Just a Year in the Life of Thibodeaux

This year has been super rough.  I still got that happy face slapped on but it's been rough. First, I'd like to thank everyone who has been there through all of this.  Maybe even apologize to those that probably cared that I kept in the dark.  I haven't written since October and always try to do a little diddy for the end of the year.  So here's to all y'all still there, I'm gonna take a deep breath and just know that this is the truth behind my 2015.

January- I decided not to go to China with one of my main gals but thoughts of leaving at a later time. Starts in South Dakota for my birthday, ending the month finding out I'd once dated a guy living with his chick of five years and a little girl who called him "Daddy." My hear still goes out to her, and I thank her for coming together with me, as women joining, to catch him and call him out on his shit and kicking him out of our lives.

February- I gave up a child with probably the only man in my life I'd ever put full trust in. My money, my family, my car, my women, my life. I wasn't ready and I have no regrets but I also will never forget.

March- New adventures started. New adventures with new problems.  I was travelling and living and ready to get on with life.  This month really was a blur. I was starstruck.

April- Work is taking a huge back burner.  I don't care about the job, I didn't think I'd be there that long, I'm frustrated because I know what I'm capable of and the amazing career I'd had before. I'm considering California because I know people there who had been asking me to come on over for forever.

May- I leave for Sacramento, California, driving across the United States in a fucking '73 Beetle.  I couldn't go more than 60 mph or else she'd blow up.  Air cooled engines be bitches and shit. I get to Sacramento in one piece, having been promised a job that fell through in the same week.  The search for jobs was intense.

June- Still unemployed but between making art, new friends, nocturnal drives through the mountains, San Francisco, walking around the cities, camping, gardening, big ass lakes, making music videos, and chai tea, it was completely bearable.

July- I moved to Seattle to be with someone. I moved to Seattle. To live with someone. In a car. Within the first week, said person had called the police to come get me out of the car because he couldn't stand my ass. I wish I could tell you that's where it ended with us. In contrast, the next morning I had no where to be and no one to be with so I got a job. "Can you come in for your first shift in two hours?" Fuckin right I can. So I did. Bartending 40+ hours a week, having my own shots menu for the weekends, getting regulars, paying off bills, this was it. This was what I was looking for. Living. In. A. Car.

August- Pick up a second job to pass time and make that money. Gotta get a place of my own because the worry of people seeing me sleep and breaking in my safe zone is really starting to get to me.  Talk of moving in with the guy. Women are popping up on the phone and on facebook but it's not real. It's all in my head. Luckily I met a cool gal who was the only one who really knew the situation and let me sleep over at her place when she could.  Shoulders feeling lighter.

September-  I realize I'm lighter. I'd been walking about an hour and a half to and from work.  Sometimes walking 3 or 4 hours a day just wandering the city, having no living room or bed room to chill in.  Got different job on a different side of town.  Something different with less hours but it's still working.  Dinner in the Space Needle for his birthday. Almost got married to a coworker to keep them in the United States. Had my first comedy performance in Seattle.

October- Call me superstitious. This month, for as long as I can remember has always been the worst month of the year.  It's inevitable.  I got the opportunity to be a carpenter at a place I'd been hounding for months.  That was all the hilight in the world.

The screaming continues.  I find out some solid things from the crazy bitches in his phone. Over a coat that I had bought one day, he decided to choke me to get over me into my car to get said coat because it was "his".  Police come and leave.  I book a plane flight home to Mississippi the next day.
Three days before I leave....

Three days before I leave, my friend gets shot and killed.  One of two people I'd met in Seattle in the beginning that had befriended me and helped the big city look like something so small and easy.  Just gone.  Rest his soul.

November-  Crunch time.  I'm home, living with my best friend, get two jobs, planning on going back to college for another degree.  I have a plan, I have a drive, I'm gaining the means.  I have no hope.  I felt like I came crawling back with my tail between my legs.  Just disappeared off the face of the planet and no one knew what was going on. No one knew how to talk to me.

December- I have a job I love. I have a support system that loves me.  Opportunites are rising.  I'm starting to gain hope again.  A little nervous to actually hit the publish button.

I'm not sorry for my year. I don't take back the moves I made.  With all the clouds in the world, you know the clouds are there because of the silver lining that shows with the sun rays shining through. You can't kill me. when I came into this world I was given the word Resilient and it's never let me down.  Something that I learned with this year is that no matter how independent you once were, no matter how set you once were, no matter how confident, how on top, how solid you once were, you can hit rock bottom in the blink of an eye.  Everyone. Everyone. Has that one person that can get inside them and royally fuck them up.  No matter how strong you are, you will meet them one day.  Just have the courage to look to someone else for help. For support. For a couch. It's lovely to know You got You. It's another thing to know that someone else got you and doesn't ask for anything in return but love and loyalty.

Try not to judge me too hard y'all, I'm takin some shit to my grave.  But watch for the next Year in A Life post in 2016.  It's gonna be a huge change with a completely different story.  I'll still be adventuring, driving, flying, swimming, and sometimes crawling.  Just know the point of the story is to never stop. Keep going.

Romeo

As per usual, all names and places are changed to cover identities but all of these are real stories.  Moments of a young man who probably has countless stories to be told about all the fun shenanigans, work times, and family sharings, but these are just a few on my behalf.

It was my second day of work at One Eye and particularly slow.  I'd just moved here across the States and was tipped to come in here by a coworker at my other job.  Said this bar was totally cool and hip and had delicious food.  I was lookin for more work to pass time and quickly catch up with bills so I'd applied the week before. I trained with someone the previous day, but I'd done this a million times and it wasn't rocket science so they put me the next day on my own shift. The bartender had a crowd but I had no tables and so I went to the back to assemble silverware in napkins- the only busy work I could think to get out of the way without just standing around very awkwardly.

Walking to the back storage area for a pack of napkins, I looked up to see who the cook was- a tall, lanky, dark fellow with concentration in his eyes, preparing all the food orders that were in front of him. Feeling my glace, he looked up, and smiled that smile I would become familiar with every day I worked there.

"Hey, what's up?" He greeted without hesitation. I walked around the service counter and two steps up stairs into the side of the kitchen to be eye level with him. Well. As eye level as I could be. He really was tall! "Nothin, second day at work."
He removed his glove and reached out a hand, "Oh that's what's up. Romeo."
"Thibs." A quick hand shake and a head nod.
"You the new server?"
"Yeah, or whatever shifts they want to give me.  This is my second job and I bartend over at my other one."
"That's cool that's cool," He nods his head, putting a clean glove back on, "This is it for me," he chuckles, puttin his hands up in a wide gesture and lookin up around the kitchen.
"Hey, if it pays the bills that's all you need, " I smile back at him and walk away to start my side work.

Days go by like this, always smiling always having something to say, mostly big ideas.  He came off to me as one of those Dreamer types.  Planning different recipes, talkin about opening up his own place and being his own chef.  So optimistic in such a big city and I always found it fascinating to listen to him.

One day toward the end of work, my boyfriend came in to eat with me.  I sat him in my section and went to go retrieve Romeo. "Come here, I want you to meet someone." I walk him to the table Superman was sat at, "This is Superman; this is my cook, Romeo." Superman stood to greet him, with a handshake-turned-half-back-slap like the brothers always do. "What's up man?" "Cookin and chillin, cookin and chillin, you hungry? You tryin to eat?"
"Yeah man, what's good?"
"The wings are pretty good. Got a nice buffalo sauce on em."
"Alright, let's do that."
"Cool, man, I got you."
I just shook my head, going to the computer to put in his order,  He was always so welcoming to everyone he encountered.
After our shift, Romeo and I sat with Superman and they got better acquainted. Superman liked Romeo, got good vibes all around and was jealous I got to work with all around good company at that job.

