Saturday, February 23, 2013

#ROW80 1ST QTR POST 16 – SUNDAY CHECK IN ON SATURDAY


Well, the stasis continues, sort of. I had a moment there, when I thought I might be in high dudgeon over something, but it turned out to be a low to medium dudgeon, so I decided it wasn’t worth the effort, I guess. Now, that I seem to be getting over this nuclear flu or whatever it is, the old “Parkinson's Disease or not-Parkinson's Disease, that is the question” symptoms are returning. Boy howdy, did I miss them. From weird pain, tingles, tics and twitches, to fake strokes and heart attacks, all of my old friends have shown up for the auld lang syne.

Can’t say that I’ve missed them a bit. Tonight, I made tacos. By the time I got through in the kitchen, it looked more like somebody had tossed a bunch of lettuce, tomato, taco meat, rice and shredded cheese in the general direction of some taco shells and 2 plates than actual meals. “Come and get it while it’s hot!” I warbled. JC is on his own; he very gallantly retrieved what he could. The cat enjoyed the parts that had fallen on the floor.


If my tacos did this, I'd be calling the taco exorcist.

The only thing I’ve been irritated about now that the insurance mess is more or less straightened out is this: what in the name of all that is holy gives men the right to think that I want nothing more in my life than to talk to them? Especially strange men I do not know? I’m really not pleased by this at all. Women don’t do this, do they? JC has not been able to get around for some time, so I have to go out by myself a lot. I’m not flirtatious, I don’t exude flirtatious, or come hither hormones, but this is really annoying. I know it’s not just me, I see it happen to other women. WTF? If I wanted your scintillating company, I would talk to you. Since I’m not talking to you, don’t talk to me, m’kay?

Case in point. Dude comes up while I’m looking at hamburger and practically stands on top of me. “Did you have a good outcome?” He asks out of the blue. I look at him. “What?” He points to my cane and glasses. “Did you have a good outcome?” I’m flabbergasted. “Does this look like a good outcome, you fucking moron?” Loud. He turns tail and runs. Meat guy at Sweetbay laughs.

The week before, I was in the soup aisle, bent over getting my favorite soup, which is on the bottom shelf. I hear, “Hi, My name’s Tom. Are you from around here?” I stand up to see “Tom,” who’s a good 18 inches from me; too close. “No, Tom, I’m on loan from Neptune.” I back up with my cans of soup, held close as if some type of man-shield. Just then, Shianna, the lady who sells the homeless paper and whose name I never remember comes running up and hugs me. “Hey girl! Whatchoo been doin’ since we got out?” Out of what is never specified and I can’t remember if it was the homeless shelter, the loony bin, hospital, or jail. I’m pretty sure I haven’t been there, guess I’ll have to run my own name through Crime Stoppers, but am not sure, so I totally Scooby her. “Oh you know, a little of this, a bit of that, helpin’ at the soup kitchen. I saw Shaneiqua and Shalala the other day, they said to tell you “hey.” Whatchoo doin?” I ask her in a shriek.

Tom is edging closer to the end of the aisle, praise the lord. Shianna yells back, “I’m sellin’ these here newspapers, only a buck a paper. Tampa has a no pan-handling ordinance and people like Shianna works to earn money to feed herself. She’s been a staple around here since I have. She’s neat and clean and works hard to sell her little news papers. Today, I give her a 5.00 bill and she tries to give me 5 papers. “Nah, go buy your coffee.” I get a big hug and smile and off she goes. I always have a momentary fugue when I see her, because she was in my shelter briefly, and now is at the Salvation Army. I see her here at the market periodically and since my psychotic break my short-term memory is really, really bad. It’s more fun this way.

I’ve also noticed that when 2 homeless or formerly homeless people get together, it’s glee unbounded. Probably because the mortality and morbidity rates are so high. So, when we get together, we can’t talk like normal people. It’s a reunion! It’s counted a success if you make it through the day. If you get your SSI and are able to pay rent, the gods have smiled upon you. If you get SSDI and you make it through your wait period to Medicare, that is good fortune indeed. I have made it. So, my blessing becomes blessings for others, as I see it. ViolaFury may be a bitch, but she can be a generous, empathetic one.



I see nothing derogatory regarding Italians here.

With the exception of dude who yesterday in the Walgreen’s in an attempt to get my attention, once again, made a trés stupid comment. My friend Alex and I stopped at the store to see if they had hair clips. They didn’t have any that I wanted. My radar kicked in, and there was a noid wearing a knit cap at the check out counter. There were a bunch of t-shirts, 3 for 10.00, various colors. I found some for JC, but they were these hideous day-glo colors, pink, orange, green, just horrid. I said to Alex, “Dayglo pink for JC won’t cut it.” Knit cap, with a smirk, said “you just made a racist Italian remark.” I looked at him. “Did you have to think that up all by yourself, or are you really that stupid?” Dumbass. Outside, Alex said, “Boy, you sure do attract ‘em.” “Like shit drawing flies,” I said.
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