Juan the plumber called and said he could fix the sink today. Mexican Monkey was here chattering away and had me in a spin thinking it was Friday and not Saturday. Friday is when Mexican Monkey turned my world upside down and when he showed up at eight this morning, something he can't do on Sunday I was thinking, "Dang, the fucker is still here."
He is a monkey after all and of course always ready to push buttons, open cans, turn things upside down, it's just normal for a monkey.
Fucked my whole day. Today is the celebration of the two Davids birthdays. They are about a week or so apart but at this age, it all melds together anyway. Wrinkles don't get longer, they meld.
The sink is in, along with a new garbage disposal. The dishes are washing, I've had a few beers and can see there is room yet for more because the hedge is still squared. We're having the biggest fucking scallops I've seen with steak, roasted corn on the cob and potatoes. Mexican Monkey, after causing chaos, left to make money. I had to cut our bike ride short to get back and deal with Juan the carpenter and ice the beer while Mexican Monkey and Mom went merrily on their cycling way. Do you think Mexican Monkey would stay for a fucking free dinner? Fuck no, he's an American citizen now, he's got to get to the factory and scream at some real Mexicans to work harder and longer for the Yankee dollar.
I'm writing the Juanster's mom another letter. I'll plead that I think my life is now shortened. Por favor, what are the prayers to make Mexican Monkey go Norte.
Stories from living in Los Angeles
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
The Mexican Monkey Returns
The Juanster is a very important Patron.
Mucho Importanto. In his world.
In my world he is the Mexican Monkey. He really hates being called a Mexican, being from Columbia. When friends of his in Columbia come to America to work at his silk screen factory with cushy un-Mexican type of, over- the- border-work, in other words, desk jobs rather than sweat and grunt jobs, they can't get use to American ways. Our, in the fast--you want a siesta? What are you crazy? ways. They go back to Columbia.
"Juan? How long did it take to get use to living in America?" They ask.
Without thinking, Juan says, "About two weeks."
His sainted mother took in laundry to pay for the Juanster's passage to America.
"Mijo, El Norte," she said and pressed the cash in his palm.
Not that Juan's family needed money. They came from money but Juan is high energy. If mom didn't rid the nest of the Juanster, the youngest, she would be doomed to an early death.
"El Norte, Mijo," she waved to her youngest when he left on the plane. Then prayed to the Madonna, thanking her for giving her the will to go on and a special prayer to St. Anthony that she would light candles for seven days and nights if he will keep the Juanster from finding his way home.
Not to worry Mom.
The Juanster is happy in America. He is making lots of Yankee dollars and became a citizen so he can continue to make more Yankee dollars. Juan is at home in a hyper-active-do-or-die society absorbed with wealth.
Mexican Monkey promised, as monkeys do, that he would be over Thursday to trim the hedge in the alley. He knows how important the task is with the Zionist Jihad Party Boys roaming the alley night and day. Village Idiot alone, directly in back, needs constant monitoring lest he starts the hood on fire.
He was busy making money at his silk screen factory. Really, he couldn't come over because he was waiting for a client to come after work hours. The fucking hedge is growing and is no longer clipped flat at seven feet but now has pointy growth. How the fuck can we get drunk with a fucking pointy hedge? It throws you off, you think you've already had enough to drink when there is actually more beer time.
He came, after ten in the morning and thirty-one seconds. Mexican Monkey is very high energy. If he comes over earlier, and I haven't read my newspaper, his monkey antics begin to really irritate the fuck out of me. I've chased him down the street with my cane.
"Mike. Mike." Mexican Monkey pleads as I read.
"Mike! MIKE!"
"What the fuck is it now Juanster?"
"Look at this, it's a picture of how bone chips, like the ones in your foot and back, cause you to have a heart attack. Look at the pictures, Mike."
When I stood and headed straight for him, my fingers spread to grip the scrawny neck of a five- foot-four ninny, he fled in terror with a three legged fat man close behind. My foot hurt for three days chasing him down the block. If I was going to have a heart attack, it would have been then. I wrote a letter to his mom asking what prayers did she say because I don't think Los Angeles is Norte enough. I think the Virgin thought Los Angeles but mom was thinking New York.
After that, Mexican Monkey can only come after ten. Now ten and thirty-one seconds because he thought the idea was stupid. I told him that if he wanted not to have serious breakage of his body, that ten and thirty-one seconds would be safest.
