Working Class Stiff


26 and blessed beyond my wildest dreams.

For almost a year, I’ve been living a circumstance that seems unrealistically fictitious.

From the house to the pre-owned above ground pool, I feel like I am constantly waking to a daydream.

As if at any given moment I’ll find myself, along with my family shoved back into reality.

Living back on McKinley; draggin’ home a fully loaded grocery cart from Target, legitimately starving, just trying to make it.

I think that I can vibe with Rowling’s skepticisms, for this new life, this new reality, I just cannot bring myself to accept it.

How’d I get here?

I know the answer’s logically sound, that every T’s been crossed, and every I dotted.

Still I can’t seem to shake this dreamy sensation, and I’m not even on any sort of medication.

(Chorus working class stiff, working class fam.

Where we never do things according to plan.

My mama never did live the life of a soccer mom, sporting the classic minivan.

Instead she played both of the roles as my mom and dad.

I remember her continuously teaching me how to work hard.

Each of us scrubbing toilets, making 25 dollars in two hours.

Putting a week’s pay toward the necessities.

We might have been flat broke, and could barely breathe, but at least we earned our keep.)

You on the other hand, have grown up with certain expectations, use to a certain level of comfort.

Creatures of habit, but let’s face it you’ve never once had it like we’ve had it.

You never once had to push, flush, rush, be constantly continuous, cause you’re not us.

Living on the wrong side of the tracks, dealing with those fucked up wacks. Never quite on track, putting up an act, without a single brain cell left intact.

I always felt kinda bad, even though their addictions were bad they’re still apart of the human race, yet Richie Rich bastards like yourselves, wouldn’t even care to remember their face.

Your heart’s are cold and twisted like a maze.

Unfortunate as it is, this is something that we can’t escape,

I hate the fact that you think, this is a part of my blood that I must – should embrace.

Honestly I hate to be the one to break it to ya, but all of your attempts are a waste.

I’m not high class, I’m working class all the way.

(Chorus working class stiff, working class fam.

Where we never do things according to plan.

My mama never did live the life of a soccer mom, sporting the classic minivan.

Instead she played both of the roles as my mom and dad.

I remember her continuously teaching me how to work hard.

Each of us scrubbing toilets, making 25 dollars in two hours.

Putting a week’s pay toward the necessities.

We might have been flat broke, and could barely breathe, but at least we earned our keep.)

What’s a matter Brown clan, afraid your cash won’t win my allegiance?

That my love for my working class blood, out ranks the family name?

What, can’t think of anything witty or intellectual to retort?

I gotta tell ya right now, living your way, your lifestyle would be my last resort.

So go ahead, play it safe, play your game, and we’ll all go our separate ways.

I’ll take my place as the little baa, baa, black sheep, with the high class fam, and stick forever close to my working class fam.

Because at least with them I know where I stand, forever a working class woman.

Contractor Don’ts


To be perfectly clear this post has to do with a contractor who really sucks at his job. This post is not meant to be a guide on which contractors to avoid, though you might take a tip or two away in this post.

I hired this contractor in late June to re-build my second story deck, which runs across the length of the back of my house. The old deck had seen its best days perhaps forty years ago. At first the guy seemed great, he had given me a good price and began to re-build the structure immediately. That first week was paradise he had the old deck torn down within three days max, and began to build the frames for the new deck.

As I said that first week paradise, now it’s August 9th and I don’t even have the flooring fully in, so now that you’ve gotten an idea of what I’ve been dealing with I’ll continue.

For privacy sake I’ll be using a different name for my crazy, nut job contractor, we’ll call him… Loony Larry, or just Larry for short.

Hmm, let’s see what was the first indication that Larry was indeed loony, ah yes the garage door moment.

Friday, 10:30AM, July 29th, location: driveway/garage.

I came around to the back of the house to ask Larry a question about the deck, I expected to find him up on the deck. Instead I find him sitting again one of my garage doors, with his radio sitting beside him. The radio was cranking out country music, I’m pretty sure I heard Reba McEntire’s For my broken heart playing.

Larry sits against the garage door, his face, the definition of gloom. The lyrics, (I guess the world won’t stop, for my broken heart.) Play on, making the gloom on his face even more defined. I approach him cautiously, for fear that I might be seeing apart of him that he wouldn’t want one of his customers to see; or at least I certainly wouldn’t if I were in his shoes. He looks up and sees me, suddenly I feel awkward, as if I’ve intruded on a private moment. But then the business side of my brain pops into play with, he shouldn’t be having a private moment while on the job site. This propels me forward and I stand near him waiting.

