Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: debate, Democratic, economy, elections, McCain, ObAma, policy, politics, presidency, republican
First off, I watched it at the Apollo Theater. Due to my finances, I decided to fore go paying my cable bill. I think I have been without cable for four months now. Anyway, my dear choir mate and friend, Gwen gave me a ticket and an invite to join her and her friends to see the debates. I haven’t been up to Harlem in a long while. I’m astonished at how fast it’s gentrifying. I can’t remember ever seeing so many white people up there. No, its not a matter of I don’t remember, I know for fucking fact that there has never been an influx of white people like there is now. I saw it coming in the late eighties when they built that hi-rise on the corner of Central Park West and 110 street. 110th Street used to be the cut off back in the day but now Whitey has come to reclaim Harlem.
Okay, so I have never been to the Apollo before. I have passed by it plenty of times and I certainly know the history of the place and I have even watched that amateur night at the Apollo show. Watching it on tv didn’t prepare me for the size of the place. Its so small! On television it looks so much bigger. I think it might be around the same size as the Beacon theater, maybe smaller. For some reason, I thought that the Apollo theater was as big as the Ziegfeld.
Enough about all of that. So the theater slowly filled up with lots of black people and a sprinkling of whites. I sat with the cute lesbians and a really cute white boy from Riverdale in the Bronx. He was really cute and so clean!!! I don’t know what it is about cute, young white boys….sigh. I’m addicted.
Some black chick opened the show by singing the Star Spangled Banner. I’ve heard better but she looked good though. Not a jealous bone in my body, I’ll admit a cutie when I see one. Then there was a mini debate with some local media and political personalities. It actually was pretty informative and most of the questions that the audience asked were intelligent and thought out. Not the the crazy, stupid, uneducated questions that I was expecting. Yeah, I’m awful. I admit it. I tried to get cute white boy to ask the question “If Obama gets elected, when do we get the welfare cheese?”. The coward wouldn’t do it.
You know the old adage, don’t go to a movie where black people go if you really want to see a movie. Well, it certainly applied here. The audience was hooting and hollering to the point that I missed things that both candidates were saying.
Now, if it was a low budget comedy or horror movie, those antics usually amuse me but I really was trying to pay attention to what both the liars were saying.
Of course it was a hostile crowd as far as McCain was concerned. He might as well have worn devil horns and carried a lynching rope. Even when he did say some things that made sense, the crowd booed. Obama, well everybody gushed and hooted and hollered and loved every point he made. I, however, was not so easily swayed. First, he’s a terrible debater, he hmmmed and hawed and ummed so much, it was getting embarressing. I’m no public speaker so maybe I shouldn’t be so critical but umm, I ‘m not running for public office.
Just like with every debate. both candidates had no clear cut plan to do anything. A lot of promises and saying they’ll do something. I’d like to know exactly what they plan to do. I want to hear it. be fucking honest. Tell the people the truth of what they’re going to get when you’re elected. Judging from all the debates I have heard in my life, the candidates say absolutely nothing and haven’t the foggiest idea of what they’re going to do until they build their cabinet and have a few sitdowns. Even then, that doesn’t guarantee shit.
Besides looking fine as hell, having a winning smile and radiating such awesome, sexy coolness, what does Obama have to offer this country? He is not Camelot. If you really study history or lived through the early sixties, you know that there was no Camelot. I’d like to know who does he have in his pocket and how does he intend to get shit done and exactly what shit does he plan to do.
McCain, well, he’s a maverick. What the fuck? I just keep thinking of a cowboy lawman that will bring peace to the wild west. Give me a break. The guy says that he’s not part of the Washington boy’s club but every other word out of his mouth was, my friend, Kissinger, my friend General patton. My buddy Nero. It was pathetic. And I”ll bet Obama misses all of that and doesn’t use it to his advantage.
McCain did not offer any concrete ideas at all and yeah, he did support many of George Bush’s policies.
I really don’t give a rat’s ass that he was in the military and he was a P.O.W. My friend’s dad was a P.O.W. in Japan during WW2, that dude was crazy. I’ll bet any amount of money that McCain has some screws loose too. Ha and if he wants to talk about living as P.O.W. I can tell him some horror stories about living with my foster mother for eighteen years that would make him grateful he was captured in South East Asia instead of living with my fucked up, sadist bitch of a foster mother.
So, no, he doesn’t win any donuts for being stupid enough to fight Asian commies on their own turf. We weren’t even supposed to be there but I’m not going to get into the Vietnam story. That’s a bone I’ll pick later. Suffice to say, that I remember all the violence every day on the six o’clock news and I saw all the returning vets who ended up down the street, hanging out all day in front of the liquor store. their red eyes looking vacant from Post traumatic stress and the eventual drug addiction.
I don’t know, I really don’t know. Too many of my friends are telling me that I have to vote for Obama. One friend is telling me that he’s an Uncle Tom sell out.
Other people are saying that I’m going to vote for him just because he’s black.
Fuck all of you, I’m not going to vote for McCain, that’s for damn sure.
As far as Obama is concerned……..well, I’m going to really start reading what the Green Party candidate has to offer and look at Ralph Nader again.
I made too many bad decisions when I gave into charismatic, intelligent guys. I have to be certain I’m electing somebody who really will help this country. All I can remember is how happy I was when Mayor Lindsay was elected…twice! and you know what he did to this city. Looks and charisma can’t run this country.
I understand that there is more to Obama but honestly, I need some more convincing.
So, thats my take on things. take it or leave it.
Barbara Lee
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: George Bush, Halliburton, Iraq, Missile Dick Chicks, politics. Minnesota, republican, RNC, Sarah Palin
I’ve decided that I am Republican. Hooray
for the Red, White and Blue!!!!
