my jams, yo
At the flea market on Sunday, the Mexican vendor offered me Tamarind as a Sno-Cone flavor. I declined, instead choosing Red flavor, but did buy this Tamarind soda at Walmart. It tastes pretty good, kind of a more tart ginger ale…way better than that nasty Kombucha I recently tried, for the first and last time. Also, Jeff Foxworthy’s Grits Chips sadly taste like old unsalted Fritos.
“I remember she was crazy stupid thick”
“I don’t recall”
Sir, you cannot say No to the question until it’s been asked
Didn’t you serve 10 months in Riker’s Island in 2010? “I don’t recall”
On Sunday, I had a breakfast date with a nice engineer who works at Lockheed Martin, at the Cracker Barrel in Oldsmar. In addition to devouring my country fried steak with white gravy, pancakes and eggs, when my date excused himself to the bathroom I put the salt and pepper shakers in my pocket, all sneaky-like. Full disclosure, I walked out of the Creighton Walmart with a rack of baby back ribs last month as well…but that was basically due to the stupid worker in charge of self checkout ignoring me for way way too long…but what’s going on here, what’s the real, do I need a DSM diagnosis or sumthin’?
7/3/14 1 p.m. 2 buttercream and 2 chocolate cupcakes my supervisor brought in (no pic, refer to my belly fat for reference)
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When his girlfriend had to put down her beloved 10-year-old beagle, this thoughtful guy knew just what to do to help cure her broken heart. It’s a rainy Thursday night in St. Pete, and I am feeling kind of sad and lonely. I had a good cry watching this video.
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When I was a case manager in Pensacola, I had a big office all to myself. I would collect small toys at different thrift stores and flea markets, and kept them in said office for the children on my caseload. 2 years later, I still have bags full of toys. I had a home visit scheduled this evening, to see a three-year old on one of my cases. I brought my bag of toys for him, and the other foster kids in the home, and the foster mother’s grandbaby, with the plan that each toddler could have 2-3 toys. At my arrival, the “gang” and I do mean gang included my three-year old *Bubba, siblings *Peanut and *Bean three and 1 1/2 years old, and the foster mother’s granddaughter *Atari, 4 years old. All were observed to have snotty noses.
The five of us got down on the living room floor and I dumped the bag of toys out. They all started grabbing and pushing. Bean sat down right in the middle of the pile. I tried to help Atari pick out the few girls toys, but Peanut snatched up a My Little Pony and a Strawberry Shortcake, causing Atari to start screaming and trying to kick Peanut, who smartly remained just out of reach. His little brother Bean wasn’t as lucky. He was intently slobbering and putting toys in his mouth when Atari hit him over the head with a Triceratops, hard, and he started screaming and crying. I tried to explain to Peanut that he didn’t want girls toys, but his foster mother (who is ancient, older than her own mother, and whose voicemail jumps right into quoting scripture without so much as a hello) shrugged and said “Peanut be likin’ girl stuff, that’s how he do.”
Bubba was stockpiling toys behind him, and Peanut and Atari started grabbing again. Peanut put poor Boots up his nose. Atari was trying to be sneaky and was hiding toys underneath her, looking off into space so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with me. Bubba and Peanut started grabbing up toys and running them to their bedroom, in the back of the house. Old Mother Hubbard didn’t say shit. Atari refused to stand up, because she was sitting on several toys, including Stitch, Eor and Oscar the Grouch. She never stood up until I left, furtively watching me with her little thievin’ eyes. As soon as I had three or four toys in front of one of them and thought I was good, the others had grabbed up more, except baby Bean, who needed changing, BADLY 😦
All three of the older gremlins got 5-6 toys each at least, and when I started putting the remaining toys back in the bag, all four of them started screaming again, yelling No! Stop! Mine! Peanut even started crying. As I made my exit Bubba and Peanut were wrestling and screaming over a giraffe, Atari was nesting on her stolen loot, and Bean was gnawing Miss Piggy’s face off.
* Not their names
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“Well I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed
That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed
I ain’t ready for the altar but I do agree there’s times
When a woman sure can be a friend of mine”
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I tried to go to work today, but left after a couple of hours, apparently I am still a bit emotionally fragile. On the way home, I stopped at the St, Vincent de Paul thrift store on 34th and treated myself to 10 (ten) books for $1 (one) .
