Sunday, May 10, 2020

Corona in the Hood

Here we are in Lockdown trying to flatten that Corona curve. I'm finally home to see exactly what goes on in in the neighborhood. People who argue and fight, calling the police on each other all day, at least three times a day. (damn I work hard just to pay for this silliness?!) People who run from house to house, sharing beers, sharing pipes, hugging when they all get loaded on booze and drugs. Ah, but a few are working. The traffic to the prostitutes is never ceasing. Nice cars and trucks, white, brown and black men stay for a spell, or do takeout. Then where do they go? 

An old working class neighborhood of color, transformed by white landlords into flop houses full of people who never work. This didn't happen in the 60s, the owners died within the last few decades. Take down those statues, but let the actual carnage in once prosperous black neighborhoods go unchecked. One is erasing history we don't want to relive, the other is reliving a history we forgot to soon.

Hispanic men come over to talk loud up close and personal. They fix cars, wash cars, get drunk and high all day. Packed hotboxing in cars and vans for hours, drinking beer, smoking crack, telling lies. Most have wives, children, and parents at home. But they're men and must roam. Their Corona siesta. Not having to admit to themselves that once hard working men now pick up odd jobs to support crack habits, while living off wives and mothers. Mindlessly firing up pipes in front of teenage sons. Why do they hate their teenage sons so much? 

A neighbour's sister comes to visit, an older woman who quite possibly has health issues. Porch tarts laugh at her, telling her she looks stupid in a mask. Only rich white people get that stuff. Why are so many black women, poor women, stuck in junior high school mentalities?

Crack hasn't taken a break either. I assume those red hot metal pipes they suck down their lives and livelihoods through, burn up that Rona along with the skin of their lips. People crammed into small apartments all night partying, having sex, fist fighting and scuffling. Rona is scared of this place! Right? 

An old bleached blond in her fiery red Mustang and little dog in tow, swaggers up and down the street as her husband's finds out who has the crack. She promises sexual favors behind his back for better and faster service. She's got that Karen face. I'm sure she's a manager, who's set a few managers in her life. I wonder how long they'll hold onto that shiny fast car? Crack has a way of burning through possessions, jobs and homes. I wonder if she'll go dyed black once she hits the bottom? So much cheaper than the peroxide fried hair blowing in the wind now
Two young guys ask an old man if they can 'chill' in his apartment. Guess they didn't hear that spice kills. It did. Ambulances, along with police know these folks by name, and not from the Rotary Club.

Teens out till wee hours of the night in parking lots. You can tell it's a large crowd, one shouting over another. You hear the moment the energy changes. The buildup to the fight. Red and blue lights bring quiet down once again.

Why are there so many black and brown Corona cases and deaths? Ask why, and thank God there aren't more!

After the young lawmaker accused outside sources of keeping the hood ignorant of what they should do to protect themselves from the Rona. People showed up one day. Informed the community. Handed out bandanas. Once the crowd cleared they all sat in a car and talked, minus face coverings. They got out to box all the leftovers, bandanas back in place. You can tell they're not from the hood, lol. (You can see in the Subaru windows as well as you can see out.) They don't know they're still being watched. "See they're fake. They're all talking in the car without a scarf. They just want us to look stupid." Weeks later, still not a face covering in sight down in the hood.

Seriously, stop blaming everyone else for our own shortcomings. The last pandemic, we were still a self sufficient people. We had our own doctores, nurses and midwives, Most hospitals were whites only then. We had each other looking out for each other, not just the voice of some washed out drunks telling people they are stupid for protecting their health. (though they've always been a fixture of the community) Have we really gotten to the point where we are so used to being provided for as a people, that we have become stunted in taking care of ourselves? Our great grandmothers were the social welfare of their day. Now churches in poor neighborhoods don't want locals to attend, hiding their light and salt under a roof with locked doors. Those women provided more than just a check, they tried to provide for the poor to grow, not just exist on a dole. It's so frustrating listening to do gooders, sitting in luxury apartments and homes, tell the world it is letting minority neighborhoods down. Grown people take care of themselves, invest in their kids. Realize there's a vested interest in keeping you down on the welfare plantation. Realize, what your thinking as playing the man, has got you played in the end. There will be poor with us always, but this age has managed to transform it into a career choice. 