A few more weeks went by and my schedule between both jobs evened out. "Between both jobs, I have Tuesdays off."
"No shit, me too. I don't work Tuesdays and Wednesdays,"
"Dude," I looked at him with raised eyebrows, "you busy tomorrow?"
Shaking his head,"Nah, I don't think so. Gotta take baby boy to the dentist but that's about it."
"You wanna do lunch or somethin?"
"Yeah, alright that'd be cool. Shoot me a text so I got your number."

The next day I text him to meet me at a bar that one of my coworkers at my primary job worked at.  This was also her second job.  I chatted with her and got a drink while waiting.  About an hour later, Romeo walked in and greeted me with a hug, "Sorry about that, took a little longer than I thought. Then parking is ridiculous around here. You know how that goes."  I nodded my head.  "What you drinkin?"
"Tom Collins, always."
He shook his head, " Man, I don't fuck with gin like that," then laughed a little. Hennessy. That was his cup of tea. I winced the same face at his drink as he did mine.  The next while at the bar was just shootin the shit, talkin about our significant others. about his 'little man', his mum, where I came from.  Finally I felt like I had a friend in this big ass city. Someone to hang out with that actually gave a damn about a new person in this new world.

"Hey, my friend Kiddo has the day off too, wants to know if we wanna join him for pool up on Capitol Hill," I suggest, looking at my text I'd just gotten. He looked down at my phone, "That thing is tiny! It's old as shit!" Laughing, and completely disregarding my comment.  I started laughing too, "Dude. This thing never breaks, I can text, and make calls. Go ahead and make fun of my Dino phone next time yours fucks up and you gotta update."

Our friendship was like that.  Jesting with each other, crackin jokes, making light of everything.

"Yeah whatever, where does he want to meet us?"

We got in his car and drove it up the hill.  I walked everywhere and didn't think it was that far, he insisted we drive because he was 'way too lazy for that'.  I always laughed at these comments, wondering how the hell he was so skinny but ate like a champ and refused to walk up hills.

We parked the car where it was convenient and still had to walk about six blocks up, him dreading it every step of the way.  We met up with Kiddo and played pool with him and his friend that he also brought.  Romeo bought the first round, I'd gotten the second.  Just a nice warm day at the end of summer, in a bar, playin pool with the guys.  You couldn't ask for a nicer way to be adjusted into the city.

One evening, I was particularly angry.  Romeo saw it when I walked in.  His eyes widened and his mouth dropped. "Uh oh!, " he said, "I've never seen that face, Watch out people!" I walked up to the kitchen. "Hey Romeo." I forced a small smirk of acknowledgment. "What's wrong?" He gave me a half hug. "That man is pissin me off today, I tell you what." "Well damn why didn't you say so! Invite him in tonight to eat and I'll jack up his wings!"  He started laughing and it made me smile a genuine smile, "Oh my lord child, you are so ridiculous."
"Well, you're smiling now so I guess that's okay."
And I was smiling.  Work that day turned out not to be so bad.  I even got an unexpected phone call sayin that I got the job at this nice hotel.  It was going to replace my other job that was full time,  "Congrats!" He said, "Yeah, and tonight I'm gonna celebrate." "Well shit, if you start here, I can join you." So that's what I did. I had my shift drink at the bar after work and he joined once he had the kitchen all cleaned and clocked out.

Once he downed his shift drink, he had somewhere to stop by so we continued our journey a couple blocks up.  It was a dispensary. I'd never been in one before. I don't smoke so I didn't have a reason to.  He played it real cool, and left me in a seat at the front while he went to handle his business.  He came back to me to see if I was ready to go.  As we were walkin, he offered me a drink from his Pepsi bottle he'd been carrying with him. "I think it's got some brandy in there from last night."
I took a swig of it, and my face tensed up immediately. "DAMN SON, YOU THINK?" He burst out laughing and slightly confused. He then took a sip for himself. "Hoooooooo!" He let our a hoot with his breath, "Yeah, I didn't realize it was like that." I took it from him and got another swig, "I think we'll be alright."

I walked him to the bus stop, a nearby gentleman laughing at us drinking the Clearly-not-Pepsi. "Where you headed to?" He asked.  I pointed up the hill, "About a 45 minute walk that way."  His eyes got big, "Do you know how late it is? By yourself?" He looked at his phone, "Come on."
"But wait isn't the bus coming?"
"I can always catch another one, they run all night. I can at least walk you halfway." And he made bank on that.  He walked me across downtown, up the bridge over I 5 and into the outskirts of Capitol Hill.  "Text me when you get home so I know you made it alright? It's gettin cold out here." I told him I would and we exchanged a quick hug before we went opposite ways.

Work was always fun, I looked forward to Tuesdays, and I had a friend.  I might have only worked there once a week in the end with schedules getting cut, but I kept that job because they really were like a little family, lookin out for each other and supporting one another.

One day he came in, determined he was gonna open a place with a friend and started brain storming ideas for a menu.  I got out a piece of paper and started writing his ideas and threw in some and jotting down what he wanted the place to be.  A Dreamer.

In a rush emergency, I'd text Romeo and told him Monday would be my last day at work, that I was headed back home across the states. He asked what days I was free.  That Friday after, I went in for my paycheck.  Romeo was there, cookin up a storm, and gave me a stern look, "Nope." He said, "Not leavin. You can't." I gave him a hug, "I got to man. It'll be alright. I'll see you again and maybe you'll come see me in Mississippi!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. What you gettin into tonight?"
"Just work. Then going out after work I think, My last Friday in town and all."
"That's what's up! Shoot me a text!"
"Okay, you closing tonight?"
He just shook his head, rollin his eyes.
"Alright, well how about you text me when you get off? Is that better?"
"Yeah yeah, I got you. I'll see you later."
I gave him another half hug, then walked out with my last paycheck.



Are you back home yet? I have news......

I'll never forget that message.  I didn't understand. I got to One Eye as quickly as I could.  
I stood there, staring at Flo, one of my favourite bartenders to work with.  "Is it true?" I asked, almost in a whisper.
He nodded, pulled me to the side and explained what had happened that night.  I just stood there. Staring at him.  "But. I I don't get it." My face perplexed. Moments of silence, and our other cook came over. By the look on my face, he knew I'd just found out.  Both of them, eyes stinging red, trying to be strong.

"Y'all want a shot?" Flo asked, getting out the glasses already. "I'd do Boubon, but Romeo knows I don't like that shit.  So we'll do tequila."  We smiled a little. It was so true. The owner came around the corner as Flo was doing this, "Just don't look, I'm about to do something illegal. Look away," The owner stat at the bar, "Pour me one too."

"We lifted our glasses together, "To Romeo," and drank together.  The owners wife came out shortly, eyes not holding back anything.  Little shoulder pats, hugs, and arm rubs were exchanged with all of us for comfort.  All agreeing what a great guy.  All smiling about what a goofy coworker and friend he was.  A few more moments and the group dispersed, talking of setting up a fund for the family.  I walked out, having to start my last shift at my other job.  My head low and my thoughts in the air.