Larry: (Turns down the music) Sorry Chelsea, I’m just feeling a bit blue at the moment.

Me: (Can’t help feeling sympathetic, though I don’t even know why he’s depressed.) I’m sorry to here that.

Larry: (Kicks at a piece of gravel.) I’ve been working so much, and I guess I’m just worn down.

Me: We all get worn down, but I wouldn’t get depressed about it.

Larry: It’s not so much that, it’s really the fact that I had to fire one of my guys last week, for stealing tools.

Me: (I have heard this story a dozen times since the termination of the employee’s position. I know the details so well, that I could recite them. So I do; out of pure annoyance and frustration.) I know the guy worked with you for years, and you’ve known him since you did flooring installs for Bob’s furniture. But the guy can’t have been that great if he stole from you.

Larry: (sighs.) I know you’re right, but he was a good friend, and I miss him.

Me: (I feel the need to repeat the last bits of what I just said to him, but decide not to because he’ll yammer on and on about the guy, and all I want Larry to do is get to work on the deck.) Say you know what would help take those blues away? (He looks at me perplexedly, then shakes his head.) Good old fashioned hard work, so roll up those sleeves, and I bet you’ll be feeling better before you know it.

Larry: You know something Chelsea, I haven’t had to use. (He raises his fists.) Old Betsy, and Bertha, since I was in high school. We’re talking fifteen years.

Me: (Tried as I might to avoid this, he’s started to yammer, great.) I’m sure that fight is a hard thing to come to terms with. But I’m telling you the kind of work that you do, building things, that probably just makes you feel so good, and releases your tensions. Perhaps I’ll join you up there, that is if I weren’t afraid of heights.

Larry: Chels you’re gay right?

Me: (wondering what in the hell my sexuality has to do with this conversation?) Yes, why?

Larry: (beginning to sob.) I- I- was just wondering if you could tell me why guys are so mean?

Me: (He’s joking right?) Well that’s hard to say considering I’m a lesbian and have never dated guys.

Larry: (Now sobbing into my shoulder.) It just sucks, why can’t you just be able to trust an employee anymore? Why would they just rob you blind, I mean he was paid a decent wage.

Me: (Creeped out and losing my patience.) Sometimes people just suck and you just need to get over it. (I pick up his hammer and hand it to him.) I’ve got to get going, so you should get back to work on the flooring install of the deck.

Larry: Yeah, I should. (He begins to sob again.)

Me: (For Christ sake.) What now?

Larry: Nothing, it just, this was Kevin’s hammer.

Me: Look there’s another hammer in the garage, I’ll be by later to see how things are progressing.

It’s ten days later and I’m still waiting for him to finish the flooring, but he has at least attached all of the railing and some of the stairs. Apparently I attract the same type of contractors as the type women that I date, both are crazy, and are full of excuses, and are extremely lazy.

 

 

Labels


I’ve had this post/vent on my mind on and off for a few months now. What finally lead me to blog about it is my current excursion into this dating app that I’m trying out.

One of the questionnaires that you have the option to answer is regarding your sexuality. For instance, are you a? Lesbian, bisexual, pan sexual, Gender fluid, demisexual, transgender, etc. This got me thinking, why in the hell are we using so many different labels? For instance the use of pan sexuality, why not just say that your bi, because your are basically attracted to both genders. Or better yet why don’t we just stop using all of these labels? If you’re a man who happens to be attracted to men; why couldn’t you say I prefer the company of men, and just drop the “I’m gay.”

Perhaps it’s because as human beings we cannot resist the urge of defining who we are. Or is it perhaps society? To make this world function properly we must have a name, a word, or a label for every single thing. Or perhaps it’s the fact that Obama’s term is coming to a close and we may very well be subjected to the horror of having a President Trump; who plans on overruling the supreme court’s marriage equality decision. Whatever the reason behind the labeling, I wish that we didn’t have the need for them, because we all are human and I’d like to think that we’ve progressed, minus the fact that we have a life size troll doll running for office.

 

Stephen King’s Carrie


 

Stephen King’s legendary debut, about a teenage outcast and the revenge she enacts on her classmates.
 
Carrie White may have been unfashionable and unpopular, but she had a gift. Carrie could make things move by concentrating on them. A candle would fall. A door would lock. This was her power and her sin. Then, an act of kindness, as spontaneous as the vicious taunts of her classmates, offered Carrie a chance to be a normal and go to her senior prom. But another act—of ferocious cruelty—turned her gift into a weapon of horror and destruction that her classmates would never forget.