Me and Sarah Palin, She’s great and a wonderful crepe maker!
The gals and Dubya, the Admiral and John McCain. We had a wonderful time laughing at the pinko hippies at the Anti RNC rally
God bless the police, keeping the city of St. Paul safe from the ruffians.
That’s right, men should be the only ones to decide whats right for women, amen!
This fine American is a gifted artist, I praise him for spreading the message.
I‘m just wondering, where are these children’s parents? Jesus and a whip would set these riff raff straight.
All that tear gas and smoke ruined my mascara, tsk!
John McCain will provide jobs and soap for these dirty hippies.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: drugs lower east side punk rock heroin cocaine stupidit
And so it begins,
Diary entry June 1 and 2, 1988:
I’m going to assume that it’s still June 1, 1988 and I’m living some faded teen-age dream hanging out at Ron Katz’s Rock and Roll Ballroom at the Lismar Lounge. The New York Sheiks opened up. Arrrgh, Why should I feel so down? Must be the depressive effects of the three beers (going on four) that I had today. It rather sucks because I feel I should elsewhere but I wanna belong. I don’t feel like hanging out. I’m no junkie, I dislike drugs. I might as well get real to the fact that as long as I’m no musician, bullshit artist, D.J., fashion queen, skinny mini or druggie, I’m not going to fit in. Ah Hell, I’m just here for the music. Whatg the fuck
Oh Lord, give me strength because life is that bad and I can’t see nor sing but I write the blues.
God, I wish that Eduardo was here.
end of diary passage.
I remember that Wednesday night well, I went outside to sit on the sidewalk and watched the racing clouds in the sky. Yeah, they were moving pretty fast. I was thinking that I should go back to my little room that I was renting on Rivington Street but I stayed. I had a weird feeling looking at the clouds illuminated by the moon. The feeling nagged at me, the feeling that I should just pack it in and go home. I forced myself to stay though. I think it was mostly because I was still in rapture with Ron Katz and I wanted to be where he was. Besides, I wanted to see and hear Da Willies. I saw them the week before at C.B.G.B.’s and I was captivated by the lead singer, Lynn Vaughn’s gutsy voice. She could wail the blues grittier than (dare I say it) Janis Joplin. I didn’t know it but Lynn was also a frigging drunk.
The band came on and I loved their music! I did what I normally don’t do, I went in the center of the dance floor and grooved to the music. All of a sudden, it comes and smashes into my mouth. I look at the ground and there’s a broken Heineken bottle. My mouth is full of blood and pain and I figure out that my tooth is missing. Its a cap but hell, its still a tooth. I freak out and rush to the emergency room. There is nothing they can do for me except tell me to drink from straws and give me lots of gauze pads. I did go see a lawyer friend of mine and she recommended a lawyer to help me sue the Lismar Lounge. I’m in a lot of pain and my poor face! By the way, Lynn Vaughn threw the bottle from the stage into the crowd, lovely drunken bitch that she is.
Diary entry June 8, 1988:
Frankly, I’m getting worried that my life is turning into something that I have no control over. Barbara Black and Barbara White..or maybe it should be phrased differently. With the exception of Ed (whom I rarely see except on Sundays) and Claude (whom I rarely see), practically everybody I hang out with are Junkies. sniff coke, shoot coke, snort h, boot h. This weekend I might take a very evil step but I want to slide into.
Barbara so pure, can’t cop drugs. won’t snort drugs because it bothers her nose, shouldn’t drink because it makes her fat. One week without booze, what a difficult feat. Maybe I can make it last longer. I really should try to stay clean but I just want to go one step closer to oblivion.
end of diary entry.
So, I’m hanging out at Tompkin’s Square Park as per usual and I’m meeting all sorts of new people. One guy is Steve and he feels sorry for me that I’m in so much pain from my tooth. He thinks that I should use heroin for the pain and that he’ll give me my first shot. I also met Tony. I have no idea how I met him but all of a sudden, there he is, everywhere and he’s so friendly to me. I go to Tin Pan Alley up by Times Square to see my favorite scum rock bands and there he is, being so friendly to me. I start hanging around with him and its like a diabolical whirlwind romance. First, I lend him money to cop drugs and he takes me with him. Then he takes me to a junkie squat on ninth st (later known as Dos Blocos a few years later). we climbed in the back of the building and walked past a room filled with unbelievable stench. There were crack addicts milling around there. We came to a flight of stairs with a level missing. I still don’t know how I got up those stairs. Once we got upstairs the scenery didn’t get any better. I was wondering if this is how people were living when Berlin was trashed during WW 2. We arrived at his little hovel of a room shared by his “roommates’ Janis and T-T. Janis proceeded to beg Tony for some of his drugs. Tony fixed his shot and hit himself as I looked on in revulsed fascination. This scene repeated itself as the week wore on. When we get back outside, my nose is running and an old junkie says that I have quite a chippie. I have no idea what he’s talking about, my nose always runs, ever since I was a kid.