For as long as my memory goes on, I won't ever forget the friend I made in Seattle.  Where everyone was in such a hustle and bustle with their busy city lives, I'll always remember the one who took time for me.  


Cheers to you Jerome, may God be with all your loved ones as we grieve and cherish the memories we all have of you. 

Before Comedy is Calamity Pt. 1

WARNING: the following material is explicit and contains words that are naughty and some of them rude or offensive.  Just telling the story as it actually HAPPENED. These aren't in my words, these are just the facts of what happened.  Enjoy yet another true story of Story Time with Thibodeaux. I know it's been way too long.

We got outta the car after parking it at our friend's place.  Because fuck paying for parking downtown.  Luckily we both love walking and it was only a thirty or forty minute walk to the venue.  We both shut our door and he reaches his hand for me so we can cross the street and head up the hill.  We both hear some obnoxious mumble of words and turn around to see who it was coming from.

Just some tall, black gent talking on the phone or something, makin his way loudly down the sidewalk.  We look both ways before crossing and the words are a little louder and prominent behind us, "Yeah you don't belong here. Go back home where you came from, you damn foreigners,"

Both of us thinkin the same thing. Eh, some crackhead readin license plates, because ours are Mississippi plates still.  We start to cross the street and a little louder into his phone and obviously directed for us to hear, the guy goes a little further with it, "Yeah some fuckin Uncle Tom. Motha fuckin nigga and his raggedy bitch..."

It was like slow motion. I already felt the small hairs on the back of my neck raise up as I tried to reach for his arm to calm him but he was already marching back across the road to the man, "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME SIR!"

Oh fuck. Here we go.

"Please! It's not that big of a deal! He's a crackhead!" I yelled after him, cars buzzing between us as I'm waiting to safely cross the road and watch mortified at what storm is already brewin on the other side.

"Excuse me! You will not call her a bitch again!"
"Well you a bitch too."
"That's fine, you can call me whatever you want but you will not disrespect her"
"You girl is a raggedy bit-"

and right as I was getting over there, before the man got the last word out completely, fists were already flying. "STOP IT! STOP IT!" I was yelling.  I had no idea what to do.  This was by far the dumbest thing ever.  But it comes with the territory, dating a hot head. I'm not even talking about myself.  Superman's glasses and watch go flying and before the men could step on his accessories, I go walking around the fight picking them up before they get ruined. Wallet goes flying, and I grab that too.

"Fucking stop it! You look like morons! Fuck, we got shit to do tonight!" I have no idea what to do, given Superman's background, I'm not keen on calling the police.  In the past I've broken up stupid fist fights but they were between guys I knew. I didn't know this old ratchet from Adam's housecat, and if he didn't hesitate to beef with a man, I knew sure as hell he wouldn't have any problem layin hands on me.  I look across the street at my friend's house and call him.  No answer. Probably wasn't off work yet. Fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm calling the police!" I bluff. At this point, Superman had gotten this man in a choke hold.

Let's back the fuck up. Superman is all but about 5'6" and 160 lbs on a good day when he's had his Wheaties.  This crackhead is easily about 6'2" and 240 lbs after a good healthy shit.  How the hell you gonna get this Jolly Giant in a damn choke hold? 

Damn ninja status, that's how.  While pacing and watching this little piffy spat, I think back to the Mortal Combat games and how they would duck left and right then strike with ease. This was like a real life video game.  Little ninja had skills.

"That's enough," Superman says to him, still holding from behind.  Behind the both of them was a big concrete wall. It was about a six foot tall wall that stood at the front of all the residential houses on that street and concrete steps up to the doors at the top of each grass hill behind said wall. The boozy crackhead then slammed Superman into the concrete wall. This is when I was getting really pissed.

See. In an hour I had my first comedy performance in Seattle.  Of course this would happen on said day.  I'd been worried all day about what story I'd tell, what would be considered "too much" for this crowd, and now I had no worries at all. At this point I gave up on the idea of going.  Police would take forever filing this shit. 

In the mens' tussle, Ol' Man Butternuts had gotten Superman on the steps using dead weight against him.  I was still screaming at them, "Fucking stop it! God for fucking bid! FUCK!"

Then that moment came, ladies.  That ride-or-die moment.  It's like I was seeing American History X all over again. I saw that man try to force Superman's head between the steps, Superman putting up a strong fight, but the man had all his weight into it.  I felt it rise up inside of me. That moment where the lioness eats a hyena to protect her cubs.  That moment where the goose plucks your fuckin eyes out for fuckin with her gaggle.  That moment when a big summbitch is about to stomp out your man. 

I had to do something. I had to.

Kick.

All that pent up anger and frustration from the year bundled into one foot.  As if God lay all his strength is my big toe and the light shone down upon the glory hole of whence my foot shalt land. 

WHAM. And as if he were an eight year old boy that just got told there was no Easter bunny, his puppy had cancer, and he was adopted all in one sentence, the man looked up at me with sheer pain, emptiness, and horror in his eyes. With no mercy, I began screaming scripture at him,

"I HAVE A CLEAR SHOT TO YOUR BALLS MOTHERFUCKER AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN! GET THE FUCK OFF HIM! YOU'RE DONE! YOU'RE FUCKING DONE YOU ASSHOLE!"
With the same blank stare and emptiness in his eyes, he nodded slightly, "okay, okay," and he eased off Superman, who lifted his head and held the man up with his arms.  No sooner than stepping back and thinking the moment was over, Ol' Man Sugartits thought he could fake out Superman and went to swing with a right hook. He missed and punched concrete and Superman lunged forward again, getting the man off him. 

By this time I'd already called the police, the gal asking me what was happening.

Do you know either of the men?
"Yes! One is my fucking boyfriend! We just moved here!"
What's the address?
I give her the address as I'm looking at the house number above.
Ma'am that's an invalid address.
"I'M FUCKING STARING AT THE HOUSE NUMBER WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"
Ma'am please try to stay calm.
"Yes ma'am, I realize, but I'd really like this to FUCKING STOP!" Half screaming at the guys again.

We're sending responders. Do either of the men have weapons?
"No, just their," and I start laughing a little, "just their fucking fists."





This is all just so ridiculous.  I hang up the phone and a moment later Superman is standing again with the man in the same choke hold, this time he pushes the man away and he stumbles forward.  The man turns to run after Superman again and I stand between them.  "Fucking stop it you asshole! Enough! You hear that? the police are coming! Back the fuck off!"

Sure enough there were the sirens. It was at that moment, we notice all the people standing around and a couple cars that had pulled over.  I start laughing, thinking I'll be on Worldstar Hip Hop as the crazy white bitch kickin balls and shit.  We walk toward our car at the end of the block and Crackhead McGruff takes off in the opposite direction. 

I look at Superman and he has blood on his sleeve, "Baby," I point, and as if this man hadn't just been in a brawl, shrieks like a little punk, "Ewwwwwahhh!!" and Strips off his argyle sweater.  I check his head and his arms.  Other than some concrete scrapes on his elbows, he's pretty clean.  There was a cut on his head but not big enough to make the blood that was on his sleeve. I look back at Jonny Crackpipe hobbling down the sidewalk and just shake my head with a smile.

One vehicle pulls up and already I feel it in my gut. See, I don't exactly have the greatest track record with police either.  I don't have a record. But I've definitely had more than my fair share of run ins with police.  We don't really get along.  "You the one that made the call in?"