 

Carrie, the first novel that we saw from Stephen King.

I had received this as a Christmas gift from my sister, and had gobbled the book down by mid-January.

This book drew me in, with Carrie’s telekinetic ability; along with her backstory. There’s just something about a God crazed mother and her manic parental practices, that not only keeps you reading, but makes you feel for Carrie white’s home life situation.

What propels the story forward is pure jealously mixed together with spoiled brat syndrome from the main antagonist Chris. Her desire to taunt Carrie White lands her in detention where she discovers she will not be permitted to attend her senior prom as she had been planning.

What follows is a most cruel plot to ruin Carrie White, but might actually blow up in her own face.

It’s a story of revenge, on all sides of the spectrum, which leaves a mark on the townsfolk of Chamberlain.

The story is gripping the only down side to it, is the back and forth between the action and the stories from the townsfolk. One moment you’re smackdab right in the middle of the action and things are really beginning to heat up; and then with a flip of the page, or end of the chapter. You’re reading sworn testimony by an onlooker, or a neighbor of the White’s. It was quite a bit of stop and go, though it was necessary I really felt that it took away from the excitement, you’d go from 60mph to 5mph and then back up again. He more than likely was going for that sort of roller coaster effect, but for me it had the opposite effect.

All in all, the story was pretty good and I can see why it became such a must read at the time of its publication, and why it’s now considered a classic Stephen King read. It’s one of those rare titles that’s definitely worth rereading.

Twilight: New Moon


New moonFor Bella Swan, there is one thing more important than life itself: Edward Cullen. But being in love with a vampire is more dangerous than Bella ever could have imagined. Edward has already rescued Bella from the clutches of an evil vampire, but now, as their daring relationship threatens all that is near and dear to them, they realize their troubles may just be beginning….

Legions of readers entranced by the New York Times bestseller Twilight are hungry for more, and they won’t be disappointed by this gripping sequel. In New Moon, Stephenie Meyer delivers another irresistible combination of romance and suspense with a supernatural twist. Passionate, riveting, and deeply moving, this vampire love saga is well on its way to literary immortality.

 

You may be wondering why I have decided to review the second book in the saga, instead of the first? The reason being was that this book in comparison to the rest, was so depressing. It was one of those reads where you’re thankful above all else that it’s over.

In the first book we become acquainted with the first sparks of first love, which is so exciting; with its new/unexplored experiences. The first kiss, first hand holding, secrets shared, or in this case secrets found out by Bella, from her friend Jacob. Going into New Moon you know that the love between Edward and Bella would surely have its obstacles given Edward’s vampire background, along with the danger that Bella faced in the first book. What I did not expect was the sudden vanishing of Edward from Bella’s life. It’s the suddenness of Edward’s departure that both Bella and Edward begin to slip into the cloud of depression.

It’s a difficult process when the first love ends, even when the reasoning behind the split is with good intentions. In this book it proves to be impossible to get over. There’s a few tilts of the hat toward Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Personally from a writer’s point of view, I think that Stephenie Meyer might have been curious to see how Romeo and Juliet would have turned out in this day and age; mixing it all up with vampires and Werewolves. It was interesting but as I said before, it was also depressing. Bella remains trapped in this fog of despair that only Jacob can somewhat pull her out of. There was also a lot of contemplation of suicide, which rubbed me the wrong way. But then again, the mere idea of teenage suicide saddens me. Perhaps Meyer was trying to put in a clear message that suicide and the heartbreak of first love should never go together. Or maybe it was just the modern day spinoff of Romeo and Juliet; of which the thoughts stemmed from. It keeps you turning the pages, and you’ll let out a sigh of relief once you reach the end of the book, but it wouldn’t be a book that I’d want to read more than once. The other books I could, but this one not so much.

 

A short glimpse


Hey everybody, I’ve been working on this short story for the past few days. (Still a WIP,) but I thought that I might actually try submitting. There’s no title to this piece but I thought I’d give you a peek. I hope you find it interesting.

