UPDATE - Crack & Romance

As mentioned in the last post, Lady Friend picked up a romance novel, along with a horror novel, for CL. Apparently having these books on hand acted like some kind of amulet because I didn’t see or hear CL for nearly two days. I slept in my own bed for the entire night on Thursday night with no interruptions. Amazing.

When CL appeared Friday night, Lady Friend approached her with the books and asked if she could talk to her for a minute. LF handed CL the books and CL said, “Oooh…these is good.”

LF mentioned the noise out front at night and CL started to get that “Oh no you not gonna tell me to be quiet” look. But LF already had a plan in place to appeal to CL’s need to be recognized as alpha everything on this block.

LF: “People around here really seem to listen to you.”

CL: “You’re goddamn right they do.”

LF: “That’s why I was wondering if you could tell people to quiet down if they’re out front and being loud after like 10:00 or 10:30?”

CL: “Oh hell yeah! I be all like SSssshhhhh, muthafuckas. Yall muthafuckas be quiet!”

For the rest of the weekend I never heard CL. Friday night, she was on my neighbor’s back porch quietly playing cards. Saturday night she was nowhere to be found. And last night, around 10:00 p.m. or so, she was sitting quietly in her chair reading the romance novel under the street light.

CL’s sweaty scowl, reserved especially for me, has now turned into “Hey baby. How you?”

This week will present a true “nighttime quiet” test because, with the 100+ degree weather forecast for most of the week, I expect many people will be sitting outside of their sweltering homes until late. I’m thinking I need to track down some more romance novels featuring snow storms and bitter winds so that CL will be mentally transported to a cold place. Isn’t there some saying about cooler heads prevailing or something like that? Well, that’s the idea here.

Crack & Romance

The Crack Lady squatting next door rarely sleeps or stops ranting and threatening people. The very few moments in which she is completely quiet come between 5 a.m. and 8 a.m. When the sun starts coming up, her crack smoking buddies usually disperse and head home to whatever and wherever home may be. At 5 a.m. she is alone, save for the prostitutes staggering like zombies down the middle of the street after their shift ends. She doesn’t talk to them though. She’s better than they are. She doesn’t use needles or sell her ass on the corner like they do.

When CL is alone, she reads. And even when she’s not alone, she still has a book in one hand and a bottle of St. Ides or a crack pipe in the other. In these early morning hours, when the city is still, she positions a faded nylon chair under a street light so she can read. When I leave for work, it’s not uncommon to find her passed out in the chair with a book dropped down on the stained sidewalk beside her and with a knocked over bottle of malt liquor rolled into the gutter in front of her. Even though this is the same woman who has kept me up until 5 a.m., when I see her in that tired chair like that with the fight temporarily gone out of her, it’s hard for me to stay angry. I’m think I’m getting soft in my old age.

Yesterday, after work, I rounded the corner and pulled up in front of my house. CL got up out of her chair and gave me the fast-approach from across the street. I didn’t even have one foot out of my car door yet. There was no Hello or How are you today? She just got right up on me, all sweaty and bug-eyed, and started close-talking. Well, it was more like close-yelling.

“I seen your friend the other day and I axed her if all yall read any books. I need some muthafuckin’ books to read. It keeps my minds offa thangs, you know what I’m sayin’? I need to be keepin’ my minds occupied else I get me into some trouble. I don’t need no more fuckin’ trouble. Yall got any books I can read?”

“Umm…well…depends. What kind of books do you like?”

“I love them romances the best, you know, like them Danielle Steeles. And I like them horror stories like them Stephen Kings and V.C. Andrews. I don’t like them nasty dick-and-pussy novels though. I done had about enough nasty in my life. No more of that fuckin’ nasty shit. Them romances is my favorite though. I could fuck me up a romance novel right about now.”

I’m caught off guard and a bit conflicted. This is the woman whose been forcing me to sleep in my office for weeks because of her chronic, belligerent noise. This is the woman whose boyfriend was killed by the police less than 18 hours after he was shooting at someone on my street. This is the same woman who lived in my house for thirty-eight years and then left (or was forced to leave) long before I bought this place and she never lets me forget it. And she wants books from me. Not money. Not cigarettes. Not beer. She wants to read and she’s asking me for help. No one’s ever asked me for book handouts before. This is a first.

