SCRAPPY SCRAPSTER

I’m in a battle and it appears to be with myself.

Have you ever watched a group of girls fist fight after school? There’s always the one who runs into it flailing her arms and feet, screaming like a crazy person and gets the crowd chanting on her behalf. That’s also the one who almost always looses in the end.

Sure she catches her opponent off guard and takes her down with a few wild punches, but her sense of early victory sets her up for failure. She’s shown all her moves, spent all her energy and gave up the fight in an exchange for a few high-fives with the cool kids.

The other girl stays on the ground with a bloody nose or fat lip, scratched face, swollen eye or all of the above. She’s breathing through a tight chest, feeling her humility, and though she feels her fright numb her body, her weight like lead—she slowly begins to rise.

The crowd’s attention shifts, their cheers of initial excitement turn to rumbles of curiosity. Oh no, she’s not getting up, what’s she going to do?

Without a word she grabs her batterers hair from behind, bringing her down to her knees and lets her flail around trying to escape until she is exhausted. She holds her in place until she is satisfied with the crowds change of victor because it’s the beat down fighter who gets up to win that inspires something in us all.

No one talks the next day about who won first– only who won in the end.

And though I’m not holding a clump of hair in my fist quite yet, I’m breathing through my humility, feeling numb, and preparing to rise.

I believe if you can survive your own beatings you can survive anything.

The red head has an expression that makes me laugh. What is she thinking?

DO YOU SHARE?

In my previous post I state that I do not share umbrellas and considering the line has little to do with the overall post, imagine my surprise when it became a discussion between me and four other people.

“You wouldn’t share your umbrella with me?”

Nope.

See this comes as a shock to my family and friends who know that normally I’m pretty dang nice. So incredibly nice that at times it seems I have no spine, but that’s beside the point. I’m simply Midwest mannered except for one true thing and that’s sharing an umbrella.

To make this very clear let me tell you a quick story.

One evening I was meeting friends and classmates for a drink prior to participating in a poetry reading. I checked the weather and it said chance of rain. I texted my friends and told them to bring an umbrella because I don’t share.

“LOL,” was their response.

While having drinks it began to rain and it did not stop by the time we had to walk down the street to the reading. My friends did not bring umbrellas like I told them, so I suggested they grab a free city paper. It was at this time I opened the door and bolted down the street with my umbrella, leaving everyone behind. Yes, they looked perplexed, but I warned them just as I warn you now.

I don’t share umbrellas and here’s why:

 

• The burden of responsibility to keep you dry while you walk freely is unfair and stressful, no matter how hot you are.
• Being the taller one of all my peeps means I risk permanent eye injury from being jabbed by one of those little metal poky things along the outside or lose pieces of my hair as it gets snagged in the hinges because you don’t hold it high enough or know how to control it in the wind. Breathe; you’re having a panic attack.
• Hand cramps and elbow lock is a mother, especially if you insist on walking on the same side all of the time.
• I can’t mind-read when you decide to stop, turn or slow your pace, but I’m expected to do this while dodging awnings, puddles, and other umbrella holders (poor souls).
• You’re talkie-talk and I can’t hear you with all the rain pitter-pattering near my ears. What? I didn’t say I liked Paris I thought you said Ferrets.
• I’m still soaking wet with messed up hair by the time we reach our destination and you probably are too since I’m the worst at sharing an umbrella. Don’t be a hater; I tried to tell you.

So see, I’m really saving you the humility of arriving wet or being sadly disappointed about your “like in the movies” romantic rain walk. Next time you see two people sharing an umbrella come back and tell me which one had the happily-ever-after look.

“But what if Madonna asks you to share your umbrella?”

Nope, not even for Madonna, she’s too short for my ride.

However, in conclusion I am nice, so instead of sharing I would give you my umbrella (unless I was doing a reading) and run beside you with my head under my coat or newspaper.

You might get a cheap broken umbrella I found on the street, but you and Madonna would figure it out no doubt.

Now watch this video for fun.

Nope, not even Rihanna, though she tempts me by getting this song stuck in my head.

DOOM AND GLOOM

I’ve been away from blogging the last couple of weeks for three reasons. One I’m focused on writing my new novel, second I’m submitting pieces of various works to publications and lastly I’m preparing for the end of the world.

The first two are much easier now that I understand the work involved for planning a doomsday event. Somebody needs to start a Doomsday Planner business and if that someone does just remember me later.

My biggest concerns about such an event are the amount of people I am surrounded by and having the proper water purification process/supply.

I spent about a week wandering up and down my block trying to guess how many people live in each house. Why, you ask? It’s the city and I need to know what I’m up against.