 

The Autumn air, (still feeling like a warm summer day) whooshed past her face as she pumped her legs moving upward on the swing. There’s was something so peaceful about being on the swings, they could calm her thoughts even on her worst day. Today had been terrible, for the horrid teacher that she had suffered through last year, had followed her to eighth grade English. Ms. Nielson had picked up right where she had left off from the previous year, with the exception of changing curriculum. Instead of studying authors like Louis Sacher, and Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn. They were now digging into memoirs, and History, like the Holocaust and reading The Diary of Anne Frank. How she longed for next year when they would be introduced to Shakespeare, or more accurately, Romeo & Juliet. Nielson had picked up right where she had left off, her voice ringing with clear fury, and her frustration showing even more easily in her old age. Why they don’t just let the old bat go; but then the word she despised popped into her head, tenure. For the next few years Nielson would have a permanent residence in the English department of Prescott Junior High, continuing to torture both students and staff with her nasty attitude. Just this year, just get through this year and you’ll never have to tolerate the old bitch again. Nielson might have been granted to torture the lower classmen but the upperclassmen got teachers like Parker, Long, and Kelly, all who were as even tempered as possible and young.

She glimpsed up at the blue mountain backdrop, (a gorgeously, magnificent sight that only The Rockies could provide.) She drifted willingly and happily. She could smell the rich mountain air, and see the Rockies as they were meant to be seen; up close and surrounding her in every direction. She could see the trail, unchanged, the Columbines blooming along it’s edges, as if they were guiding her up the trail. A light breeze brushed against her and pine trees provided shade from the sun overhead. If only she could stay in this memory, but at the very least the memory had served its purpose. To wash away what had clung to her conscious mind, since the guidance counselor had presented her with her class schedule. Now she could go home, now she could stand to be around her parents and deal with whatever might transpire.

“Roxy, Hey girl.”

Roxy broke her stare from the distant blue mountains and looked down the park’s fence alleyway, where Crystal emerged from, smiling broadly.

“Hey Crystal,” Roxy greeted, but showed no signs of slowing down, as her legs took in another pump of the air.

“You know something, every time I come to the park you’re always on the swings.”

“I like to lose myself on them,” she said flatly.

“Me too,” said Crystal, as she mounted the other available swing, next to Roxy.

Roxy felt a wave of annoyance and displeasure wash over her.

“So how’d your first day back go?” Crystal asked then added, “Mine was long and boring.”

“It was all right,” she said, not caring enough to mention her dislike to find out that she had Nielson for another year.

“I’ve got homework already, Nielson,” Crystal continued.

Oh thanks for reminding me, homework on the first day, what kind of teacher gives a homework assignment on the first day back. At least it’s easy. Roxy thought as Crystal’s continued yammering began to sound like static from a radio.

A few minutes later Crystal dismounted from the swing set only to head over to the jungle gym to climb on the monkey bars, still yammering about subjects such as school friends, and her folks. At least that’s what Roxy assumed. Every once in a while when she would tune Crystal back in. At which point Roxy would say “Yeah, that’s ridiculous, or parents are weird.”

It had been shortly after Crystal had dismounted from the swings that Roxy first noticed her. She recognized her instantly. It was that curly haired new girl, she’d seen her around the neighborhood a few weeks before school began, and she seemed different, compared the other girls in the neighborhood; she kept to herself, and seemed shy. But there was something else about this girl that had nothing to do with the vibes she put off, no it was something unrecognizable to Roxy. It almost felt like a question with the answer visible, but still far too blurred to properly see it. So she knew the thing was there and yet, blank.

I dream of fun in the sun


Without a shred of doubt I’ve got a lot to be thankful for this year. The book, the house, but above all else at the moment, I’m thankful for the backyard, and the above ground pool.

Over this past week I’ve been busy assembling a gazebo, patio furniture, and rolling out the artificial grass carpet. Yes sir, this year there’s going to be plenty of activities this summer. And that’s where I find my mind wandering off to, the pool, cookouts, parties; I know it’s going to be a fun summer. (Which is the first time that I’ve actually been able to say that, instead of wishing or hoping for it.)

However with all of this going on, I find myself on a slippery slope writing wise. Tonight, for the first time in a little over a week; I’ve actually forced myself to sit at my desk and work on the book, (which I’m still a little stuck on,but getting better in the results department.) I think I really need to get my ass back into the swing of a scheduled routine; instead of writing when I’m feeling a little less nervous/blocked. Once again I’m wishing that I had the will power and the determination of Mr Stephen King. The man writes everyday and I want to get myself into that same grove, if only just to get in the necessary practice time so that I can better my literary craft. But… I can say one thing that I’m doing and that’s reading, I’ve got this portion of practice down. Now to get a better grasp on the writing portion.

Goal set, and unlike my New years resolutions, this I plan on sticking to and see it through, like a weight loss program.