As I sit here and type this, I’m looking at the phone numbers I jotted down a few days ago. 410-396-7412 & 410-396-1155. The Baltimore City Sheriff’s Office. Responsible for serving warrants and apprehending those who have outstanding warrants, which would include CB. In one or two phone calls, I could fuck up this woman’s day, week, month, or year. It’s a strange feeling having this power over another, especially when they are unaware of it.

Though I tend to be a bit hard-hearted most of the time from time to time, I am able to see beyond some of the triggers that make me so incredibly angry (e.g. incessant noise at inappropriate hours). I can’t possibly know what this woman’s life has been like, nor can she know mine. She’s forty-nine years old, jobless, homeless, and addicted. This does not make her unique, at least not in this neighborhood. She self-medicates with crack, booze, and books. Some people self-medicate with Zoloft, therapy, and yoga. Really, it’s all the same thing - just packaged differently.

I’m mentally scrolling through what’s on my shelf: Elements of Style, Rhetorical Grammar, HTML & XHTML: The Definitive Guide, Style and Statement, Grammar and Composition, Thesaurus of Quotations, Best Lesbian Erotica: 2003, etc. Clearly I’ve got nothing to offer but my insipid taste.

“Well, I’ve mostly got textbooks and boring stuff like that. I probably have some books in my basement that I haven’t unpacked yet. I might have something good in there.”

“Mmm-hhhm. Well I’m bout ready to read any goddamn thing yall got up in there. I’m bored as muthafuckin’ hell out here and I can’t be gettin’ into no goddamn trouble. Yall find anything, yall just give it to me. And if I ain’t out on this here fuckin’ street, yall can just leave them books on the back porch. Ain’t none of these muthafuckas round here gonna steal no goddamn books anyway.”

“Okay. I’ll check and see what I have.”

As I walk into my house and turn to close close the door, CL heads back to her faded chair on the other side of the street. She turns slightly and gives me a sweaty look over her shoulder. “I do love me some romances though.”

Lady Friend is more than aware of my issues with CL because CL has kept LF awake on plenty of occasions too. I told LF about my conversation last night and, this afternoon, LF went to Barnes & Noble during her lunch break and spent forty minutes picking out a romance novel for someone she despises. Really though, LF did it for me and this is why she’s truly the best. She found a book called Simply Unforgettable, in which “two people meet during a ferocious snowstorm. She is a young teacher with a secret past and he is the cool, black-caped stranger who unexpetedly comes to her rescue.”

CL’s going to love this book because this kind of romantic shit never happens in Pigtown. The only snowstorms around here usually happen up people’s noses and black-caped strangers are more than likely going to mug you. So LF’s going to dog-ear some of the pages and scuff the cover a bit so it looks like its been read before and tonight she’s going to broker a trade by offering CL some books for quiet.

Romance for sleep. I think it’s a fair trade. We could all use a little of both, right?

Faux Camping Adventures

Lately I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress in my spare bedroom/office in the back of my house. The noise and activity on the street out front is just too loud and goes on too late for my schedule. I’m very much looking forward to The Crack Lady getting picked up on her outstanding warrant(s). She is the reason it’s too loud out there. My neighbors are awesome, but this woman is a like a vomit burp because just when you think things are calm and pleasant, she comes back up and it’s never a good thing.

So last night I gaged the noise factor around 11 p.m. and decided it would be another air mattress night. I took half an Ambien, pumped up the mattress, and readied myself for another night of faux camping. Some time around 3 a.m. I woke up to my dog barking like crazy. Whenever this happens, I always pause to make sure he’s barking at someone/something outside of the house and not inside. Fortunately, he was standing on my bed in the front bedroom barking at something/someone on the street.

After a few hazy moments of wakefulness, I realized the air mattress was almost completely deflated. I rolled over to check the inflation tube and there was my slinky little black cat all up in my grill from about four inches away. For a couple of seconds I thought I was getting abducted by aliens because of the unblinking green eyes staring at me, but no. It was just that skinny little bastard gargoyling me. Then I heard a very faint hiss coming from the inflation tube, but I was confused because it was totally sealed. I flicked on the light and noticed four puncture holes around the tube. Great. I guess my runt of a cat decided to get all late-night Serengeti and turn the inflation tube into the baby gazelle with the broken leg. Sigh…

Since I was completely awake, I went to the front bedroom to see why my dog was still barking. I peered through the blinds and saw a car parked right in front of my neighbor’s house. I squinted my eyes a bit and saw a woman’s head bobbing up and down on some guy’s lap. Hmmm. Wonder what that could be all about? Maybe his zipper was stuck? Anyway, sometimes it’s best to just stay in bed and avoid looking out the windows…especially at 3 a.m. So I picked up the phone and called 311, which is 911 Lite for those of you not in the know.