Saturday, June 15, 2019

Macho Smacho

I can remember Nabal telling me that housework is women's work. So outdoor work would be men's? Boohoo, the lawnmower is too tall for me and I can't use it... Look I took all the weeds (with 2 years of neglect must are trees!) out of your garden. Every thing left standing was a weed! He'd managed to cut every actual plant down. (This had happened on more than one occasion.)

Women always have excuses. He'd thunder while I explained a thing.

His excuse for missing every weed? Well I didn't know. (Then don't cut anything without askingwhat to cut!)

His hurt reply: Every time I try to do something nice...you yell at me...

Infuriating!

If I work on the yard out front- I do succeed in shaming him into doing some work, without saying a word.

Today I'm working on a weed that's almost taller than our home. Carpenter ants are climbing it to our roof. It's shade has halved my day lilies, and horehound. Nabal today, sits under the tree in our front yard, with his host of other addicts and smokes crack.

The debris from a particularly large weed tree in the front yard that Nabal cut down 2 weeks ago? Still sits where it was felled. A few boughs from the cedar. (Where he and his addict friends sit.) Were added to the pile. Ugh, I'm gonna have to do what I did the last time to get him to haul it away- set it in their way, someplace they want to walk or sit. If I don't before long it will all kill the grass.

And how are you living with an addict? Oh yes, throw them out! Unless they're on the deed. (Funny thing the law won't allow that.) My deed to be exact. I've lost enough to this addict, I'm trying not to lose my house, my future vehicle of income.

Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Observation: Lasting Affects on Children

Once you realize who exactly you're married to, and once you get over the shock of what they've 'done' to you... You begin to see the little differences in your offspring. When you smart, funny kid doesn't excel in school, or sports, or their talent. They change friends, because Dad makes fun of all the nice kids.

Long talks about no longer 'covering' for ANY bad behavior in the family. They trust you, so they speak. Dad has been telling his son, since the child was very young, about his sexual exploits when single. Inappropriate conversations. How much fun going to jail is. Well, not fun, but memorable experiences for men. Nothing to be ashamed of. Paint yourself as a badass behind bars.

They hang out with the wrong crowd. Mama is uninitiated. She has lived the life in America and doesn't know about how 'people' really live. I try to reel them back, they lie like you.

The not it's caught doing vandalism. Lucky, a powerful businessman discovered him, and his hidden talents. No jail time, surly about community service. They businessman saved that boy. He toured Europe. Worked with men outside of the US who were also honorable, and law abiding. Valued education and character, instead of acts of machismo.

Fast forward the arrest ended up a misdemeanor, but can never be expunged... Never. Want to be something, join the military and serve- because you've become an honorable upright young man? Hmm, with the record, and some home tattoos from your youth. (Which your dad thought were great, because he got them with other troubled Hispanic boys.) All his military dreams dashed. They even found a technicality, didn't have to say something that could remotely seem discriminatory.

We had another long talk, that boy and I. This is why you raise your kids to do better than you. This is why you protect their innocence as long as possible. Please, raise your kids differently. Protect, love, and genuinely want to see them prosper. They are not your enemy.

The girl? People often wonder what she sees in her fiance. A pacifist. She'll go to bat before he ever will. I did have to think about it, then it hit me- he'll never hurt her.

O pray they'll get help, if they ever need it. I try to listen, but keep distance unless asked. I throw out suggestions- if asked. They're both miles away. Their dad never bothers them- he couldn't pay his phone, and now has a different number that he won't share. For his drug dealers and girlfriends only I guess. Honestly, I feel kinda free knowing he can't call. And that he won't bother them.

