ROW 80 PRE SEASON POST 4 - BLOGGIESTA POST 1 – LET’S GET THIS FURBALL ON THE ROAD!

Alrighty then, I’m ready to start this here Siesta, I mean, Fiesta, er, uh, Bloggiesta! I had to miss my ROW 80 post yesterday on account of I had to take one of my famous 7 or 8 in-dog-year-all-of-3-miles bus rides to the psychiatrist’s to find out that, yup, I’m still, bat-shit crazy insane. I have to do this every 2 months, so they can give me meds for my bipolar condition. I’ve gone way beyond depression. One of these days, I expect someone to just throw me in a cage at the Lowery Park Zoo. Anyway, they took me off one anxiety medication, because it’s not working, the bipolar stuff is working. It’s supposedly keeping me calm. See if this sounds calm.

While trying to buy a small bottle of olive oil at the corner store on Sunday. 4 of the locals were hanging around the tiny cashier who has breasts the size of basketballs trying to talk to her about having kids, in a very inappropriate manner. They’re black, she’s Latina. She’s also rather dim, and is kind of being coy. I’m already short of temper. We’ve been trying to coax our rent-a-cat out so we can get her spayed through the auspices of the Humane Society and I’ve been out in the hot sun. This is not good for Parkies. One of these 4 locals has always been a problem and I always try to keep him in my line of “sight.” He’s a predator.

So, these assholes are up there at the counter, chatting up “mama” and I say, “excuse me, I’d like to make a purchase.” No response, and they keep up their “flirting.” I say louder, “You know, it takes a man to make a baby, I don’t see no man around here.” One of these guys looks at me and says, “you white bitch.” I step forward, raise my cane, and say, “Come on, you porch monkeys, you want some?” I need to add that I would NEVER play the race card, unless it were thrown at me, first. That dumbass had it coming. 

If that's the best any of them can do, that's what they get. I'm way over saying, "some of my best friends are (fill in the blank)." If you wanna get ugly and crazy, I'll outdo you. I live in the 'hood, fisticuffs both verbal and veritable are my fortế. Don't fuck with me, period. I would have done damage; they know that. Dead silence and they back up. I pay for my oil, turn and say, “Get the Fuck away from me!” and storm out. I ran into the owner who was just coming back in. He asked me what was wrong. I told him he needed to get those assholes out of his store and probably fire his clerk.

That’s what Parkinson’s does and the meds don’t really help all that much. Some can lower your impulse control even more. I was always in control and then I started just losing it. I worried about it, now, I don’t. Big change. Well, rent-a-kitty is now perm-a-kitty. It didn’t take her long to train us. JC talks to her and she pays attention to him. I talk to her and I may as well be talking to a sack of hammers. Kind of like all my other relationships with live things.

So, I kind of spiffed up my blog. I tried putting up some different layouts and stuff. My blog is always going to be rather bland to look at. I hope to garner badges and endorsements, but it will never be pretty. I have to look at it and I need the plainest thing possible to work with. My eye(s) and brain just will not play well together for any length of time. So, I’ll throw in a picture here and a picture there.

This is just an informational post; not a ha ha post, or a rant post, because this is rather a crossroads, but an intentional one. Bloggiesta, a new ROW80, which starts on October 1, and a friend and I are branching out into the wonderful world of computer repair. I am a software whiz and he worked for Intelligence in the Military and knows hardware. We’re keeping it local and it’s just for extra cash. We’re both on Disability and we don’t want to get so bogged down with all things computer that it takes us away from the things we love doing. We both did computers in former lives. I want to write. Plus, if you make too much money, the Feds get meany-pants and start wanting your money back. Assholes.

Do I look furious? 

So, is this the real Viola Fury, or is it too meta- or is “Homeless” just a state of mind? (What a great seque) Yesterday, there were two new homeless people, a man and a woman, that JC kept wondering about. He just can’t conceive living on the streets the way the people do. His heart really goes out to them, but he can't fathom it. At first, he speculated it was the addictions, but he knows better. It’s the mental illness. We keep a careful eye on them, not because we’re afraid they’ll steal from us or hurt us. Quite the opposite. These people are so fragile and so reclusive. And there are so many truly evil people here, like Ray. Who has a warrant out for his arrest, not for Wade, which it turns out, I may have been right about. No, for felony Grand Theft and this time he's on Video. I digress. 

For the most part, the homeless stay to themselves. I ran into these 2 on my way home from the doctor’s office yesterday. I came barreling around the corner and there they were, perched on the corner with all of their bags and papers. They were wearing all their clothing, coats, long pants and all; it was 90 degrees. Every homeless person ever does that; they no dresser drawers. They were munching on sandwiches they had gotten from God knows where. Neither spoke to me. If they had asked for money, I would have given it, but they didn't.  They just sat there, stolidly munching, even as I almost plowed them under. It's because they don't want to draw attention to themselves; I may yell at them, or shame them. They're already ashamed. Dear God in heaven. I weep. I should wash their feet. I am no better than they.

The smell was unholy; living on the streets is a dirty business. There is exactly one place on Nebraska Avenue that provides showers and washers and dryers for the homeless. It is administered by MHC, Mental Health Care, Inc. of Tampa, who so kindly invited me to stay in their facilities awhile back in March. Without them, there would be no one for these folks. So, we watch out and make sure they are not bothered around here. They huddled across the street for the longest time, until just before dark. Lately, the Tampa Police have been more active at arresting people for drinking and drugging around business establishments; those people, believe it or not, are people who do receive some kind of assistance and usually have a place to lay their heads. It may be an aunt’s tool shed, or a group home, but they are not truly without any place to go. These two I am talking about have… an underpass to sleep under? A park bench to sleep on? What about when it’s raining or cold? The Salvation Army is full, and you can only stay so long. I really don’t know.

JC watched them for the longest time; just before sunset, they gathered their things and packed up their bindles and inspected one another. I guess to make sure they had all their stuff, or maybe to make sure they were both okay. They shrugged themselves back into their coats, picked up their littler bags and melted off into the trees. Another day on Nebraska Avenue survived.