*POOF! INSTANT WHITE GIRL, I CHOOSE YOU!*

"Yes sir, I'm sorry about yelling at your dispatcher, I wasn't mad at her, just upset at the situation."
"I understand, are you one of thee guys that was in the fight?"
"Yes, officer, he took off that way," he pointed down the block behind him, "we were on our way to Capitol Hill tonight and he was talkin all kinds of crazy.  Luckily I know how to defend myself, I have no idea what could have happened if it were someone else." He and I exchanged glances as the officer took notes.  "So this guy is on foot?" He talks into his radio, and the other responder that pulled up behind him races down the block. 

"Are you alright? We have an ambulance that can get you checked out.  It's free."  The officer looked at Superman with a caring look in his eye. "No, no really I'm fine."  "What are you to doin out tonight?" Superman was the first to speak up. "She has a performance tonight, actually.  We were on our way there."
"Oh that's cool. I could give you a ride if you wanted."
We exchange looks at each other again and I'm smiling ear to ear, "No way."
"Sure thing." He looks to Superman, who nods and insist he get a shirt and jeans from his car to change into.
The cop asks my name and I give it to him and asks for Superman's as well. We load up into the vehicle and the cop keeps talkin, "So once we catch this guy, did you wanna press charges or anything?"
Superman shakes his head, "No that won't be necessary, he didn't really get good hits on me, he was just heavy and reeked of alcohol." "I'm glad you folks are okay." And all the while I'm laughin my ass off.  The cop smiles at me in the rearview mirror, "Hysteria, call it hysteria. I'll be okay."  This guy just has no idea who he picked up.

He takes us straight to the bar I'd be performing at. We thank him and shake his hand, both of us impressed that we actually dealt with a cool cop.

"Man you know that's some bullshit though," he smiled at me.
"You think so?"
"Hell yeah! You know damn good and well if it was just me and him, we'd both be sittin in jail right now.  Throw some helpless little white girl in the mix and they respond within seconds and offer to take you to where you're going!" He side hugs me tight as we walk up to the bar, I mock, "Help me, help me, I'm defenseless and my boyfriend's gone bad! Help! Help!"

To be continued. It was just really nice to finally write this all out.  

We Don't Get Tired: Pt 3

This is the last part of the New York trip.  The ending is long over due.  Probably the best story that happened while we were there and it's bout time it was told.

After a long day of exploring and seeing new things and eating, we all went back to the hotel room.  Superman had escaped and after a quick text to see where he was, he came to the hotel to get me and we walked a ways down the block to go to a little bar we'd spotted during the day.

Not a lot going on in said bar. A guy or two having a drink to themselves and then us.  I grabbed a small high top nearest the street window and Superman went to the barkeep to get us a round.  He came back to the table.  He looked calm; beat from the day.  We began in small intimate talk when he looked up behind me and had a confused look on his face.  I looked out the window to where his stare was and I could see a tranny on the phone, smoking a cigarette staring in the window. Staring hard.

"Just don't look baby," I coaxed, "just look at me."  He muttered somethin about them mean muggin and being a douche, then we began our small chatter again.  Within five to ten minutes the tranny along with a gaggle of them came in and gave the bar an entirely new aura.  Instead of a quiet little hole in the wall, now the place was loud and rambunctious.

They sat at the table next to us, creating a little irritation in our small corner.  Suggesting that we leave, Superman shook his head slightly and insisted it'd be alright.  We were chill, just had to talk a little louder.

After the first round, Superman sent me back up to the barkeep.  "Another round?" He asked.  It took me by surprise.  At first I had to register in my head what he just said, hearing for the first time his very strong Irish accent.  I also forgot we were the only ones drinking other than the one guy at the bar, the second one leaving soon after the gaggle arrived.  After a quick, "Huh?" I nodded, "yes sir, please."

He began with the long island for Superman.  When he went to make my Tom Collins, I made small talk about what kind of gin he used.  Something I hadn't heard of.  That's New York.  I complimented his bartending skill and the taste of the drinks.  "Sometimes bartenders just throw shit together to get you fucked up. I actually appreciated you took the time to look what you're doing."  He agreed and handed me the round I took back to our little nook, sliding past the jumpy party.

When I sat down, he told me to hang tight as he needed to run to the Men's.  I fiddled with my phone and listened to the ambient clutter in front of me.  Looking at them, I wasn't quite sure if they were really trannies, or just cross dressers.  I mean. Clearly they were men.  But just in colourful corsets and wigs and heels.  Nothing else really suggested anything overly feminine.  There were a couple of guys with them in some street clothes, everyone hanging on each other laughing and being friendly.

Superman comes back and I start talkin but he has a disappointing look on his face.  He sits down, carefully takes his wallet out of his pocket, looks into it, shakes his head, and puts it back into his pocket.  For a brief moment he clasps his hands on the table, then takes out his phone.

"Everything okay, peaches?"  I asked, not sure what he was concerned about.
"I just got pick pocketed."
"WHAT? WHO?"

I'm already in beast mode.

He takes a sip of his drink, "The one walking back. That one."
I look at the tranny walking up to the group, loud and laughing.
"What? You sure? What happened?"

He puts his phone down for a moment, and very calmly tells me what happened when he went to the loo.

"I was at the urinal right? And I forgot the rule about putting your wallet in your front pocket in the city. Well, when I was standing there doing my thing, it walked up behind me and started feelin on me talkin bout, oh hey there you look good and all this shit and I was like, standin there holdin my junk you know, so I shrugged 'em off like, yo dude, get the fuck off! Well, I went to wash my hands, not even thinkin of it, and I think that's when they slipped my wallet back in because the same thing happened and was feelin up on me again. I felt it that time and I knew to check when I got back to the table.  I'm short $25. That was all the money in my wallet. For sure. "

I'm now watching like a hawk, "What you gonna do baby?" And no sooner that I said this, the tranny walks up and tries to be all friendly, "Heeyyyyyy you are so cute" and tries to kiss Superman on the cheek. He ain't havin it. Then reaches across the table and grabs my face, "Oh you so beautiful too what is up tonight!" I back away, shakin my head, "no no sweetheart," and look to him for the next move.  He just sits, sipping his drink, hands clasped on the table.  The person walks away again and I ask a second time. "Baby what you gonna do? Do you wanna leave?  I can whoop his ass.  He's still a man, so I won't get in trouble," i snicker at him.

"No baby, we're just gonna wait. Just wait baby."  So I chill, and just a few moments later, the gaggle is whispering and they're walking out.  He takes another sip.  "You know. I wonder if that's why he wasn't staring in the window before coming in here."  I nod, still looking at him concerned. "Go get the tab," he tells me, "leave a tip."

I do as I'm told, and by the time I get back to the table and give him his card back the suspect comes walking back in, struggling hard in the heels.  Superman takes a drink, gets up, and approaches."  My eyes are wide as fuck when I witness this guy-

Okay okay wait wait wait. For readers to fully comprehend this next scene, y'all gotta grasp what it's lookin like to ME. What I know this man to be, and what I am about to watch with my own two eyes.  Superman is one of those like-able guys.  Always smiling, joking, can't really meet someone who doesn't like him.  Short fucker too.  Well. Short to me ;) Taller than 5'5' but I wouldn't give him any 5'10. He's got a muscle build but hides it under these bourgeois  ass clothes that suggest he's a straight up nerd.  So. In one corner of the ring, you have THIS guy.

In the other corner you have some taller-than-six-foot-oh-shit-my-adams-apple-is-showing guy with some kind of horse hair weave and all I can remember anymore of the outfit were the damn pink shoes.  In a dress.