The Bad Brains were playing at The Ritz (now its Webster Hall). I had tickets and I was excited to go see them. Alas, my friends didn’t have tickets so I sold mine and went to hang out with them. Dandy straddles a drunk fat girl and plays with her tits on the sidewalk. The fat girl’s friend tries to get her away while we all laugh uproariously. Jonathan Reisbaum is walking around with a bottle of bleach. I guess he knew what was up because the next thing you know, we are all hanging out and I’m watching everybody do drugs. I’m surprised at Reisbaum, he’s such a good Jewish boy but he’s as much of a drug addict as the rest of them. I’m offered some drugs but I decline. Dandy says thats she’s going to give me my first shot and its going to be a speedball. After awhile, the crowd dispersed and I’m left with Lee Marie, Dandy and Tony. Lee Marie and Dandy say they know a guy who they can get drugs or money from but Tony and I have to wait outside for them. Tony and I are sitting on the stoop by the Church on Third Street between A and B. As we’re waiting, I look at his blue eyes glittering from the streetlight. He looks at me. We kiss and its sort of magical. Its also sealed, I’m now his. Yeah, I know he has a girlfriend somewhere but she’s not here, nothing is here, except hot kisses on a warm Summer’s night.
Finally, Friday comes and I look for Steve. Unfortunately, he left for the Rainbow gathering. I’m hanging out in Tompkins Square Park and run into Tony. Tony and I also run into Mink who has a new rig. Tony talks me into letting him shoot me up. I upped some cash, Tony copped and we proceeded to a squat on eighth street between B and C. The squat was a junkie squat but much more low-key than the one on Ninth st. The Hispanic male neighbors kept it that way by beating the crap out off anyone living at the squat that invited one too many of their junkie pals over for a fix. It was almost a decent squat but all the decent people willing to work on the building left after a fairly recent fire. The remaining inhabitants just didn’t give a fuck. As long as it was habitable enough to store their belongings and they could get high, what more could they ask for?
So, there I was on the second floor of this dark building. It was agreed that I would go first, then Mink and then Tony. As Tony is preparing the shot for me, a skinny, craggy white guy who looked like he lost the glitter rock wars, comes stomping in. His name is Clark and he takes the rig from Tony. He’s ready to go upstairs and do my shot but I convince him that he really should let me do it. Tony puts the needle in my arm and we all watch the spray of blood enter the needle and Tony pushes the drug into my vein. Oh man, that first rush, I felt heat climbing up to my brain and then the blessed nods. I was grooving on it but everybody else was freaking out thinking that I was oding. Clark is yelling at Tony to do something about me because I’m walking around in a trance totally fucked up. I have never felt better. Tony eventually has to go get some coke to hopefully bring me down. I remember sitting in the window by the fire escape, waiting for Tony to return. I felt like a princess in a castle waiting for my knight in shining armor to arrive. Tony arrives with the coke and shoots me up, both of us not realizing that I’m using the same rig that everybody else has used or just not caring. The coke courses through my veins and its like a crystal cathedral bells are chiming in my brain. Wooooooahhh, what bliss!
Later on that night, we hit the streets to panhandle. We wanted more drugs. It’s my first time panhandling and I think its fun. We didn’t do too well that night and just went back to the squat to sleep.
I wake up in the morning and the first thing I notice is burnt ceiling wood beams above me. Then I look outside and I’m thinking “the light is not right for morning” I look at my watch and its fucking FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON!!!! I slept away the whole day. I get up and look at Tony and Mink, still sleeping on the disgusting mattress we all slept on. Ewwww, seeing the squat in the daytime really freaked me out. It was disgusting, I had to get out of there. Its amazing how darkness and a drugged state can warp your perception of things.
Diary entry June 13, 1988, Monday :
Could it be I’m falling in love (with you baby) an old song from the 70s
Dearest Diary,
Tony McFarland is a junkie. So, what difference does it make, nobody’s perfect.
So, I took that evil step this weekend. It wasn’t worth it except for the adventure of sleeping in a squat
sung to the tune of the Beatles “baby’s in blue”
OH Claude
what can I do, welfare’s a drag and so are you too, tell me, Oh, what shall I do?
The day that we met, I’d sooner rather forget, but now I’m a wreck, what did it prove?
Oh Claude, what can I do, welfare’s a drag and so are you too, tell me ohh, what shall I do?
end of diary entry.
I broke up with Claude just before I moved to the Lower East Side. I still keep thinking of him though. It sucks to try to apply for welfare and think of ex boyfriends.
Diary entry June 30th, 1988:
I don’t consider myself a junkie, not yet anyway. I do believe that I’ve finally found my path to death. A rather unfriendly thought but true. I’ve spent so much money on drugs. It goes so quickly. I don’t know what Ed Norris’ problem is but I do know that I really don’t care about him. I haven’t seen Claude in nearly two weeks. I miss him so much. I’m so fucked up now. I don’t know whether I love him or not. time and attitudes have been going fast and constantly changing since I met Tony McFarland. I seriously could be killed hanging out with him but I really don’t care, odd, huh?
All I know is that if I ever learn to hit myself, my death sentence is confirmed because I know I’ll kill myself.
Do I believe in God? I don’t know what to belive in anymore. I want to believe in myself but I just can’t, I don’t know why. and doing drugs makes it easier to accept my bullshit. Why am I hanging out with Tony McFarland? Because he and I constantly need attention, can’t be left alone and both spiritually weak. Is going to hurt really bad when he goes back to Nicole. I don’t know if I”m really falling in love with him or he’s just filling a need in me. Basically, he’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met but the fucking drugs make hims so ugly…..I need to sleep.
end of diary entry.
So, in true Barbara Lee fashion, I keep on drugging, not sleeping and hanging out with Tony. It culminates in a crash landing. I fall real bad, I end up slashing my arms. It’s a bad habit I’ve had since high school. I lose my mind and try to deal with the pain by bloodletting. Tony is none too thrilled with me and as a result of my self-laceration, he stops being so friendly to me. I’m devastated and to make matter worse. Claude finds out about my drug use. I feel terrible but not enough to stop doing drugs or stop hanging out with Tony. To top it off, my period was late and I thought I was pregnant with Tony’s baby.