Now to plan the secret wedding of my daughter. The druggie doesn't like her fiance. Also with the trouble he tried to start at our son's wedding... Daughter girl is marrying into a military family. Military lifers still in the field. No one needs memories like that. My daughter and I both think of the cocaine fueled wedding scene from, 'Mom' the sitcom. We laugh, but it his close to home for us.

Monday, November 19, 2018

One step forward, two...

I don't know which way to move. Ugh, I need an advisor.

Crack cocaine has taken over Nabal's life. Yet I'm in a state where that's really not good enough for a divorce where I'd get my house back. But I could lose it because of his drug use...

I've worked my ass off and finally am clearing debt incurred with replacing my car, and appliance upkeep. Putting some away. I'll probably plunge back into debt this summer fixing up our trashed rental so it can be sold. Pay off his tax debt, then use the rest to divorce him. Somehow I don't see that as a happening smoothly.

He really is the luckiest man alive. For almost a year he's been driving his truck without any tags or inspection, insurance, and now suspended license. Luckily, I think he doesn't have money to go up to our rental. His crack buddies have been begging him to let them stay there- for free...! Thank God it's west of hell, and gas money isn't his priority.

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Crack addicts are:

Crack addicts, more commonly known as crack heads are like roaches, or other such vermin. Once you see one- you know there are more lurking, and they'll multiply quickly. Once infested, they are hell to get rid of. Now how to exterminate them?! I swear I'd turn the electric off for a week if I could figure how that wouldn't completely destroy everything.

And here's f#$*ing nerve- just one day after I disconnected the internet (which hadn't worked in a while) Nabal asked how 'we' could get internet...His friends living in the garage also wanted to know! I told him, when they decided to purchase some- haven't heard about it since. Flat ass broke 5 months now... They're bumming cigs and beer. People are hounding them for $20 borrowed.

Friday, December 22, 2017

The Fall

The good news is that Nabal has stopped drinking completely. The bad news is that Nabal is now using crack. This fall is noticed he was home more than working. I leave at 10ish, it's hear his feet above hit the floor- no construction worker wakes at 10 for work. I billed a job for him a little over $10,000. Awaited it to catch up on bills. Never came... He was so out of it, he had to give/sub the rest of his job to one of his cohorts- the money went to them. I've realized all bills are on me- it'll be tight, but I can do it. Enter my vehicle, my money making vehicle that gets me to work. (I work a distance still to make better money.) 340,000 glorious Toyota miles! And the drivetrain is shot... I've sunk $1,000 into it since summer. Nope, can't wait, gotta get a new (to me) car- NOW. Alas it's been a good 12 years without a payment.

Back to Nabal. He's made a few thousand here and there- and spent it in a matter of a few days. He did buy some truck...for cash. (It's parked) Yet, he did not pay for his one truck, nor the insurance he's mandated to keep on his trucks- from his DUI. His 'paid for' truck has dead tags- he hasn't the money for either the tag renewal, nor yearly taxes. Plus he's got several tickets he's not addressed... Damn, it's done hit the fan. We are somewhere near rock bottom. God help me through this. And help him, and help him out of my life.

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Another Day

The functional alcoholic has started into that swift decline. Most days I leave for work mid morning, and he's still hold up in his room. Today I got home around 4pm. Drunk and shirtless, Nabal was trying to cook. He could barely stand.  His friends told me it was moon shine and a pill from someone with bipolar disorder, and they were happy- he wasn't smoking his cocaine... Yeah, bent spoons in his room, white powder all over the glass. He's not gotten paid for at least 2 months. I need to pick up more work. I need to get into the gym to get strong enough to pull more hours. He passed out, after falling down several times. He's now on his knees, passed out, torso on the sofa. He was so inebriated he was unintelligible. Except when he yelled how much he liked getting high.

Depressed doesn't begin to describe, because there's no time for depression. Buckle down and try to finish with something to leave the kids. Haha, at least I'll never have the luxury to say I'm too old for anything. I'll go, until I fall. Gonna be a bumpy rise.