So. Now that you have the picture, let the confrontation commence.

Walks straight up to RuPaul, "hey how you doin," and starts feelin for the pockets on this guy! The tranny then gets a little nervous, "Oh hey there, excuse me" and is trying to grab for the purse that was left. "Yeah, remember me? Bathroom? Yeah I'm gonna need my money back," as he continues to frisk this guy! I have no idea whether to laugh, or help trap, but I take another sip of my drink in amazement.  "I dunno about that" was the reply before trying to dash.

RuPaul dips out and Superman summons me.  Ask no questions, I get the fuck up and follow suit.  Just as we are getting to the exit, Remmington shows up. "Go back that way," Superman says, and we all exit the bar.  The gaggle is just chillin outside smokin in front of the 24/7 Subway and Superman approaches the group without skipping a beat.

"Hey guys. How's it going? So, I was in the bathroom the same time your homeboy was in there and after gettin felt up at the urinal I was missing some money.  I would like that money back, please."

A couple of the street clothes guys scoffed, "Man, money gets stolen all the time around here, just cut your losses and go home."
"I don't think you understand," he says a little more firmly, "I want my money back. And someone will pay me tonight."

All the while this is happening, I look to Remmington, and almost in a dull whisper, "So you're the one he text?"
"Yeah. Said we might get in a brawl tonight and I needed to get here asap. Over how much though?"
I just shook my head, "Motha is crazy, ain't he?"
"Never a dull moment." Which seemed to be the group motto.

A few more words were shared, and at that time, the accused was talkin about not takin any money, blah blah blah, and walked straight up to me, mid conversation, putting two fingers on my clavicle with the mouth inches from my face, "Can you calm your man down, I didn't take no money?"

As soon as the fingers came at me was as soon as I put the hand up with a lean back, very calmly and firmly stating, "Don't you fuckin touch me."  That was the warning.  Momma always taught me, you better not be the first one to throw a punch, but if they so much as lay a finger on you, you better whoop their ass.  I felt that whoop ass comin, and RuPaul didn't want to be the one that laid the fingers.

Rupaul backed up, and looked at me crazy then looked to Remmington, "Oh they all crazy huh! Are you gonna get angry too!?" Remmington just shrugged back, "I just got here. Just watching."  "Well I didn't take no money, I gots my own money, mmhmm, I don't need no body money."  Superman still talking to the gaggle, most of them had left to go inside the Subway, one guy in particular, a little skinny fuck who's pants could use a belt, looked pretty scared.  "Oh nah, man I ain't even from here, I just met them at the club, dawg, I ain't even from here! I ain't gotcha money."  A few responses went on like this, none of the gaggle claiming to know the suspect.

"Baby, uhm, baby it's walkin away," I say, trying not to seem overly eager about RuPaul makin a dash up the block in the direction of our hotel.  He's caught up in talkin to the group, and by the time it's all said and done with, Superman's final words were, "Well if you don't know him, and you don't know him, and you don't know him, and everyone just met him at the bar or club or down the street, then no one will mind if I take this by force."  After addressing the group, Superman turns and I notify him that RuPaul was already out of sight, all the way down the block.

Superman starts hoofing it, military style down the block.  "He's determined, isn't he?"  Remmington nods, "Yeah, well. That's him for ya."  We see that he got to the end of the block and is looking either way up and down the street to see any signs of life.  "I'm sorry darlin, I don't see anyone."

I've never seen this side before.  His face isn't smiling, his body isn't relaxed; you can tell in his clenched fists.  "Forget him man, let's just go back to the room and get some rest."  Superman nods, looking defeated. "That just pisses me off. That's really fucked up." "Yeah but it was only $25 man, could have been worse," Remmington says.  No sooner than us turning into the first glass doors of the hotel do we see RuPaul, coming down the inner escalator, hanging on some honky ass business guy.  I pointed and said something.  "Well alright then" and Superman rushes in there.  I didn't leave the little front glass room yet, just watched from inside but I could hear them clear as day.

"I told you I was getting my money back. I'm not gonna ask you nicely again," He says really firmly, rushing RuPaul against a column, the accused clutching the purse in their front.  "I mean I can give you some money if that's what you want, I mean I think I have $25 right here." "What the fuck ever, just give me my money back." Without even digging in a wallet or to the bottom of the purse or a pocket or bra or ANYTHING indicating they would have somewhere to keep money, the tranny easily opens the purse and right on top pulls out a crisp $20 and $5.  "That's all I have, if you want it you can have it," RuPaul cowers, as if just doing something nobel.  "Oh what the fuck ever, keep the damn five," and walks away, never having to lay a finger on anyone.

I then walk in with Remmington, all three of us ascending the escalator.  "Well damn," Remmington raised his eyebrows, "that was easy enough."  "Yeah, long day," and Superman, as if flipped by a switch was back to his normal demeanor. "Well I think I'm gonna take a shower when we get back to the room, we gotta get up early tomorrow and head back."  "Yeah, I'm tired today," and I'm watching these two in amazement.  As if nothing happened, they're just carrying on conversation like they just watched a golf tournament.

We get to the elevator and I lose it. Superman smiles at me, "What you laughin about love?" puts his hands in his pockets with a cheesey grin on his face.

I'm shaking my head, smiling. "Who the fuck goes to New York, gets pick pocketed, no, no, fuck that, who the fuck goes to New York, gets pick pocketed by a damn tranny, and then after some confrontation gets their money back? WHO THE FUCK GETS THEIR MONEY BACK??"  The guys just look at each other and shrug like I'm a fuckin crazy person.

We get showered up when we get back and get some rest.  I went to bed smiling and still can't get over that.

He karate kicks a ceiling in. Runs across the New York streets for some bourgeois ass natural-hipster-chic meeting. And gets a refund on a pick pocket. Who the fuck is this guy? Sounds like someone crazy enough to keep up with Thibs.  

We Don't Get Tired: PT 2

We left all of our things in the car and started exploring.  First we found a tourist shop- all kinds of shirts and shot glasses and all the usual tourist crap pile with I <3 NY all over everything. I wasn't particularly interested in getting anything but the guys were all over it. 

Then Superman says to me, "You know you gotta get her something. She said so."

Damnit.  My demanding roommate Kandy was knocking at the back of my head, "You better get me something when you're there. I love New York and I wanna go ....." Blah blah it just kinda trails out from there. Damnit.  So I start looking, wondering what to get her, still trying to remember all her little details, "Not like a damn keychain", and "I don't want a t-shirt, I want something that says New York, it doesn't necessarily have to say New York but something...." and again it trails off in the back of my head. On the glass shelves I saw something right away I knew she'd adore. A beer opener.

You don't get it, we're bartenders. We love our accessories. There are never enough.

For her to have a beer opener that had the iconic New York City scape in black, greys, and white all cool-like and shit, I would be the ultimate BFF. Don't get me wrong, I don't give a shit if she loves me and she doesn't give a shit if I love her. Not like a love/hate relationship. Like a hate/tolerate relationship.  We know we don't like each other and that's what makes us US. But even if I don't give a shit, I could be the best hate friend EVER if I got her this.

Hell yeah.

But THEN something else on the other side of the glass shelving caught my eye- New York coasters.  Plastic ones, paper ones, glass ones- coasters in every style with shit on them.  This bitch has been bitchin at me about coasters ever since I got her shitty coasters for Christmas.  Then she saw some cool ones one of our friends had and was all, "Why couldn't you get me cool ones like this?"