The Fourth of July came and I decided to spend it away from Tony. So I went to the Lismar Lounge to hear some of my favorite scum bands and to see my friends. It was a hot night and I remember sweating so much. Public Nuisance is on right now. Scott is singing lead. They are doing a cover of the Chamber Brothers’ song, Time. Ohhh my gawd. Scott is singing his heart out. The band is tight! Its the best rock and roll moment ever!!! I still feel flush when my memory goes back to that night.
The days go rapidly by. Every weekend, I’m polluted with drugs, alcohol and Tony.
Diary entry July 29th, 1988, Friday:
Why don’t you come with me, little girl, on a magic carpet ride (Fantasy will set you free)
Everything, my whole life is some crazed morbid fantasy. I wonder if Lisa Bonet ever got kicked out of an apartment. Junkies, Junkies, junkies, ruining my life. Oh hell, I’m a junkie too. I was going to say that I didn’t ask for all of this bullshit but if I didnt, who did? And shall I blame it on my poor broke, unattractive mouth? NO, sirree bob. I blame it on my inability to say no to drugs.
I can’t make up my mind whether I’m enjoying this or am I in misery. So blame it on rock, blame it on my childish desire to be a shiftless bum. I experience everything but don’t know nothing! There’s this guy Louis, see, and he owns the Aztec Lounge and I’ve been puzzling my brain wondering what he reminds me of, Cause he’s bald-headed. Well, it finally came to me…..Baby Godzilla…nah and the search continues.
I think I’ve become a vampiric being
end of diary entry.
Yeah, I’m now homeless. Tony, his girlfriend Nicole and my assorted other junkie friends freaked out my roommate and she kicked me out. I’m not going to go into what a cokewhore she is. I mean, that would be throwing stones. The fact remains that it is her apartment and my friends are out of control. So here I am, floating from junkie squat to finally a nice sofa in the Upper East Side. Being uptown doesn’t cure my desire for drugs and fun. I am always in the East Village.
Diary entry August 15, 1988, Monday
Monday, Monday, so good to me, Monday Monday, it was all I wished it could be but Monday morning, Monday morning couldn’t guarantee.
and so it comes to this NYSR, yeah, New York Scum Rock! And it seems almost every scum boy who hangs out is after my fine, big, black booty. I should have better things to think about. Well, actually I have been thinking about other things besides boys. Amazing huh? I don’t crave Tony McFarland. I do crave fun and excitement. I almost stayed at the park the night of the riot. I bet if I stayed, I would’ve gotten seriously injured. I marched around for awhile but I wanted to get to Tony. We hung out at the squat listening to the chaos in the park and the helicopters overhead. So the following Saturday (Aug 13) where was I? Back at the park hoping the riot control police will charge the crowd and cause chaos. Morbid blood lust or what? What could be more heinous than to have Rob Romero and Tony Crumm, the drummer and guitarist of Public Nuisance craving serious sex from me. Do I ask for these miserable complications, don’t answer. Ugh, I just remembered that I actually flirted with Harris Pankin (extremely briefly!) of Letch Patrol Saturday night at Rudolph’s park bash. Yo, I was drinking vodka screwdrivers and feeling no pain. Heh, I ended up fucking that red headed German punk kid in the bushes near the basketball court. and what about last Monday’s Jack Daniels fiasco. Okay, so I”m giving up hard drugs so now I drink hard alcohol? NO way matey, time to change the tune before I seriously go off key.
end of diary entry.
So, Rudolf was a club owner, I forgot what he owned, it was clubs like Limelight or whatever was popular at that time. He got caught up in the riot and got hurt. Having the vodka party was his way of getting back at the cops.
Diary entry August 18, 1988:
I must get the Ramone’s Subterranean Jungle. Yeah, like I’m hanging out with the New York Scum rock crew, fucking ay, man. Is all I think about is boys, music and hanging out? Pathetic Peter Pan complex. I met this guy who was playing guitar. Oy vey ismere, is this nausea? my stomach or the music? I ain’t never eating Pizza from seventh st and Ave A ever again. ( yes, to this day, I can’t eat that pizza, the one next to Niagara bar)
Ain’t got nothing much better to do with my time. So I just hang out in the park and sit, and sit, and sit. and write about how bored I am. Like I’m supposed to be interested but in what, revolutionary bullshit?
the music, its always the music. Angry, sarcastic, apathic, all the bullshit passion in my heart. Angels don’t make my music….sordid dreams….restless children I swear I wouldn’t have a real existence but for music. I guess one could say its of little importance but that can’t be true, its all I have left. So I guess when the child in me dies, the music fades and void remains.
end of diary entry.
August is a flurry of confliction. All the regular denizens are not happy with the influx of politicos who are here to protest the riot. More homeless are coming to the park. There was always some sleeping on the bandshell but with all the new church missions coming to feed people, the park has become some sort of Mecca. Everybody is coming. There’s protests everywhere and I’m checking out everything. In the meantime, I’m working at Family Court for my welfare work. I’m still uptown but I’m always in the Park or at the squat getting high. In this time, I made the acquaintance of of Rodney Wolf. Our love for comics, drugs, booze and sex made us the consummate couple. He’s the first black guy (okay, his dad is white) that I really fell for in a big way. He wears his hair in a total mop of dreads, we look cute together. I end up moving out of my swank digs uptown to stay with Rodney in the squat. My friends are worried about me, even my burn out friends. They warn me that I must find a suitable place to stay before October or it will not be pleasant for me. I scoff at them and enjoy my time, running around half naked, being reckless, feeling absolutely free. Suddenly, it’s October.