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Due to budgetary constraints, “Tanisha” was my only purchase at the Wagon Wheel flea market today: 25 cents! I’m going to put her up on a shelf, rather than let Cricket murder her. It would be kind of racist, plus I don’t want Cricket and Squeak to start thinking they can bite black babies (and other babies as well, I guess). Check out the video I shot, some of my kinfolk gettin’ they groove on.
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I read this book last week, sitting with my mom in the nursing home, until she passed away. Zippy’s sharp humor and funny observations helped me through a tough time in my life.
“…she waited until she and my grandfather Anthel were just home from their honeymoon, and then sat him down and told him this: “Honey, I know you like to take a drink, and that’s all right, but be forewarned that I ain’t your maid and I ain’t your punching bag, and if you ever raise your hand to me you’d best kill me. Because otherwise I’ll wait until you’re asleep; sew you into the bed; and beat you to death with a frying pan.” Until he died, I am told, my grandfather was a gentle man.”
“That cat doesn’t have a lick of sense,’ I said, sighing.
Well, honey, he’s not right in the head,’ Dad said, flipping his cigarette into the front yard.
I glared at him. ‘And just what do you mean by that?’
Dad counted on his fingers. ‘He’s cross-eyed; he jumps out of trees after birds and then doesn’t land on his feet; he sleeps with his head smashed up against the wall, and the tip of his tail is crooked.’
Oh yeah? Well, how about this: he once got locked in a basement by evil Petey Scroggs in the middle of January and survived on snow and little frozen mice. When I’m cold at night he sleeps right on my face. Of that whole litter of kittens he came out of he’s the only one left. One of his brothers didn’t even have a butthole.’
“I stand corrected. PeeDink is a survivor.”
“What kind of good deeds? Like Girl Scouts? Because I got kicked out of Brownies and they won’t give me another chance to keep my clothes on at camp.”
“My mother was good at reading books, making cinnamon biscuits, and coloring in a coloring book. Also she was a good eater of popcorn and knitter of sweaters with my initials right in them. She could sit really still. She knew how to believe in God and sing really loudly. When she sneezed our whole house rocked. My father was a great smoker and driver of vehicles..He could hold a full coffee cup while driving and never spill a drop, even going over bumps. He lost his temper faster than anyone.”
“I respect every way in which you are a troublemaker, now get up and do what your mother says.”
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My ex came and got Squeak from me, to spend the weekend with him and Possum. He has also made it painfully clear that we will never be together again, also that he never really loved me, at least “not the way I am remembering it.”
It’s 4:30 in the a.m., and I’m not sleeping. I take Cricket for a long walk, there’s a full moon and the air is electric.
My mother is 61 years old. She has refused her dialysis and it is simply a matter of time. Over the next week, I will take her lunch and sit with her, reading my book or watching TBN. She continues to pray that I will “be healed” from my homosexuality and will find a nice Christian wife. I lie to her and tell her I am going to church in St. Petersburg, and it gives her some small comfort, so that’s okay. If she doesn’t pass away this week, I will be forced to have our final goodbye on next Sunday, as I am financially destitute, plus I’ve used up all of my PTO and my bills and rent await.
I feel like my mother’s mental health robbed her of happiness and that she never really enjoyed a good quality of life. When the moon is full like this, and I am feeling restless and anxious, I worry that my mental health will soon betray me as well, and I am pessimistic most of the time. I fear I will always be alone, ending up in some nursing home with nothing, just like my mother.
Cricket knows something is wrong. She is a good girl, smart and intuitive and empathetic. Cricket gives me a lick, then curls up next to me on the bed and starts snoring. She will be there for me in the morning, tucked in and sleeping against my stomach…she knows she is loved and cherished, anyway.
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I have 648 friends on the Facebook. There are like 10 of my facebook ” friends” that I would like to be my boyfriend. I mainly post stuff like this to try to impress them, either that or I have low self esteem.
shout outs to Ronan M, Richard S, Scott W, Forrest C, Steven C, Stephen W, Jeff R, Brian K, Grover K, Geoffrey B, Stuart N, Mark S, Brian B, Scott G, John M, Jerry L…and Ken Cunningham