Sometimes, Crazy People do Crazy Shit

Before we get started, a couple of things:

1. I can say "crazy" because I AM crazy; and,
2. I would never, ever want to hurt someone else's feelings, so anyone I talk about in this blog will never read this blog. I know this for a fact. I also won't be using names. I'll make names up.

So don't get all bunged up about the title or all that other shit. I'm not hurting anyone. You all should know by now I'd never do that.

Anyway, on to the crazy shit. There's a no-smoking-in-the-house policy here at my house. As there is at most houses, both group-living and private. Most people don't want their clothes and their hair smelling like ass. Myself included, and I smoke so yeah. But THIS house has a very SPECIAL reason for the no-smoking policy, and here it is: one of our residents is on oxygen. Which we all know is highly explosive. So we all obey the no smoking in the house rule because let's face it, even if we're nuts, we don't want to get roasted like chestnuts on an open fire.

However, there is one person in the house who seems to have a really difficult time following the rules pertaining to the "Let's Not Blow Up The House" theme. Who, you might ask, would do that? Why, it's none other than the person to whom the oxygen is hooked up. WHAT?????? That is correct. She has an oxygen tank next to her bed, complete with breathing machine, and she goes two doors down to the bathroom with a can of air freshener and smokes in the middle of the night.

The best part of all this is that this is one of my roommates. She sleeps in the bed RIGHT NEXT TO MINE. And that oxygen machine is on the floor between our beds. This makes me rather angry and more than a little nervous. (She also has difficulties with personal hygiene but whatever, that won't kill me - although the smell of rotten feet in a room occupied by a sensitive person - me - can be trying.) 

This person got caught dead ass the other night. The next morning she got asked about it and flat out lied. "No," she said. "Not me," she said. Then comes out to the back yard table and tells me she got caught but she's going to keep denying because it's the staff member's word against hers and "she's not licensed and she's a nigger anyway so no one will believe her." That's right, she said the "N Word" and I repeated it. This is to show you what I'm dealing with here. 

I'm no snitch but I got pissed off enough about this bitch putting my life at risk and being a bigoted asshole that I went to MY counselor and related the conversation. She said she'd take care of it. I doubt that.

I don't know what my point was in writing this blog, other than to show that all those warm and fuzzy TV shows about group living for the mentally ill are not always accurate, and that some of us are mean, vindictive, and have stinky feet and dirty sheets.

Have a nice day. I'll be back tomorrow unless I get blown up.

Work Sucks, Let's Go Back to Bartering

Before I start, that little "Donate" button up there is for a charity called Zephyr for Kids. I have no intention of guilting anyone into sending $5. But it will appear in all my posts from here on in. The charity is designed to get kids out of foster care and back with parents who have proven themselves worthy. It's tax deductible. We are looking to get a HUD house now, So if you can, great. If not, no big. I understand shit is tough all over. That's why I whore my English degree on the internet.

Speaking of which, I hate working. I love writing but I hate having to write what someone else tells me to write. For money. I want shells instead. Then I can go to the market and say, "I will give you two clams and an abalone for those Versace pumps." But no. I get "assignments." And deadlines. And FUCKING EDITORS. My belief is that editors are failed writers who are bitter at those of us who get paid to be eloquent. I hate them.

I may move to Tahiti, put on a grass skirty and a coconut bra, and sell shell art for a living. And with that, I have to go,  because I HAVE A DEADLINE.

PS - Don't forget the kids if you can. If you can't donate dough, we need clothes for kids and moms, shoes, books, school supplies - and gin for the workers. Thanks. My readers rock the most. And I'll have a web page up for Zephyr soon, if I ever get through these stupid articles. Meanwhile the address is Zephyr for Kids, 93 Bellerose Ave, Rear Entrance, East Northport, NY 11731. Thanks again,