Diary entry October 7, 1988, Friday:
Claude’s show is opening up tonight. I’m happy for him but I wonder if the feeling is obligatory or sincere. It’s after eight thirty am and I’m at Bellevue Hospital waiting to be seen. Barbara Lee is not a very happy fish these days what with consorting with Lower East Side ilk amongst other things. Squat living damn sure differs from season to season. And I ask myself, is Rodney Wold worth freezing my ass off, exposing myself to situations that could make me deathly ill? Have I lost my mind? I haven’t even seriously begun to look for more reasonable accommodations. Why, because I want to live with Rodney. I don’t know, Babs, maybe this guy can teach you a lot but am I learning anything that’s really necessary for my life? A tragically bohemian lifestyle, just what I always wanted.
Well, well, well a weezer! Here I am again applying for welfare, what a fucking drag. Dark days are indeed upon us. I can feel it in the air. The weather is so extreme and I live inside my chamber of horrors. How the hell else am I supposed to feel? Even warriors get tired of battle.
In the dirt and squalor, lonely men cry and I picked my winter wardrobe from a garbage can. Yeah, there’s laughter and a shared fifth of whiskey but its the cold nights that abandon me to despair. My heart sinks with every step up creaky stairs and I wonder when I’ll fall to my doom or maybe I have already. Ha, so much for being a survivor.
end of diary entry.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: drinking, football, hooligans, metrostars, soccer
See the nice black woman. See the bottle in her hand. I’m sure most of you know how long it takes to drive down to Washington D.C. from NYC.
The Empire Supporters Club decided to make a road trip to see the MetroStars play DC United. We got on the bus at noon, loading the bus up with lots and I do mean lots of booze. For my personal consumption, I brought at least three six packs of McEwan’s ale and as you can see from the photo, I drank other people’s beer as well.
At the beginning of the trip, I exacted promises from the known belligerant drunks in our group, making them promise to behave themselves because we did not want to go down to DC to fight.
We all drank, drank, drank, beer, whiskey, the bus flowed with the nectar of the gods. We gaily drank and watched bad black exploitation films on the bus and of course, Victory! lol. I drank as if the alcohol was water.
We finally made it to Washington and lo and behold, we saw a liquour store!!!! Time to replenish our stocks. I got more beer and ohhhhhhh, they had Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill, I had to have that. Next to the liquor store, some black church was having a barbeque, me and some other drunks smelled the food and crashed the party. The churchgoers was a bit freaked out at the barbaric way that we drunkenly stormed their picnic. They must’ve felt sorry for us because they gave us food. I guess thats what you do when you’re faced with crazy animals, you try to placate them with food. It worked. we grabbed the barbeque and got back on the bus. I sat down, opened my bottle of boone’s farm and drank the entire bottle in one gulp. I shit you not, it tasted like Kool-aid.
Finally at the stadium, I don’t remember much at this point except that we were rowdy as hell and the security came over to calm us down. This tactic worked for ohhh say…five minutes.
I was the ringleader of the drunken savages. The others were horrified but I really didn’t care. I was having fun. This big black security guard said, “one more word out of you and you’re out” So of course I said FUCK YOU at the top of my lungs. I was escorted out of the stadium.
The Bus driver was glad for some company and I proceeded to drink more and watch Xena, warrior princess on the bus telly.
The game was eventually over. We lost (of course) and the dejected ESCers wandered back to the bus and the parking lot. I came off the bus to hang out a bit. Some DC skins decided to come over and check us out. This little white chick came right up in my face. Just stood there in my face. I didn’t say anything. All I saw was red and I punched her right in the face and started wailing on her. I went nuts. My eyes literally went red and I went wild. They had to pull me off of her and they threw me in the bus and locked me in. I went ballistic on the bus, wanting her blood but I wasn’t let off the bus.
Finally, I calmed down and promised to behave. I really did…..for awhile. The bitch came back with her gorilla looking girlfriend. The gorilla took one look at my drunken red eyes and told her friend that they had better leave.
Riding back on the bus to NYC, I lost my mind and started fights with nearly everybody on the bus.
The next day, it all came back to me. Unfortunately, I’m one of those drunks that remember everything. Gawd, I was embarressed. So no more road trips for me and eventually, I gave up going to games because that wasn’t the first time I got drunk and got into fights hanging out with my crew. I was in my late thirties at that point and what kind of decent woman goes around getting drunk and starting fights? Sigh………I sometimes miss it all but I had to grow up sometime
So, is it called Stimulus because its supposed to stimulate the economy? Something is really strange when we’re encouraged to spend, spend, spend. The advertisers are going wild trying to lure people to spend their check on things. What if I wanted to squirrel my loot away? Whatever happened to putting aside money? Why this encouragement to buy things? I just spent all day throwing out stuff that I bought and never used!!!! I shit you not. bags upon bags of crap that I bought. Some stuff still in the frigging bag. Clothes that I never wore. Books that I never read. As I’m typing this, I’m thinking about that rice maker that I just had to have and I have never used. Lets not leave out all the crap that I bought on many vacations because I just had to have a souvenir. I finally threw out that ludicrous Jimmy hat that I bought in Scotland. What a waste of money! And that cute little trinket toy that I bought in Mexico, it wasn’t even authentic, I bought it at the frigging airport because I was bored waiting for my flight. It wasn’t enough that my bags were already loaded with crap that I bought in Oaxaca….Sigh.
So, anyway, I’m cleaning and throwing out stuff and I had the radio on and all I heard all day was advertisements from stores that want you to spend your stimulus check. Yes, spend your check and bring more crap home. I have fucking had it. And I am the frigging shopoholic queen!!!!! I live to spend money but there comes a time when you just have had enough!
