Oh, we have spies alright. Lots of them, and they come here to tell everything. Daffney, a Sunland spy was here the other day and noticed Golden Boy's, the caretaker, car had front end damage.
"Really?" I asked.
Daffney looked at me as if who am I to dispute his take of car damage. It's his main occupation. The other day, going to Miss. Lowes for an A.C. for Golden Boy's room, there was an accident where the fire department had shown up. A left turn and a car going forward, right in the intersection and Daffney could tell at second glance who's car was at fault, what they did and how fast they did it.
"He went over a speed bump too fast and that's caused the damage."
"Did you get down on your knees and look under the car?"
"No, I could see it from the other side of the road. It's all scratched up."
Daffney will wax your car if you have a newer one. Loves to do it, but the paint has to be new for him to offer this service free of charge. In this way he gets minute amounts of information from every section of your car. Was there a dent fixed that you didn't know about? Daffney is the one you ask.
The Greeters wife is back. Now that they shipped his mom back to the old country, the Greeters wife no longer has to rub her mother-in-law's
bunions at night. The Greeter is happy once again. Daffney told me all this while inspecting their cars. It's amazing what he can decipher from a car.
Stories from living in Los Angeles
Monday, February 25, 2013
Friday, February 15, 2013
News from Queer Gaza
It looks like they got rid of mom next door at Little Iran. The Greeter's wife is back and I watched them cart his mom off to the airport. I think they waited at the airport until they saw her plane disappear from sight. I know I would. She must have been a real bitch to his wife.
The two spent the rest of the day together, snuggling and making up I suppose. I hope so anyway. Especially since it's Valentines Day. Not that Muslims celebrate a third century Catholic saint's propensity for love, and in this case, it could have been a ruse.
Late in the night, when my prying eyes were asleep, they left in her car and haven't been back since. I'll have to send up another drone, Great Owl is no more. I did see a whirly-twirly that could be suited for just the purpose, mounted on the garage roof, to spin in the direction of the wind. With cameras mounted, and energy from the spinning, it could be quite powerful with telescopic ability. Couldn't fly like Great Owl could though but hey, you spy with what you have.
Mom wants the roll-top desk. Her and the boyfriend are suppose to come out tomorrow and pick it up. I suggested we all take a ride in the morning, after a breakfast of fresh fruit, cheese and croissants. Than a pleasant ride around Chatsworth lake and back before we load up the desk on his truck and have pizza on the barbie. It's suppose to be a beautiful day here on Saturday.
"Oh, that sounds wonderful. Can't wait," She said yesterday to me on the phone. I had e-mailed her earlier of the plan to have a nice day cycling and chatting in the backyard. It's a nice backyard here in Queer Gaza cause we're queer.
Today at four in the afternoon she calls. "Wally's bike is in the shop and he may not have it tomorrow. What time would you be back from the ride?"
"Aren't you guys coming out for breakfast?"
"Well Wally might not have his bike and I thought I would ride with the club at eight."
"So you're not coming for breakfast?"
"Well, what time are you coming back from your ride?"
"I don't know, what does it matter?"
"Well, Wally will come over when you and Juan are there to load the desk."
"Okay, tell him to get here about one."
"Is that when you'll get back?
"I don't know but can't he wait with you. You'll be back from the club ride at noon. So have him meet you here."
"Well, he wants to get the desk loaded."
"So, you guys aren't coming for dinner either. I bought all this food because you said it was a great idea and now you're not coming but are for the desk."
"Don't get mad." She says this accompanied by tears at bay.
"I'm not mad, I'm confused and your boyfriend is a homophobe." He didn't come to the Christmas party either because he had to work, she said.
"He's just shy."
"Okay he's shy. Why not call him once we're back from our ride. We can have the desk out on the curb, he won't have to turn the engine off, we'll load the desk, and you two love birds can be on your way, (to hell, said under my breath) back home.
"Okay, see you tomorrow."
I think we won't be seeing much of Mom or her homophobe lover. And get this, if this guy isn't queer than I don't have gaydar. He is in his fifties, lives close by his mother, but has his own house and never has had a relationship until now.
But here's the clincher. When he came over, the only time he has been over, it was for a club ride. The first thing he noticed was the library table in the den.
"Oh, is that a library table? It's beautiful."
First thing out of his fag mouth. I really--really hate homos that are homophobic.
The two spent the rest of the day together, snuggling and making up I suppose. I hope so anyway. Especially since it's Valentines Day. Not that Muslims celebrate a third century Catholic saint's propensity for love, and in this case, it could have been a ruse.
Late in the night, when my prying eyes were asleep, they left in her car and haven't been back since. I'll have to send up another drone, Great Owl is no more. I did see a whirly-twirly that could be suited for just the purpose, mounted on the garage roof, to spin in the direction of the wind. With cameras mounted, and energy from the spinning, it could be quite powerful with telescopic ability. Couldn't fly like Great Owl could though but hey, you spy with what you have.