“Baltimore City 311. This is operator —-. How can I help you?”

“Um yeah Hi. I live on the — hundred block of — Street and there is a “sex act” happening in a car right front of my house.”

“How do you know it is a sex act, ma’am?”

“Uh well I can see a woman’s head bobbing up and down on some guy’s lap and they don’t seem to be talking.”

“Okay, ma’am. Do you know what kind of car it is?”

“Yes. White Ford Taurus. Two-door. Maryland tags, 8BX-F43, expiration 08/07.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Would you like to speak to an officer when they arrive?”

“No thanks. I’m good.”

You may be wondering ‘What’s the big deal? It’s just a blow job.’ I’ll tell you what the big deal is - I get fed up with this shit. I’m a live and let live kind of person until someone else negatively affects the quality of my life (e.g. interrupting my sleep). My neighbors and I all work pretty hard to keep our little rowhomes and our block neat and clean. No one appreciates suburban visitors picking up fourteen year-old girls off the street and then bringing them to our block for sex. When Mr. Brown is awake, he literally yells at people like that and chases them away with threats. I just blow a gasket when I see these men with these street children. It makes me sick.

How do I know these patrons are suburbanites? Well, there are a few reasons. I know they aren’t from my neighborhood because most of the men around here would rather spend $20 to suck on glass dick instead of getting their own sucked. Also, no one around here drives a sensible four-door family sedan or minivan with the My Kid is an Honor Student at — — Middle School bumper sticker. These aren’t the creepy guys you see portrayed in movies and on TV. These are guys who could be your neighbor or your kid’s soccer coach. He’s wears flat-front khakis and a gold wedding band and he’s always got some kind of community association clubhouse parking sticker on his car. That “bad element” that so many people in this region associate with Baltimore City usually comes from outside the beltway. Sorry, but it’s true.

Anyway, I sat in my window waiting for the police to come by and bust up this helmet shining session. The police seemed to take forever, as did this blow job. I didn’t think anyone was going to come.

Weekend Blah Blah

A relatively low-key weekend, finally! I was nearly cross-eyed with tiredness on Friday and had every good intention of going out, but I just couldn’t rally enough to get my ass off the couch. Some new Netflix movies were waiting for me when I got home - Basic Instinct 2 and Transamerica. Okay. Basic Instinct 2. Wow. Hella bad. My Basic Instinct was to keep hitting “skip” to the next scene. It was terrible. It was like a spoof of the first movie. It wasn’t even a good kind of bad movie. It was mind numbing. Sharon Stone is still super f*cking f*ckable, but she should not have been allowed to talk at all. I just kept thinking Come over here, baby. You know your mouth ain’t for talkin’. On the other hand, Transamerica was simply excellent. I was really very surprised by this movie. What else can I say? I laughed, I cried, it became a part of me. I highly recommend it.

Saturday I had a migraine to end all migraines. F*cking JAY-sus, Mary, and Joseph. I’ve been getting them a lot lately and I’m not sure why. Anyway, I spent a good part of the day under the covers with a towel over my head to block out all light and movement. When I woke up hours later, I felt a little better. I felt more like I had a bad hangover. I had to rally though because Lady Friend and I were invited to the Bra Ball at the AVAM. The good thing about my migraine hangover was that I was really washed-out looking and had dark circles under my eyes, which created a tragic artist/junkie chic look, especially after LF worked her inner-fag makeup magic and gave me amazing smoky eyes. We got all dressed up in our L Word clothes and hit the ball and it was a lot of random fun. Only in a city like Baltimore could you have octogenarian polka dancers, creepy performance artists, leather daddies, men/women in suits and ties, men/women in gowns, a roller derby team, and an inner city drum corp playing and marching in the middle of the party and not have it be a Gay Pride event.

I spent a good part of the day yesterday drinking and cussing while painting the hallway upstairs. I also found myself threatening my pets with a permanent vacation at the SPCA every time they brushed up against the wet paint. “Dammit!! Don’t you know that Mommy drinkssshhh her “medisssshinn” all day because you wag your tail too much?? Every time you brush up againshhht the wet paint, an angel dies. Can you live with that, missshhhter?”

Yeah, so I probably need to work on my parenting skills a bit. Maybe next weekend.