So, thanks for the money but you’re not tricking me, oh no, no no. I’m putting my little check in the bank in my money market account and leaving it alone. NOT THE CHECKING ACCOUNT WHERE I SPEND THE LOOT.
I’m not going to be swayed by shiny, pretty things and rush to the store with my debit/credit card.
My next rage will be about the new Ikea that is set to open in Brooklyn in June.
Yeah, its just not going to work. He’s a lying bastard. Its nice that he does things for me but he really makes me miserable now. There’s no redeeming benefit to continue this farce.
So, its time to let go and move on.
In other news, I really need help in cleaning my apartment. I want to get rid of all my clutter. If anybody has any useful suggestions, please tell me.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: AA, alcoholism, cocaine, drugs, Parties, recovery
I bought myself some roses after the meeting on Tuesday. If you want to see dysfunctional people at work, come to an AA business meeting. Lots of hilarity.
Anyway, I’m 58 days sober and I don’t miss drinking. OHHHH LET ME STOP MY LYING!!!!!! I wish I could have a beer or two but unfortunately, it would lead to 151 rum and then following a slutty girl around a party because she has a mirror full of cocaine. Yep, thats the real reason why I finally caved in and decided to try sobriety again. I was at a party with kids twenty years younger than me and I was drunk as a skunk sniffing cocaine. Now I stopped doing cocaine back in 1991 because I nearly overdosed when I was shooting the stuff and I thought that was enough for me. I guess time heals all wounds and causes you to forget the past. As I put the straw to my nose, a brief thought went through my head that I might possibly have a heart attack but I went ahead and snorted anyway. It was weird. I didn’t really feel high, I mean, I did but it wasn’t like bells ringing and the celestial angels singing. Thats how it was when I first did cocaine. Instead, I was besieged with an unnatural craving for more. Luckily, nobody knew where to cop any at that hour so my meager savings was saved from being put in the pocket of some drug dealer.
When I got home hours later in the bright sunshine, I immediately hauled ass to bed and decided that my time was up on the party train.
The day before New Years Eve, I went to the store and bought a bottle of champagne and decided that it would be my last drink. During those last hours of 2007, my camera was stolen from my apartment and other rude shenanigans happened. all which proved to me that my life was out of control and unmanageable.
At the stroke of midnight, I was on the roof of my apartment, watching the fireworks and swilling on my bottle of champagne. Goodbye booze.
Things are kind of weird now, I’m happy to be sober but now I have to deal with all the things that caused me to drink. Insecurity being the major one. I do have to say that I have a much more loving relationship with my cats now. I’m waiting for that love to transfer to my relationships with humans. LOL, the song thats playing on the radio is SPILL THE WINE! LOL. awesome, I like that song.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: fire, homeless, lower east side, NYC, police, poverty
This was taken from my diary. the English is way poor but I’m not that great a writer and I wrote it in a funk. Enjoy it. I might work on it and make it better if I get good feedback on it.
October 15, 1991
Early this morning, I went down to Dinkinsville lot on 8th street. Earlier I slept over Lisa’s and didn’t sleep well. The phone rang and it was Fran Luck activating the phone tree. I wanted to call people on the list but Lisa was obnoxiously insistent about not doing it. I managed to call a few people but unfortunately, I was pressured into stopping.
What was the point of volunteering for something if you don’t do It? Somebody else could’ve done it then. I suspect the main reason for Lisa’s rush was not to help the lot squatters but to be with John the commie. Once there, she proceeded to dis me by saying I slept while she nobly stayed up all night. Give me a fucking break, she didn’t stay up because of her convictions to help the people in the lot, she did it to do her homework. What a Bitch. She even made feel guilty about wanting to go over Seth’s t o sleep last night. I ended up staying with her and getting a miserable night’s sleep.
So anyway, Mary Loo, Lisa and I made our way over to the lots. Lisa was speed walking and I was pissed because she knew my foot and leg was bothering me. I didn’t complain though because I didn’t want to give her satisfaction of knowing she was stressing me.
Lisa and Mary Loo stopped to talk to Moogy and Joel. I didn’t feel like being bothered so I continued on alone. There was hardly anyone there but people started trickling inn. Katherine from the R.C.P was trying to organize the lot people to help keep their lot. She was met with opposition, especially from one loudmouth Hispanic Indian. Terry T was trying to let Katherine have her say but then the homeless started arguing fiercely amongst themselves.
A lot of people wanted to know whether the police move was rumor or fact and who had the information. As far as I knew, Moogy and Joel rode on their bicycles up to 20th Street and saw the police massing. I don’t think they were mistaken. For weeks, people knew the police were going to move on the lots and a lot of people said it would be this morning.
Still the dissention grew and worsened as more supporters and squatters showed up. We were showered with venomous remarks, such as the squatters won’t share space with homeless people but brought trouble upon them. Speaking for myself, considering some of the sights I’ve seen in the lot, you can’t tell me that they didn’t bring heat on themselves. Also, I heard many tales of how a lot of homeless couldn’t make it in the squats do to inabilities such as refusal to work with people and drug use. Those were very important reasons not to let ANYBODY live in certain squats. I’m not saying that all the homeless have problems but its ridiculous to deny the fact that some of them can’t be dealt with.
Katherine tried to get everybody to build barricades that we would set on fire to prevent the cops from entering the lot. I helped some guys move garbage bags in the rear end of the lot by the recycling place. I was starting to feel really ambitious and good about what we were doing but the fierce arguments ensued thus bursting my bubble. The Mexicans come back in the lot. Okay, I forgot to mention when we first arrived, many people panicked,packed their things and went across the street to wait. Because the cops didn’t come right away, some of the dissenters said we were full of shit and stirring up trouble. So some people came back and wrecked the front barricades despite our insistence that the police were indeed about ready to roll on the lots.