Mom wants the roll-top desk. Her and the boyfriend are suppose to come out tomorrow and pick it up. I suggested we all take a ride in the morning, after a breakfast of fresh fruit, cheese and croissants. Than a pleasant ride around Chatsworth lake and back before we load up the desk on his truck and have pizza on the barbie. It's suppose to be a beautiful day here on Saturday.
"Oh, that sounds wonderful. Can't wait," She said yesterday to me on the phone. I had e-mailed her earlier of the plan to have a nice day cycling and chatting in the backyard. It's a nice backyard here in Queer Gaza cause we're queer.
Today at four in the afternoon she calls. "Wally's bike is in the shop and he may not have it tomorrow. What time would you be back from the ride?"
"Aren't you guys coming out for breakfast?"
"Well Wally might not have his bike and I thought I would ride with the club at eight."
"So you're not coming for breakfast?"
"Well, what time are you coming back from your ride?"
"I don't know, what does it matter?"
"Well, Wally will come over when you and Juan are there to load the desk."
"Okay, tell him to get here about one."
"Is that when you'll get back?
"I don't know but can't he wait with you. You'll be back from the club ride at noon. So have him meet you here."
"Well, he wants to get the desk loaded."
"So, you guys aren't coming for dinner either. I bought all this food because you said it was a great idea and now you're not coming but are for the desk."
"Don't get mad." She says this accompanied by tears at bay.
"I'm not mad, I'm confused and your boyfriend is a homophobe." He didn't come to the Christmas party either because he had to work, she said.
"He's just shy."
"Okay he's shy. Why not call him once we're back from our ride. We can have the desk out on the curb, he won't have to turn the engine off, we'll load the desk, and you two love birds can be on your way, (to hell, said under my breath) back home.
"Okay, see you tomorrow."
I think we won't be seeing much of Mom or her homophobe lover. And get this, if this guy isn't queer than I don't have gaydar. He is in his fifties, lives close by his mother, but has his own house and never has had a relationship until now.
But here's the clincher. When he came over, the only time he has been over, it was for a club ride. The first thing he noticed was the library table in the den.
"Oh, is that a library table? It's beautiful."
First thing out of his fag mouth. I really--really hate homos that are homophobic.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Little Iran's Greeter
The Greeter chatted with me the other day. He tried to keep it a secret that his wife left him. He talked of his mother, not his wife. I have an idea that mom is the one who got rid of his wife. How can anyone live with their mother and wife, certainly in Iran where it is forced on you but here, wife can fly away without being, hopefully, killed. And she did.
He seemed sad, the Greeter. I'm sure mom is happy. Happy, Happy, Happy cause the Greeter's wife was no fuckin' good for the Greeter. Just ask mom. He's doing okay, he said. But it didn't seem that way to me and I really felt sorry for the guy. In spite of his bomb building, and the burka-bitch hidden in the garage, where I guess, she is forced to build bombs, I feel sorry for the sap. Not so sorry for Happy Mom. Mom had on a scarf when someone drove her somewhere today. Mom needs to be driven just like in the old country. She cooks for Greeter, cleans up his shit, just like when he was a teeny-weenie baby.
It's so sad. If it wasn't that he was such a jerk, I'd offer him some advice. Send Mom packing before you turn into an old man living with your mother. But he seems pretty close to Mom. Mom knows what to cook for his high cholesterol. He let me know that when I offered him some fresh eggs. Mom knows how he likes his socks arranged and what he wants to eat on a cold winter day. Mom knows everything to keep Greeter well fed and jolly.
Poor bastard.
He seemed sad, the Greeter. I'm sure mom is happy. Happy, Happy, Happy cause the Greeter's wife was no fuckin' good for the Greeter. Just ask mom. He's doing okay, he said. But it didn't seem that way to me and I really felt sorry for the guy. In spite of his bomb building, and the burka-bitch hidden in the garage, where I guess, she is forced to build bombs, I feel sorry for the sap. Not so sorry for Happy Mom. Mom had on a scarf when someone drove her somewhere today. Mom needs to be driven just like in the old country. She cooks for Greeter, cleans up his shit, just like when he was a teeny-weenie baby.
It's so sad. If it wasn't that he was such a jerk, I'd offer him some advice. Send Mom packing before you turn into an old man living with your mother. But he seems pretty close to Mom. Mom knows what to cook for his high cholesterol. He let me know that when I offered him some fresh eggs. Mom knows how he likes his socks arranged and what he wants to eat on a cold winter day. Mom knows everything to keep Greeter well fed and jolly.