Love Is A Stranger

Love is a stranger
In an open car
To tempt you in
And drive you far away
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you so
It’s an obsession

Annie Lennox
=====

I was a pre-pubescent ten or eleven year-old when this Eurythmics song came out, so I couldn’t fully appreciate the sexiness of it at the time. Honestly, seeing Annie Lennox in those early MTV videos intrigued and scared me all at once when I was little. Her strikingly beautiful features framed by that severe hair cut and hair color. And those suits and ties! Who could forget those suits and ties? I didn’t know what to think. That smoky alto voice was also something I was unable to process. Looking back, I realize I needed to file all of this away until I reached the other side of my Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret years.

Unfortunately, the onset of the “crimson tide” didn’t do anything but stir up more questions for me, like “How does Dry-Weave with Wings really work?” Now that I’m older, there are some things I’m beginning to understand, like the fact that any make/model of tampons are better than Dry-Weave with Wings and that Love Is A Stranger is a super-sexy song. Annie Lennox still has that transcendent something about her that I’m unable to articulate. She’s sexier now, as a fifty-something year-old woman, than she was in her twenties and thirties and I’m still a lot intrigued and a little bit scared.

But at least I have confidence in my discreet tampax with purse-resistant wrapper.

An Officer and a Gentlewoman

My Lady Friend has two careers. In her Monday thru Friday civilian career, she is a total programming nerd/systems analyst to the degree that only could appreciate. I’m still not 100% sure what she does. Lady Friend has a weekend military career too. She is an officer in a branch of the United States Armed Forces and she is in the military police. I can’t give you all the details, obviously, because you didn’t ask and I’m not supposed to tell. What I will tell you is that she is currently a reservist and has hit a military trifecta in that she has served/is serving in the Marines, Air Force, and Army.

Translation = Lady Friend is a bad ass and you had better say, “Yes, ma’am.” She’s spent years earning it.

She recently received a promotion in rank. It’s a fairly sizeable rank too. It’s not too big and not too small, but it’s bigger than you would think it is. It’s not so big that it would make you uncomfortable though. Sometimes a rank that’s too big is not so much fun. Anyway…

After receiving her rank promotion, LF was assigned to a new unit. During one of her weekend getaways to a military base that shall remain nameless, she was pulled into the penalty box. She was given an entire battery of vaccinations, along with an extra set of dog tags, and was asked to update her death benefits information. She also has to keep her bag packed with her BDUs and other essential Lady Officer items, like her military issue purse and gas mask. I guess what I’m getting at here is that a long vacation (possibly as long as eighteen months) in the Middle East seems imminent.

LF didn’t tell me right away about the penalty box thing at her base. She waited until she got back to Baltimore. It was a surreal and quiet conversation and it was hard to know what to say. Mostly, we just sat there on my couch staring straight ahead at the wall. Although she has not been officially called up, things seem to be set in motion. If may soon become When.

Now it’s true that women can’t serve in direct combat positions like the infantry, special ops, forward air defense, etc. Women in the military police, however, are in direct combat operations in pretty much all but name only. They ride around in those Humvees that you always see on the news. You know the ones I mean. Those women do the same thing that then men do, like man machine guns, guard convoys, do security sweeps, etc. Yeah. I know. Scary.

LF and I don’t talk much about the possibility of her taking a long vacation. We agreed to just go about things as we always have because we both believe there is such a thing as processing too much and talking too much about things. The topic did come up the other night over beers and steamed crabs with friends and family. Nurse J’s brother just got back from a rotation over there and it seems likely he will have to go again. I offered to shoot LF in the foot so she wouldn’t have to go. My cousin chimed in and said she’d shoot her too. True to form, LF replied, “I’m no hippie draft-dodging suddenly conscientious objector.”

Now before any of you consider leaving any political comments, I ask that you please don’t. There are a million amateur political blogs out there and this is not one of them. Trust me, avoiding political opinions in this little blog is an intentional move on my part. Everyone is a critic and everyone is a politician too. Personally, I think political ranting makes for insipid blogging. It’s just so…I don’t know…lazy and uninspiring. That being said, I will embrace my own hypocrisy and violate my rule a little bit.

LF is not some pawn in “the theocracy” or “regime” or whatever the latest MSN MoveOn McMedia is calling it. She is thirty-five years old, has her college degree, and served during Bush I (remember Desert Storm?), served during the Clinton years, and is serving under Bush II. Whatever your political bent is, people have always served in the U.S. Armed Forces and have served under many different presidents in times of draft and not. LF doesn’t believe in the war we are in right now, but she believes in the United States and loves this country, and love for the United States is not a very popular thing in our “diverse” little gay community.