Things got really scary then. The Indian guy started to threaten Katherine, she stood her ground until she was persuaded to go to the sidewalk for awhile. Some guy who was yelling at John the commie and Karl decided to fuck with me. I got really indignant when he called my Air force field jacket a “revolutionary”, so I screamed at him that he was totally off base. Then a Mexican guy, brandishing a huge stick, yelled at me to get off of the lot. “fine, they want to be assholes, let them save themselves” I thought. Clayton Patterson was there not lifting a finger to help me but watched and gave me a wry smile. I really dislike him. As soon as I left, there was a huge explosion from the lot bonfire. People flew from the ring around the fire. I was amused. I figured it served them right for being careless about what they threw in the flames. I hoped that nobody got hurt though.
By this time, all of the squatters and supporters were outside of the lot either on the sidewalk or across the street. It was still dark out, the cops haven’t shown yet and the fire roared on. I took advantage of the chaos following the explosion and ran inside to the rear barricades. After I felt that no one was going to chase me out, I thought about my situation.
Here I am, sentinel of the night, armed with lighter fluid, spray starch, matches, a stick and some paper to make a makeshift torch. I figured out how I could effectively ignite the barricades and then I started daydreaming about rebel life to the tune of Jon Bon Jovi’s “Blaze of Glory”. Pretty corny, huh, it’s a tribute to my amazingly wild imagination that I can think of such romantic heroics while standing in a field of shit. Yeah, that’s right, a field of shit and people were flashing their asses, shitting all around me. The smell was most delightful.
In spite of the noxious surroundings and the shitty odor, it was beautiful early morning. The air felt wonderfully cool on my face and the stars were still shining in the navy blue sky. I was transfixed by the beauty of the raging bonfire but I was also worried that it would attract the police and the fire dept as well. From the looks of things, all of the squatters and supporters weren’t in the lot with the exception of Katherine and I. I don’t think anybody knew I was in back and I kept quiet and discreet to keep it that way. In my opinion, I think everybody that came down to defend the lot as really bewildered at the hostility from the homeless people. People tried to make the homeless understand that we were here to try to help them but they felt that we were bringing trouble to them by being there. Not too far from the truth but not completely true at the same time.l Suddenly there were shouts that the police were coming and I could hear sirens off in the distance. People in the lot really started panicking and tried to gather their things. For some odd reason, some of the men just chose to keep the fire burning and throwing combustive items in the flames. Soon there were explosions, real smart move. I just couldn’t understand the stupidity of it all. I mean, I understood they were in a state of panic but it was suicide as far as I was concerned.
Suddenly the rear tents burst into flames and I could hear a man’s voice cry out ” Why are you setting the tents on fire? Stop it!” The fire spread and grew immense, flames reached up to burn the trees right behind the tents. I was extremely worried that the adjacent apartment building would catch fire but luckily it didn’t happen.
Well, we didn’t have to wait for the cops to evict the lots, the homeless did it to themselves. Word is going around that the Mexicans did it but I don’t know for sure. All I know is that it went downhill from there. The fire department took their time getting to the lot but our people ran around shouting fire warnings and some squatters brought water to put out the fire.
As the fire raged on, the media descended on the lot, taking pictures of the blaze. I went over to Katherine and when I saw the dejected look on her face I knew it was all over. The firemen finally arrived to put out the fire and I ran back inside the lot to see what was going on. I’m not sure if it was a good thing or not but by staying in the lot by the newly arrived piggies in riot gear.
So there was just less than a handful of supporters left besides the remaining homeless. Squatters, supporters and homeless people alike were herded across the street and then off the block. Some cops asked Katherine and I to move away from the lot but we both knew we’d never get back in so we went back inside the lot undeterred.
Poor Terry looked so miserable watching the fireman dousing the flames with water. Artie Cabrera came up to me and asked me to watch out for firemen needlessly ruining tents. I guess the fire was enough for them because they made no move to destroy anything. Artie, Katherine, a reporter for the Shadow , Terry T and I stood around checking out the photographers at work.
As daylight arrived, we could see the devastation wrought by the fire. Nothing was left of the tents except smoldering bits of debris and the trees were badly burnt. The majority of the tents were undamaged and I halfheartedly hoped thought that the occupants would be able to go back and live in them. My answer waited across the street, standing in line with riot helmets on their piggy heads. Artie was having a good laugh calling out “Hey Sweathog” to Betsy Herzog. Alas, our fun was over, the riot police marched in and ordered us out of the lot. I belligerently asked them for what reason. The cop wasn’t having so he got snotty right back at me and his friends looked menacingly at us. Artie knew when to quit so we followed suit and helped Terry get his cart out of the lot. We ended up by the bakery where we ran into Fran and Michael Shenker. Terry started bugging out and the cops wanted to get rid of him but I persuaded Terry to come into the bakery for some coffee. When we came back out, the cops chased us away from the bakery.
At this time, I was feeling quite demoralized, all I wanted to do was to go home. Walking on, we ran into John and the group pretty much split up from there. Ninth St. to Seventh street between Aves B and C was cordoned off so we reluctantly made our way to eighth street and Ave B. When we got there, Father Kuhn was giving a statement to Channel 2 news and I really wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. I felt so cruddy and all I really wanted was to go home at this point. I saw John Penley and I went over to talk to him.