• There are sixty row houses on my block with an average of four people living in each one. So, if there’s a riot for survival I need to fight off 240 people on my block alone. This does not include my estimation of 1,326 people living in the surrounding one-block radius.
• I’ve come to the realization that the use of blow darts will no longer work as a line of defense. I need some Charles Bronson tactics and night vision goggles.
• I’m fat enough to survive about a month without eating, but then I figured the rest of the family might try to eat me first if they were starving. I’m thinking canned Tuna and Luna bars will keep everyone happy and full.
• Then there’s the issue of water. You need a minimum of one gallon per person, per day. We would need 120 gallons of water to survive a month. Do you know how much space that takes up?
• If we run out of purified water then I had planned on drinking rainwater from the roof until an article reported that you could die from bird and bug feces. Living in the city, everything is bombed by pigeons, which are the dirtiest. Can you say Chlorine Dioxide Tablets boys and girls?
• Chlorine Dioxide is moving off the shelves fast, so you better hurry. I suggest experimenting with the purification process before the end of the world arrives just in case you do it wrong and make yourself sick—at least you can still go see a doctor.
• I don’t share umbrellas with others when it rains. Now imagine what I’ll be like when the family realizes we only have one gas mask. What? They’re expensive.
• A note to Walmart: If you create an aisle just for Doomsday I’ll become your most loyal customer and greet people for free. I swear.
• Imagine what a new world order would look like if only the customers from Walmart survived. Maybe drinking pigeon-shit water is best after all.

If you would like to hear what my voice sounds like in an empty room and read one of my newly published pieces of micro-fiction called “Responsibility” click here.

Thank you Hoot for the honor and adding a bit of joy to my gloomy week!

COFFEE IN THE HOOD

"I enjoyed drinking a Tweaker in the hood."

How come Starbucks won’t come to my hood?

I realize that incorporating “WE ACCEPT WIC” into the brand is a compromise, but there is real money to be made here. Between the drug trafficking, prostitution, and government funding who could ask for a better location.

Sure, you might not be able to sit writing the story of your life on your Mac without getting jacked, but everyone likes a good coffee.

All Starbucks would need to do is make a few changes and I have made a list to help them out.

• Lids that spin like rims.
• No paid employees, that’s what foster kids are for, bringing in extra cash.
• One size fits all cups. It confuses people to order a “Tall” and get a small or a “Grande” to get a medium and what does “Venti” mean?
• Have a menu that relates to the clientele with drink names like:

 Yo Popo

Baby Daddy

Mama Drama

Smack-A-Bitch

Shorty

Chin Check

Playa-Hater

Riker’s Island

Skeezer

True Dat

Tweaker

Wangsta

Buttaface

Ghettobird

187

•  Every beverage is the same, no matter the name because all the customers are high. They won’t figure it out, but if they do all the glass is bullet proof.
• Stripper Pole

Look at the logo, I think she's tossing signs.

           

Was Snoop the inspiration behind the logo?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A post I read over at Suburban Enlightenment inspired the above brilliance.

MOURNING SIMPLICITY

Today I am in mourning for the loss of simplicity and all the moments I took for granted. Like when it took me ten minutes to fill out a 1040EZ while sitting at a bar the night before Tax Day and my only concern was that my refund was less than the bar tab.

Gone are the days when finding a great piece of furniture in the trash was awesome and bed bugs were not an epidemic.

Eating pizza and a Snickers bar for breakfast without questioning the calorie intake.

Leaving laundry at the mat unattended without losing all your panties.

Eating 7-11 nachos without heartburn.

Life insurance, what? Why do I need that? Oh, because now I care.

Saying no to mom without guilt.

Taking a crap without a kid opening the door asking why they can’t have more gummy vitamins.

Passion without sacrifice.

SIREN SOUNDING

When I was a kid a tornado hit our trailer park and yes, I’m completely serious. That evening still remains in my top twenty freakishly frightening moments, but also as one of my favorite.

Aside from the fear of your body being sucked from the earth and thrown into another dimension, it’s quite a surreal experience that leaves you breathless and in awe of the world.

The calm just before the storm feels eerie and somewhat exhilarating, but the deep surreal silence afterward makes you question whether you’re even still alive. In the moment nothing, but the pounding of your heart matters.

Lately, I feel like one of those people in the photos just after a natural disaster. A heap of splintered trees and twisted cars behind them as they stand in complete dismay with one hand covering their mouth. You can’t even imagine what they’re thinking or feeling.

However, I’m tired of that image.

It’s time to become the tornado.

I want to suck the air out of the room, change the color of the sky, create new paths, and listen to the pounding of hearts along the way.

We all have the power to be greater than we are now, especially when our nature is unpredictable.

_____

On a lighter breezy note, check out my new pages: Candy From Strangers, Insanity, and Love Stamp.

Also, check out the blogs below because between the three of them I always find a good laugh or moment that helps get me through the day. Not to mention that they say really nice stuff about me and deserve whatever award they want to take from the Love Stamp page.  I think I’m falling in love with them.

 

FIVE SECOND RULES

THE DIARY OF A MAD GAY MAN

A CLOWN ON FIRE

More awards to come!

CROTCH CHECK, PLEASE

Dear Everyone,

Do you ever feel like you’ve pursued a dream for so long that you don’t even remember what it is you truly chase?

I feel like a child running in place because someone is holding me by the shirt collar. Maybe this is symbolic of me holding myself back, but then how do I let myself go? Either way my fingers have gone numb from holding on or I’m exhausted from trying to get away.

How do you set yourself free from what has always been so you can become what you were always meant to be?

I ask you these questions with sincerity and I want to hear from you. Tell me a story or slap me with some humor, because your words have power. You can use the comments or if the questions inspire you to write a post of your own, just hit me back with a link and I’ll visit your page.

However, if I don’t lighten up by the end of the week–don’t stop following– just kick me in the crotch and let me know how much you miss me.

Fiercely Yours