It is hard for some people in our peer group to comprehend that not everyone is ashamed to be an American. Unfortunately, “celebrating diversity” in the gay community is often restricted only to those who are exclusively of the liberal Democrat mindset. Any other opinion makes you suspect. Such a hypocritical little community - one set of rules for Us and a different set of rules for Them. The close-mindedness they say is “keeping us from what we deserve” is the same close-mindedness they celebrate when they exercise it on their own people. I wish more of my brothers and sisters in queerness would admit to this double-standard. Being gay does not make us right or morally superior. I hate to burst any rainbow bubbles out there, but we are no better than anyone else. We all have to take a shit when the bowels move us. It is the great socio-political equalizer.

For Lady Friend, it is an honor to wear the American uniform and flag, no matter how unpopular it may be. For me, it is an honor to know her and, whether or not she realizes it, she makes me immensely proud and I respect her deeply. She is making a sacrifice that I could not make. Could you? If LF gets the orders to go, I will fill up with worry and sadness. Worry because the type of military stuff she does will put her directly in harm’s way and sadness because her BDUs are not D&G or Prada. When I think about the strong possibility of her going, I get this weird sensation in the middle of my chest. I think some people call it a heartbeat. God knows I have not had a pulse in a very long time. I didn’t realize this until LF came into my life and managed to slowly, patiently, and persistently warm my bitter winds and thaw the tundra my heart. It’s taken me a long time to admit to myself that this has even happened.

Of course I hope she doesn’t get the orders to go, but I’ve always known the possibility was there. She’s always known it too. Every time she’s signed up for more years she’s known it. I would never put up a fight and beg her not to go though. It would be an insult to her commitment and an affront to everything she’s worked so hard for over the years. Sometimes things aren’t all about me. Sometimes it is wise to step aside and let bigger things pass. Her military career is one of these things. Before drifting off to beer-induced sleep the other night, LF asked me if I’d consider being her war bride if she gets called up. Although neither one of us believe much in marriage, I said yes.

I hope Lady Friend doesn’t have to go before football season starts. We have so many plans and so many new levels of swearing to achieve in front of the TV. And I hope she doesn’t go before the NHRA Nationals in Richmond, VA. I’d feel like I was cheating if I was breathing Top Fuel with anyone but her. She can’t leave before Halloween because I am afraid of small children and can’t answer the door when they come knocking. I don’t want her to go before Thanksgiving because I really don’t know how to cook. I don’t want her to go before her birthday because someone needs to tease her and say, “Happy Birthday! You don’t look a day over 50!” And I don’t want her to go before Christmas because nothing says “Holiday Spirit” like sharing family resentment and disappointment with another.

We have so many plans.

Who am I kidding? I am only in this thing for the uniform.

Cooking Out in Pigtown?

Here are some of the basic ingredients and utensils you’ll need:

I Am A Child of the ’70’s

This makes me so happy, but then again, it’s the reason why I can only count to twelve. And I have the Pointer Sisters to thank for that.

UPDATE - The Fun Never Ends

So remember my complaints the other night about the crack bitch and all the arguing about drugs and money, followed by gunshots? I learned last night, from my elderly neighbor, that the guy who was killed by the police was the same guy the crack bitch was arguing with in front of my house. He goes by the name of “Pretty Head” in the neighborhood. My neighbor said, “I don’t know evvybody aroun tha way call him that. He never seem so pretty to me. He an ugly muthafucka. Plus he a stupid muthafucka too thinkin’ he jus gonna shoot at tha PO-lice and not get killt.”

And it seems that of the five gunshots I heard on Tuesday night, the three that came from out back were directed at Pretty Head and the other two shots, from out front, came from Pretty Head as he shot back.

Here you have Pretty Head, one of Pigtown’s finest. An upstanding citizen with only 30 arrests and a half a dozen or so handgun violations. His last arrest was on Monday for drug possession. As you play this video, you can hear the creepy, incessant ice cream truck music coming from S. Carey Street (a.k.a. Scarey Street).

The Fun Never Ends

This happened just a couple of blocks away from my house last night. I didn’t hear the shots, but my dog and I did get spotlighted by the ghetto bird during our nighttime walk. It hovered over my block for about 30 minutes. Now I know why. Good times.