Poor bastard.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Life In Gaza
Things are hoping in the hood. Little Israel's Mean Queen is packing in new people through the front door while Daddy is pushing them out the back. They are all workers, either cleaning people or fixing-shit people. Mean Queen hires, promising small fortunes and Daddy tells them how much he's going to pay them and that ain't much so it's adios-fuckmego out the back.
The Greeter over in Little Iran is still without a wife. She showed up one day to collect some more of her shit but left pronto with family around her. The Greeter still has the Jihad Terrorist living with him. Just the Greeter now and the Jihad Terrorist making their bombs like some people knit scarves. There must be hundreds of fucking bombs in his garage by now. No wonder the bitch left. And now Little Iran sits in the dark, brooding with no burka bitches left. It's just Greeter and Jihad Terrorist doing the humpy-dance without a partner. So sad, to bad.
The Armenian hit man across the street waved at me the other day. It was a friendly, "how are you," kind of wave too. Made me nervous, and I did wave back but it was more for him not pulling a AK47 on me than anything else.
Mom is taking the oak roll-top desk. Mexican Monkey, if he is still sober, will help move the damn thing out of here. It's worth a lot of money, but nobody wants roll-top desks except of course, Mom.
It looks like Gabe is moving in sometime in April. Life will be different here in Gaza, the land between Little Iran and Little Israel. But I'll have someone to talk to and to help out with Wally. It will take a little getting use to but I think we'll do okay. Just as long as the fucking Iranians and Israelis don't start to lob their bombs on one another and of course, hit Little Gaza instead.
The Greeter over in Little Iran is still without a wife. She showed up one day to collect some more of her shit but left pronto with family around her. The Greeter still has the Jihad Terrorist living with him. Just the Greeter now and the Jihad Terrorist making their bombs like some people knit scarves. There must be hundreds of fucking bombs in his garage by now. No wonder the bitch left. And now Little Iran sits in the dark, brooding with no burka bitches left. It's just Greeter and Jihad Terrorist doing the humpy-dance without a partner. So sad, to bad.
The Armenian hit man across the street waved at me the other day. It was a friendly, "how are you," kind of wave too. Made me nervous, and I did wave back but it was more for him not pulling a AK47 on me than anything else.
Mom is taking the oak roll-top desk. Mexican Monkey, if he is still sober, will help move the damn thing out of here. It's worth a lot of money, but nobody wants roll-top desks except of course, Mom.
It looks like Gabe is moving in sometime in April. Life will be different here in Gaza, the land between Little Iran and Little Israel. But I'll have someone to talk to and to help out with Wally. It will take a little getting use to but I think we'll do okay. Just as long as the fucking Iranians and Israelis don't start to lob their bombs on one another and of course, hit Little Gaza instead.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Wally Pulls Through And Gabriel On The Rocks
The guy is a fighter. All the blood loss, the pain and having dementia, it's been tough for both of us. Wally is taking walks again, enjoying the backyard and out to dinner. He's better, but it's not a better as in him improving on the dementia. I'm in the middle of moving everything out of the computer room. Ordered a new Armour desk to take my writing to the den. Gabe is going to move into the spare bedroom.
Wally and I are going to need Gabe soon to help me with Wally's care. I can see the writing on the wall and with help here, the writing doesn't look so bad anymore. I'll be able to take better care of him without killing myself. Seriously, I've thought the end near at times because it is so damn tough to deal with. He will suddenly collapse now and you have to be careful he doesn't hurt himself or me trying to hold him up. With Gabe here, I'll have someone to talk with too and he ain't bad on the eyes either. I think it's going to work out just fine. I'm giving him room and board plus pay for the help he gives and he is close to the college where he goes.
I think too, I'll be able to write more. In the den, I won't have to check on Wally and he'll have company, either with me or Gabe. The garden is really coming in nice now and I'm feeling better about things. One thing is this hood. There has been a bunch happening and it needs to be told. Before all hell breaks loose between Little Israel and Little Iran.
 | |
| Gabriel On The Rocks |
Wally and I are going to need Gabe soon to help me with Wally's care. I can see the writing on the wall and with help here, the writing doesn't look so bad anymore. I'll be able to take better care of him without killing myself. Seriously, I've thought the end near at times because it is so damn tough to deal with. He will suddenly collapse now and you have to be careful he doesn't hurt himself or me trying to hold him up. With Gabe here, I'll have someone to talk with too and he ain't bad on the eyes either. I think it's going to work out just fine. I'm giving him room and board plus pay for the help he gives and he is close to the college where he goes.
I think too, I'll be able to write more. In the den, I won't have to check on Wally and he'll have company, either with me or Gabe. The garden is really coming in nice now and I'm feeling better about things. One thing is this hood. There has been a bunch happening and it needs to be told. Before all hell breaks loose between Little Israel and Little Iran.
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