See, she's like my fuggin wife without me ever getting laid.

So I found a nice durable set that would look good on her glass coffee table.  Double best friend.  I got her some epic coasters so she'll never utter another word and I got her a bar accessory.  I hadn't been on the New York streets for more than twenty minutes and I was already winning.

So we get outta there and keep walking down the same street. Just a few blocks ahead we can already see our next stop- all of the signs on the buildings, the people gathering, and even at eight in the mornin the lights were so vibrant on the street- Times Square. There was a amphitheater set up for seating but it didn't look like anything was going on at the time.  I was caught up in all the bright lights and signs and advertisings that didn't seem to even distract the locals from their everyday walk to and from wherever it was they were going.  The guys whipped out their phones and immediately began snapping pictures.  We wandered around in the big clearing for a while, looking at all the different people, hearing different accents of all the travelers, then Superman brought us back to attention, " I Think the room might almost be done. We can come back later." We agreed then started back on our stroll. 

There was a Hershey's building that we had to stop in.  It reeked of chocolate but we were curious about it because the side of the building was super cool with all of it's Hershey candies represented and even working as gears next to the brick.  Cool shit.  We checked out all the giant Hershey mugs, Reese's hoodies, big candy bag mixes- you name it they had it, but what a fuggin headache. Like I said, reeked of chocolate.

We run outta there and back up toward the hotel.  Superman calls. Still not ready yet.  "I gotta super pee," I said.  We looked kitty corner from the corner we were standing on.  A little cafe placed there perfectly for my needs.  We run over there and of course, only to customers. Easy enough.  Superman gets a tea. Some sort of Jasmine Mint Hippy Loving Flower Cloud Green Mist something or another. I get the code and head to the back.

When I come out, the guys are ready for a little more wandering in the area.  We step out and walk down the road a little ways and Superman nudges me, "You see that ahead?" he smiles and I look up and squint because I don't have my glasses on but when I read the sign my eyes got as big as an owl's.

"PIANOS?" I said.
"That's what it looks like."
"Thats's so funny! Because the other day we were just-"
"I know."
"Can we go in? Please? Will they let us?"
"We can see."

We walk up to the door of the piano shop and I walk in without hesitation.  It was amazing how incredible small the shop was yet how many grands, baby grands, and stand up pianos they could fit in the place! I didn't see anyone at all in the shop.  I started lurking through all the pianos when a small Asian woman came out from a crevasse somewhere in the wall. I said hello but she just kinda smiled and started to string a piano.  They were all so beautiful.  I couldn't touch them, though I really really wanted to. 

Then a blonde lady came out from a doorway and greeted us. Asked us a few questions, told us about the shop, then asked if we wanted to see the new performance studio.  We gladly accepted the small tour as she told us a little more about the place, renting the pianos, purchasing, and now that they had a studio, she told us they now rented the room for practice and also small performances. 

The elegantly lit room was behind a sliding door and when she opened it I think I peed a little. 

She walked us in the sound proof little room and opened the keys to the grand piano and asked if any of us played. "She does," Superman spoke up, "Well not really..." I trailed off. "You're free to play on it if you like. Go ahead, I'll be in the front and you enjoy yourselves and feel free to ask questions."

I could feel my eyes water.  I was so excited.  It had been a long time since I put my hands on a piano and such a nice one at that. 

"Go ahead, play something."

I sat down slowly, my fingers just feeling the keys without pressing on them.  I had no idea what to play.  A memory full of songs and all I had to choose was one. 

I started noodling around, listening for the tones, figuring which keys made the right pitches. 

That's the problem with having played piano by ear, instead of a normal pianist, thinking to yourself that songs were in the key of C or started on a D, I had to remember the sound that it started on and guess the increments in my fingers.

I pressed a couple keys here. A few there. They all of a sudden as if my fingers never left in the first place, they glided so beautifully, playing songs I remembered from my church and moving to little songs I'd made up myself with chords that sounded good to me many years ago when I had the time to noodle on such an instrument. 

That went on for several minutes, noodle a little bit with random sounds then all of a sudden another song would burst from them because I found the right notes.  Then my fingers found my favourite song to play on the piano.  Clocks by Coldplay.  Such a peaceful melody.  Brought me back to a time where I used to play alongside another pianist I know. 

After moments passing I look up at the guys, "Ready?"
They just kinda smiled at me, looking like I played something miraculous, and nodded. On our way out we grabbed a card from the woman who owned the shop.  She thanked us for stopping in and we were on our way. 

The hotel was ready for us to check in.

Well. When I say us. I mean Superman.  One. Only he was supposed to be stayin the night.  But Remmington and I would be stayin in the same room.  Reals sneaky like.  So Superman went to go check in while we got the bags from the car that we checked into the parkin garage.  Then we went to the room separately. 

Superman and I got all showered before his meeting.  I threw on some heels because we were gonna be taking a cab, and I can walk a few city blocks in heels. No big deal.  we go down the escalator and around the block then we hail a cab from (what we didn't know at the time) the worst cab driver ever.  He took us in a full out circle around the block before going the right way, then even after we gave him the address, he dropped us off and said our location would be a block up.

What. The. Eff. Motha fucka, it was two blocks up, across the fuckin hipster park, and another city block away! CITY blocks, people, that's some hiking to do when you're late for a meeting!

So Superman says YOLO LOL, and starts bookin it with materials in hand. Remmington and I look at his GPS and start following a ways behind him.  I call it the hipster park because you should have seen the fucking people that were chillin in this little park in the middle of the crazy buildings.  Dudes with no muscle mass and wearing three layered sweaters and a million layered scarves to match the women in the same scarves and pleated skirts and everyone wearing pantyhose and giant fucking glasses sipping their little cups of tea and coffee and reading books and chatting quietly at their meetings.

What the fuck hipster community. 

And the other end of the spectrum was the grunge hipster bums chillin in the park with their dreads and smiling faces with other bums and flower children frolicking merrily. I don't even. Just. Incomplete thought.

Remmington and I finally make it to this lunch place. We walk in and everyone in there was so bourgeois I had to take a step back and make sure Dorothy was in Kansas. This place was packed with business men and women and this little nook even had a middle glass room for presentations. Yet there wasn't a buzz. You know that loud buzz that any luncheon place would have when there's a lot of people? Just the cluttered sounds of chattering and people enjoying themselves? No.

There was no enjoyable laughter or chatter. Just the hushed chit chat of ritzy bull shenanary that I didn't give shits about.  Just wanted to sit down before I killed people.

A few city blocks in heels? Gucci. You want me to fuckin walk across town through Hipster Narnia into the bourgeois luncheon streets of New York because you're a shitty Taxi guide? Fuck people.

So Remmington sees Superman but it's not so simple as to just walk over to him.
Oh no.
The hostess with her pretty little face, "Do you have a reservation?"
Remmington has this, "We're with a party that is already seated."
"Last name please?" As she gets on her computer.
He says Superman's last name. Of course it doesn't come up, it's the dude he has the meeting with.  Like we know his name. 
Luckily, the dude comes up to get us, but oh no. Not like we can walk to our table with him.
"Sign in please."
OH FOR THE LOVE OF MARY
I look at the little type in screens and jot down some information. Something about wanting to email me.

For a fuggin business meeting? Dafuq?

