Dear Hearts,
It’s official. I am moved into G-Pa’s house. The Kate Sprawl has firmly gripped every “Kate Space” like ivy attaches itself to whatever it can. Then it grows.
Thirty-three Barbie dolls. Yup. 33. Too bad like only 11% of my collection. Yeah. I place my collection at somewhere near 350. Hey—I have been collecting over 25 years. I forgot how happy Barbie makes me. To be surrounded by Barbie makes me feel good.
A couple of men almost died last night. Well, only one. But I wanted to yell at the other.
G-Pa’s Driving Axioms
1. I drive like a New Yorker (even though I say I drive like a low-cal Jerseyite) or Easterner
2. There must be no traffic laws in the East and cops must just not care. The East is like Mad Max Thunderdome when it comes to driving.
3. If I am driving I must stay under the speed limit or the cops will come after G-Pa. Not me. G-Pa. They will come after him.
4. The cops in The Holy City are tricky and very strict. They don’t put up with Eastern Driving.
5. You must stop at a STOP sign for at least 1 AND 2 AND 3 AND…
6. You don’t yield the right-of-way to anyone else. Ever.
7. If there is a car parked on the road and an oncoming car you must pull over. Even though there is enough space for you, the on-coming car, and the parked car, you must pull over because you must leave 10 yards between you a parked car.
8. If you pull into an empty parking space and there is another empty one is front of you—you CANNOT pull through.
9. G-Pa obeys all the traffic laws at all times and is the best driver ever.
10. Everyone has their “brights on”—the lights today are made differently than his Buick Century.
11. Aunt Faerie and Bugsy need to get reflectors on their driveway (and not that this has anything to do with driving, but G-Pa may just go over there one day and dig up that tree stump and cut down that tree that is going to fall onto the house at any moment)
12. Don’t stop for squirrels—just hit them.
13. You have to go into Walmart the same way every time. Every time.
14. “Right right here, to the left.”
15. “Turn at the next alley or road or secret passageway only locals know about
16. And, my E-Cigs will kill me while I am driving.
17. You must always take the longest “scenic” route.
18. My iPhone GPS is wrong.
So, I try hard to follow these rules. I CROSS MYSELF in saying this: I have never gotten a traffic ticket; I have never had an accident that was my fault (except that parked car that came outta nowhere—but I was 17); and no one has ever died while driving with me.
Last night, I thought I was doing so good in driving him to Aunt Faerie’s for dinner. I stayed below 30 MPH. I stopped 1 AND 2 AND 3 AND… at the STOP signs.
“Geez, Kate you rush to the STOP signs!”
“You mean, you want me to wait longer at them?”
“No, you go too fast in between them. You scare me. The cops will get you!” (And then him, presumably.)
“Okay, I am staying under the speed limit though.”
“It doesn’t matter, you will get a ticket.”
“I’ll try to do better.”
“Your Mother drives the same way. You can’t drive here the way you do in the East.”
“People have told that I do “short stop.” It’s a habit that I have had for over 20 years. I’ll try better.”
“You scare me. I think you’re not going to stop.”
I’LL TRY BETTER. That phrase needs to be struck from my vocabulary for-fucking-ever.
“Geez, Kate you rush to the STOP signs!”
“If you say so.”
“No, you go too fast in between them. You scare me. The cops will get you!” (And then him, presumably.)
“I’m going the speed limit.”
“It doesn’t matter, you will get a ticket.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Your Mother drives the same way. You can’t drive here the way you do in the East.”
“People have told that I do “short stop.” It’s a habit that I have had for over 20 years. Deal with it, Old Man.”
“You scare me. I think you’re not going to stop.”
“We all have shit in our lives. You wanna see me Jersey-Drive? Hold onto your skivvies! I’m a rebel without a cause!”
Oh, and I forgot to mention over dinner…
“Well, are making any progress on selling your house?”
He redeemed himself when we got home and I started unpacking my Barbie dolls that I’d brought from My House. He said, “those are real nice dolls.”
Yeah, he now has 18 in his living room, plus faerie figurines, Elizabeth The American Girl, Hallmark Ornaments, stuffies, and the little erasers shaped like food—I love those!
The TV that he always worries Dad (who is never staying here again—ever!) will burn out by watching, is now crowned with Barbie and Ken as “Prince William and Princess Kate” in their Wedding Attire. J-Lo is next to them.
He is oblivious to my smoking in the basement and he actually let me move in. T. never let me put anything in the living room. Even if we lived at My House—I was to have no Barbies in the living room.
“Fuck you, T., you fucking drunk. Have a Listerine on me.”
I love G-Pa. I forgive G-Pa. Gram never even drove the car with him in it. Mom taught Gram how to drive! It’s not out of malice—but I DON’T HAVE TO SAY, “I’LL TRY BETTER.”
I have about 10 minutes left…and then I am having my coffee and cigarette before I go to Mass.
The man who almost died was Bugsy.
We got to Aunt Faerie’s house and went inside—he goes first, so I could back up the car and point it toward the driveway—because whenever he is in the car with me I just about “GO OVER THE LEDGE!!”
Poor Aunt Faerie has stepped in dog shit and walked around with it all day. Poor Aunt Faerie. No one noticed apparently. But, I can understand that just making her pissed off on a Friday.
She and Bugsy always pick up their dog’s poop right away. I mentioned how it was different for me growing up and living in Henry—we never picked it up.
Bugsy’s Dog Shit Axioms
1. Even though he will never be on my parents’ property, 850 miles away, he will step in some shit we, or the deer, left behind.
2. “RIP: Here Lies The Dog That Shit On My Lawn” is funny.
3. He would shoot—yes, SHOOT (even he had a gun), a dog that shits on his lawn.
4. If you kick a dog hard enough to break its ribs, it won’t shit on your lawn anymore.
5. And “Why” did I find that “fucked up and fucking disturbing?”
That’s when I took the two Xanax and had a low-level-functioning panic attack. I haven’t had one for few days. So there is something.
Even if Bugsy is not serious about all that shit (no pun intended), it is still fucked up and disturbing that he jokes about it. (Sorry Aunt Faerie.) If Bugsy ever were to shoot a dog (he’ll never own a gun), there would be two hits. Saint Francis smiting Bugsy, and Bugsy hitting da’ floor.
I am off for my first cigarette of the day and coffee before Mass.
Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless
In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.
PS: Oops. I counted wrong. 34 Barbies. I forget Lady Camille who encased in and pretty box meant to hand on the wall. She is above my bed. The Barbies Gia and Johnny got for me for Christmas are in the basement in my Smoking Nook. J
Grateful For:
Barbie
Angel
Xanax
Living Here
Ice Cream (the bowl full I had last night was pretty fucking big—in yo’ face Michelle Obama!)
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