Aftermath: wandering, disoriented, nowhere to find shelter. I find more people huddled in doorways, on sidewalks and sleeping in subways this week. Thanks, Mayor Dinkins.
First of all, its really cold out and I hardly get a chance to stay home anymore. So, I blew off going to choir practice today. Its not really a good thing to do but I really felt like staying home. I blew over twenty bucks on a Lynyrd Skynyrd greatest hits cd but its really good. I’m playing it all the time which is something I hardly do with music anymore. Today, I went to my AA women’s meeting and I had sweets for breakfast, bad idea because I got sick as a dog. I’m forever relegated to oatmeal and flax seed for the rest of my days on Earth. I’m in love, yes, I’ve said it. I’m in love with somebody that I don’t even know. It just sort of happened. If the person in question ever found out that I liked him, he’d freak out so I’m not telling him. Anyway, its the most decent love affair I have ever had. I get to worship him from afar and I don’t have to talk to him or have sex. I have my trusty hitachi magic wand for that and my new dildo!!!! I have better orgasms having fantasy sex anyway and its a lot cleaner. I have to admit that I do miss kissing somebody. But I’m so picky, I hate bad kissers. You could be the nicest guy in the world but if you can’t kiss, I can’t deal with you. The only exception was my first boyfriend Eric. He couldn’t kiss to save his life but oh my gosh, he was so adorable! I didn’t care at all about his bad kissing. We met on a cold winter’s day. I saw him here and there because he lived next door to my then besdt friend, Linda Wright. One day I was leaving Linda’s house and he was in the driveway of his house with his poodle Alfie. I walked over to him and asked him if he believed in vampires and he said yes. It was love at first sight and we instantly embarked into teenage romance. We were both fourteen and cute. Our first real date, we went to the movies and my dad drove us there. It was a R rated flick called Foxy Brown. I can’t believe our parents let us go but it was way permissive way back then. The theater was dark and the picture came on. A woman is lying in bed and as she rises, the blanket falls and we are assaulted with BIG BROWN KNOCKERS!!!! I quickly put my hand in front of Eric’s eyes but he just as quickly pushed my hand away. I was freaked out, I was a skinny thing back then and I was way intimidated by Pam Grier’s tits. Still, I enjoyed the movie and the date. Day passed and Eric and I was growing closer and closer. I used to go to Orchestra practice in the early morning. I played violin. Eric started coming to school early as well and I ended up ducking out on a lot of orchestra practice to hang out with him. I spend my lunchtimes with him too. We’d find an empty classroom and eat our lunches together. That kid had an appetite. He’d eat three huge sandwichs a day and remained skinny as a rail.
It was March 1, 1975, I was over at Eric’s place and we were hanging out in his basement. His little sister came downstairs and was playing with the light switch, turning it on and off. When she kept it off for a long time, Eric leaned over and kissed me. It was electric! I’ve been kissed before but not by somebody I loved. It was the most intense, sweetest, most cosmic experience ever. His sister turned the light back on and we pulled away from each other. Eric asked his sister to turn the light off again and the little brat said. “no, because you two are going to kiss” Gawd, that kid was smart. Eric hustled her upstairs and we commenced the kissing again. We were interrupted many times that night by his brother Rudy, who came downstairs in his mother’s fur coat pretending he was a bear. lol. Finally, his father came down and squashed the make out session. In the meantime. My mother was frantically calling my friend Linda’s house, demanding that I come home. Linda finally got sick of it and told my parents that I was over at Eric’s. My father promptly came over to get me. As we were getting my bike out of his garage, he leaned over and kissed me again quickly and said, wow, that was the shortest kiss of the night. I got home and was in awash in tingles and flushes and desire. I never felt such feelings before.
Unfortunately, our romance wasn’t without its troubles. When the kids at school found out that I was dating a white boy, they freaked out. It was bad enough that my best friend was white. Yeah, my best friend used to be Linda Wright but during that Winter, I became friends with my white classmate, Carol Colwell and we were like two peas in a pod. I lost a lot of friends and was somewhat ostracized by the black students because I was dating Eric. I didn’t care. I loved Eric so much. Unfortunately, the situation grew worse because his parents didn’t like our relationship at all. They relentlessly teased him about me. I did eat Palm Sunday dinner at his house and it was weird. Did I realize that I was doing a unnatural thing? Not at all. I thought I had every right to go out with him. I didn’t see him as a white guy but as a really cool boy that I was in love with. We’d walk home together and eat ice cream cones together. It was fucking sweet. His parents finally made him break up with me. I remember the day. I was standing at his driveway, just like the day I first talked to him and he told me that he had to break up with me. I rode home on my bike, I could hardly see the road because tears was flowing down my face fast and furious. I got home and my mother opened the door. She saw my face and asked me what was wrong. I tried to compose myself but my mother knew something was up and she made me come to her bedroom and sit next to her on the bed. Now mind you, all this time, I didn’t think that she knew anything about Eric. I had no idea that my dad told her everything. I was so naive back then. Sigh, so anyway, I sat on the bed, looked at her and just started blubbering “he broked up with me because I’m black!” and I just lost control and cried. I was waiting for my mother to raise her hand and slap the piss out of me. My relationship with my mother was kinda stormy and fraught with physical abuse. When she raised her hand, I flinched, preparing for the smackdown but instead she held me and pulled me to her shoulders and I cried my eyes out. I think it was one of the most touching things that she had ever done for me.
What happened afterwards? Well, Eric and I continued to be in love with each other but I dated other guys. He was always my heart though, he still is after all these years. We talk every now and then. We are worlds apart, emotionally, physically and intellectually but you never forget your first love.
So thats my ramble for today. Now I feel all melancholy and romantic.