We get seated and shake hands and blah blah.  I already don't like the Indian guy that is brought to the meeting.  He's a pretentious twat and I don't like the way he moves his hands.  He's in a hurry to get somewhere so I don't have to listen to much of him anyway.  They other two, Superman and the gentleman he has the meeting with- are already eating some lunch. 

Upon asking if we'd like something, Remmington and I both deny food, but I decide to partake in one of the fancy ass drinks they have.  The Roots- which contained beets, ginger, and carrots.  All juices were made in the kitchen.  There were some other interesting combinations but my stomach wasn't sitting right so I decided something with a little ginger would do me nice. 

The meeting was so long. And Frenchie turned out to be super nice and somewhere in there mentioned going to France later in the year and throwing out and invite and I really wanted to be all, oh yeah, let me just dip into my Iranian funds that I have in that one bank overseas to fuckin pay for that shit. Like WHAT? Who the fuck are these people? But toward the end of the meeting is where I started to wake up. I will never. Ever. Forget what happened at the end of that meeting.

Pretty basic stuff, the waitress asks if we need anything else.  Frenchie would like a double shot espresso, and Superman asks for a cookie. At first she said they had no more but soon after to come back and confirm that chocolate chip were fresh out of the oven.  Superman accepts and Remmington accepts the offer for a cookie as well.

Ohhhh Remmington. Here is where the fun begins.

The waitress comes back with a bitch sized tea cup of espresso for Frenchie and a cookie each for the guys. I still sit there, silently as I ever have, watching.  The guys are trying to take their time with their one cookie a piece.  While Frenchie and Superman are talking, out of the corner of my eye I see it: the incident.

I'm sitting in the middle of Remmington and Superman, and French nearest superman at this little round table. French is almost directly across from me so it was easy to pay attention to their business and stay awake.  I started to drift off....until the incident.

I see Remmington fumble and drop the last fourth of his cookie.
I see Remmington pick it up off the floor.

No. No man. Don't fucking do it. NO. Not in this bourgeois ass place of business.

I see him contemplate, trying to stare and stare hard at Frenchie in the eye so I didn't have to witness, he ate it. He fucking. Ate. It. I. Am. Dying.  For the first time the entire hour meeting I crack a smile.  I'm looking all over the room right now, trying to look for a ladies' room. Trying to find an exit out of this situation. Trying not to be the black woman in the room of conservative Amish people and refrain from bursting out, "OH HELL NAW WHITE BOY! NO THE HELL YOU DIDN'T YOU BETTA GET'CHO ASS UP AND WALK THE FUCK OUT! OH HELLLLLL  NAWWWWW!!"

But I couldn't. I had to sit there. No escape.  Trapped between the guys, meeting on one side, the incident on the other. I couldn't hold it in. I felt my face getting hot trying not to burst out in laughter.  I was trying so hard to be respectful.  I was looking around the room, staring at Frenchie which didn't help me because I couldn't help but think, motha fucka he's sittin right next to me, I know you saw that shit. I know you saw that fuckin shit. Smile damnit. Give me the okay to shit all over the place of laughter.

Nothing.  Not a damn thing.  So I looked down in my lap and silently laughed to myself.  The meeting soon ended and even then I couldn't say anything to the guys.  The Guilty and the Ignorant.  I walked happily down the street toward the Hipster Park now more wide awake than I was. 

"Let's walk. That was an expensive ass shitty cab ride here." Superman suggested.
Twenty seven city blocks. One pair of heels. Deep breath.

To be continued.

We Don't Get Tired: PT1

It's been a while since I've had one of those college-esque adventures. You know, hop in a car, go somewhere, sleep in the car, come back half the bum you were with twice the memories. 

It was a big decision for me to go to New York.  The Manman had an important business meeting there and had asked me the month prior to go with him.  Of course I wanted to, and seeing as how I went on all his other business trips with him since we met, I didn't see why not.  Other factors came into play the closer time came-  my job was a big one.  I couldn't get the time off because I'd already used my PTO, and I really could use the hours at said job for other expenses and later travels. 

When it came down to it, I had told him no.  There would be other trips and other places that I would want to go to. New York hadn't necessarily been a dream of mine anyway, so I wasn't stressing too much.

Those that know me and my faithful readers that follow me know that this last paragraph sounds nothing like me. Saying no to an adventure? NEXT TIME?? When did I become so boring?  A week before he'd planned to leave, he asked me again if I was sure I didn't want to come with. 

The gears began ticking.  I only had four more weeks at said job because I knew I was going to another job.
On the other hand, I had 9 1/2 attendance points and you are only allowed 12 before you are fired.  Calling out two days in a row would put me at 11 1/2 points.  It was risky, but worth the risk? That meant I would only allow myself 1/2 point for the three weeks after that. You get 1/2 point if you are one minute late.

For someone like me, three weeks is a fucking long time to screw it up.

Fuck it. YOLO!!

So I went to New York. It was me, the Manman (we'll call him Superman), and Remmington. 

My usual days off were Monday and Tuesday, I called in Wednesday and Thursday, and we were to arrive at eight in the mornin on Friday so I'd have enough time to nap before work at two.  It was planned, we just had to put it into action.

With the crew we had going, make no mistake that the trip began as epic as it ended. 

Remmington got off work the latest so we had to wait for him before we could go.  What we thought would be midnight turned into leaving at three in the mornin.  Have no fear, insomniacs are here.  We had to stop by Superman's office first before we could leave.  Remmington, his intern, and I sat in the car and waited patiently, getting to know one another through a little more than idle chit chat and laughs.

A good while goes by before we get a phone call from Superman. Remmington put it on speaker, Superman sounding out of breath.  "The door in the hallway to my office was locked and I didn't have the code to open it," he breathes, remembering that he's just renting his office space. "So. I'm in the ceiling.  Might be a minute."  We both laugh, and hang up the phone.  Minutes later he calls us again to come inside.

We look at him and can't help but smile.  Wearing his lounge pants and sweatshirt, he's covered in mothballs and white powder.  I brush him off, listening to his explanation while he grins ear to ear as he talks, showing off his perfect canine teeth. 

"Well, I text and called the landlord but he wasn't answering and I really needed to get into my office.  The hallway door is never shut so I never needed the code to get into it.  I did the only thing I could think of- went to the bathrooms before the door, climbed on the toilet and pushed the tile up," he pointed to the tile above the commode and began walking from the restroom down the hall to where the door was now open. Pointing to the ceiling, "I crawled all along here, and got all the way to the edge of the wall. Then I kicked the ceiling in," he said pointing to the obvious hole above. 

Remmington cracked up, "Wait, wait, wait.  You KICKED it in? You know these tiles are easily removed right?" "I know, I know, but I was in video game mode! It just felt right."  We all were laughing hysterically.

This is my man. MY man.  Only such a crazy individual could be mine.

He got his belongings from his office and we were set off, wide awake in the car from all the action.  He cleaned up the mess and sent the landlord a lengthy text explaining he couldn't get in the door and that he would replace the tiles no problem. 

We stopped in North Carolina for a few hours because we were still ahead of schedule as far as the business meeting went.  Lunch at the mall and we wandered around shopping.  The city was beautiful and lush; neither of the guys had been there before and were dazzled by the glory. 

The ride was half the fun.  Riding with these guys reminded me of a place in my heart I called home.  Remmington had known Superman for years so they had a certain level of comfort and humour with each other. One I jumped right into just fine.  There were rants between the two of them that had me laughing so hard I was crying uncontrollably and it didn't stop for long periods of time. 

One of the rants was something about tourmenting Burger King workers by asking for a BossMac repeatedly for days at a time. Where the fuck do they come up with this shit?  If I had recorded the trip, we'd all be rich.  Their good witted thoughts were gold. 

About seven the next morning, we saw the outline of the big city.  After several toll pass ways, we were finally driving through the Lincoln Tunnel.  Traffic was so packed even at that time of morning but I was enjoying having the moment to drive so slowly and have a gander at everything.  Once we got deeper into the city, the guys were taking all kinds of pictures and video.  The buildings were higher than high and there were so many people walking through the streets.  We passed the Eiffel Tower, Fifth Avenue, and the guys began listing all the things they wanted to do on the trip.

I just sat in silence, taking it all in.  Looking at all the people.  Marveling at their fast pace, the disregard for speeding cars, wondering where they were headed to. Wondering what it's like to be a local, if it even phases them the city that they live in. 

After circling the blocks a few times, we finally located our hotel and found a parking garage. It was expensive as shit but the "cheapest" we could find.  Superman ran in to go check us into the room and when he came back, noted that our room wouldn't be ready for a couple of hours so we had time to explore the city a little in the surrounding blocks while we waited. No one had any qualms with this notion and the first few steps of our little New York journey began.

Pay It Forward

For nine years I played clarinet. Roughly four of those years were bass clarinet.  Five of them were bari sax.  Two or three was dedicated for the bass. 

I didn't come from a musical family- save my older brother who went on to play his sax in college orchestra, everyone else was into sports.  Baseball, football, hockey, you name it, and someone in my family probably played it.  Don't get me wrong, I played my fair share of tennis, volleyball, and rugby over the years, but growing up I was more of your ballet/gymnastics/I'm-gonna-be-a-hair-stylist-and-rule-the-world kinda gal.

It all started with Sister Donna, our pastor's wife, who played beautifully on her sax every Sunday mornin in church.  There wasn't anything boring about her playing. Well. About her, for that matter. The smooth sounds of her jazz, her soul, her love- all poured into that instrument to make anyone listen up and get excited.  I thought it might be nice one day to learn how to make such a sound.

However, when I got into the sixth grade, the year that everyone was choosing their instruments they were interested in, playing the sax was off limits.  Being the little sister of a boy who was already playing the sax, I didn't want to be a copy-cat.  When our band teacher was going over the list of instruments and giving a preview for each of them, I was in la la land.  (I didn't really have the attention span of a meditating monk, but then again at the age of eleven, what kid does?) Then I saw it. What our band director called "licorice sticks". The clarinet.  Being a little bit of a dark child, I think I might have been more attracted to the fact it was a black sleek looking toy with fancy silver decorations than I actually was to the fact it made such a wonderful sound.  He played a fast chromatic scale up and then down again and I was hooked. 

That was my sound.  That was the sound I grew to love.  Then he showed us the clarinet family, and when I saw that big son of a bitch you had to sit on the floor just to play, I knew I was going to love what I was getting myself into.  

My mum was okay with it.  She was just glad her kids all had something to occupy our time with but there was a problem: I didn't have a clarinet.  Hell, in the type of house we grew up in, you were lucky if you found a whistle tucked away and forgotten in a drawer.  Problem number two, I didn't come from money.  We were a working family,  one that fixed our own cars, made our own entertainment, and "vacation" for us was driving to the mountains in our backyard and camping with everyone else in the damn town.  My mum was worried about renting a clarinet and didn't exactly have a spare $500 to get a cheap one.

When we got to church that Sunday, my mum mentioned it to her bible study gals that she was in search of a clarinet because yet again, another one of her children gone soft. She prayed about it and I used my director's clarinet for the time being for the first couple weeks and by that second Sunday after it was mentioned, my mother's prayers had been answered. 

My mum summoned me to the back of the church during the Greeting.  One of the church women was smiling and holding a small suitcase looking box.  "I knew you were looking for a clarinet.  I was out and about this weekend at a few garage sales like I usually do and I saw this on a table. Five dollars! I just had to get it. I'm not sure what kind of shape it's in, but I hope it's useable."

She clicked open the trick locks on the suitcase-box and opened it to a red velvety inside with a beautiful little licorice stick. My mum and I hugged her and thanked her and assured her we would ask my band director about it the next day at school. 

Monday he took a look at my new find.  "Needs new cork." He says, picking up the individual pieces and inspecting them carefully, "And these buttons here are a little sticky. Might need replacing," He says, showing me the keys that were having a little trouble on their own.  I gave a look of disappointment. "Lucky for you, I know how to repair these things." I smiled and thanked him. "Also, this is a professional Selmer mouthpiece.  A very nice instrument.  You should be happy."

So it begun.  I had a clarinet.  One that lasted me for years.  Playing in quartets, jazz bands, pep band,  having solos, performing for state competitions.... oh yes. That clarinet went with me everywhere. From middle school to high school to college and across the states from Montana to Mississippi. 

After college I stopped playing.  My love for the instrument didn't die, just my opportunity to play the thing did.  You get caught up in life and other aspirations and goals and sometimes the things you love most change over time.  My clarinet sat idly by in my apartment, every once in a while being taken out for cleaning or to noodle around on the keys with.

When I moved a couple other times and each time selling things I could and throwing away what I couldn't, the clarinet followed. 

It doesn't deserve this fate.  I should probably sell it before, again, it becomes a dusty licorice stick that needs new cork because over the years it forgot to be greased. 

Being connected on some yard sale pages on Facebook, I posted that I was selling a clarinet for $200 or would go with the best offer.  A day later a woman responded, asking how low I would go.  I informed her I was just ball parking what I should let it go for.  I wasn't doing anything with it and the extra cash would be a bonus. 

She told me it was for her daughter who had just chosen to play the clarinet in her school band class.  The family didn't have a lot to rent one and was trying to find something cheap. She didn't have $200 and was seeing about a lower price.

My little heart tingled.  I remembered being in that situation.  I remember being a little girl that wanted her own licorice stick and was understanding that her mum couldn't afford a new one. I told the woman a place to meet me and I would bring her the clarinet. 

Waiting at the Shell gas station, I made sure all the music I played over the years was still tucked inside the hidden case compartment.  I thumbed through, reminiscing on the music and the parts I had for each of the songs. The scales, the warm ups, the little notes made in pencil for my own reference... and as my own little goodbye, sealed an envelope with the story of the clarinet folded inside for the little girl.

I saw her in the car she described and it wasn't hard for her to spot my Beetle.  I got out of the car with the clarinet and I almost wanted to jump with excitement when I saw who came out of the car....

From her purple cat rimmed glasses to whatever kind of massacre of bright colours she was wearing to the way she wore her hair in pigtails, I knew, I KNEW the life of the clarinet would continue on.  She was a badass. I knew just from looking at her.  She marched to her own licorice stick, that was for sure.  "I want to bless you with this clarinet, like it was to me.  I want you to have it and I don't want to charge you anything.  I was in her shoes once and I know what it's like to appreciate what is given to me."
"Really?? Are you sure?"
I looked at the little girl and smiled at her while replying to her mum, "Yes ma'am," as I handed her the envelope, telling her a gist of the contents.  She hugged me, "Tell her thank you," she motioned to her daughter, and the little badass did so. 

I drove away feeling good, knowing my little clarinet was going to a good home and to someone that needed it, not stuck on a shelf to be stared at.