After the hedge was trimmed, he agreed it did make it better for more beer than the pointy hedge led you to believe. We had some suds and then went to our local sushi bar for a few more pints with sushi. Mexican Monkey made phone calls, I paid the bill and he left to make more money bugging the living shit out of someone else.
And I'm still waiting for Mom to send me those prayers. All I got so far are postcards with a silly happy face on them.
Mucho Importanto. In his world.
In my world he is the Mexican Monkey. He really hates being called a Mexican, being from Columbia. When friends of his in Columbia come to America to work at his silk screen factory with cushy un-Mexican type of, over- the- border-work, in other words, desk jobs rather than sweat and grunt jobs, they can't get use to American ways. Our, in the fast--you want a siesta? What are you crazy? ways. They go back to Columbia.
"Juan? How long did it take to get use to living in America?" They ask.
Without thinking, Juan says, "About two weeks."
His sainted mother took in laundry to pay for the Juanster's passage to America.
"Mijo, El Norte," she said and pressed the cash in his palm.
Not that Juan's family needed money. They came from money but Juan is high energy. If mom didn't rid the nest of the Juanster, the youngest, she would be doomed to an early death.
"El Norte, Mijo," she waved to her youngest when he left on the plane. Then prayed to the Madonna, thanking her for giving her the will to go on and a special prayer to St. Anthony that she would light candles for seven days and nights if he will keep the Juanster from finding his way home.
Not to worry Mom.
The Juanster is happy in America. He is making lots of Yankee dollars and became a citizen so he can continue to make more Yankee dollars. Juan is at home in a hyper-active-do-or-die society absorbed with wealth.
Mexican Monkey promised, as monkeys do, that he would be over Thursday to trim the hedge in the alley. He knows how important the task is with the Zionist Jihad Party Boys roaming the alley night and day. Village Idiot alone, directly in back, needs constant monitoring lest he starts the hood on fire.
He was busy making money at his silk screen factory. Really, he couldn't come over because he was waiting for a client to come after work hours. The fucking hedge is growing and is no longer clipped flat at seven feet but now has pointy growth. How the fuck can we get drunk with a fucking pointy hedge? It throws you off, you think you've already had enough to drink when there is actually more beer time.
He came, after ten in the morning and thirty-one seconds. Mexican Monkey is very high energy. If he comes over earlier, and I haven't read my newspaper, his monkey antics begin to really irritate the fuck out of me. I've chased him down the street with my cane.
"Mike. Mike." Mexican Monkey pleads as I read.
"Mike! MIKE!"
"What the fuck is it now Juanster?"
"Look at this, it's a picture of how bone chips, like the ones in your foot and back, cause you to have a heart attack. Look at the pictures, Mike."
When I stood and headed straight for him, my fingers spread to grip the scrawny neck of a five- foot-four ninny, he fled in terror with a three legged fat man close behind. My foot hurt for three days chasing him down the block. If I was going to have a heart attack, it would have been then. I wrote a letter to his mom asking what prayers did she say because I don't think Los Angeles is Norte enough. I think the Virgin thought Los Angeles but mom was thinking New York.
After that, Mexican Monkey can only come after ten. Now ten and thirty-one seconds because he thought the idea was stupid. I told him that if he wanted not to have serious breakage of his body, that ten and thirty-one seconds would be safest.
After the hedge was trimmed, he agreed it did make it better for more beer than the pointy hedge led you to believe. We had some suds and then went to our local sushi bar for a few more pints with sushi. Mexican Monkey made phone calls, I paid the bill and he left to make more money bugging the living shit out of someone else.
And I'm still waiting for Mom to send me those prayers. All I got so far are postcards with a silly happy face on them.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Mom and the Mexican Monkey
I got me two of the greatest gifts any gardener could have. A Jap and a Mexican Monkey. Mom is hundred percent Jap who, when not dispensing advice on what will happen to you if you eat a bug, can squat like they do in the old country. I got her a rice hat, well actually it was one of my old beach hats but put her in it and have her squat in the garden to pull weeds and you could take a picture and swear you were in an Asian rice paddy.
She likes to use a screwdriver to dig out weeds. Fine with me, shit, she can dig him out with a clam digger for all I care, the woman is a weed-o-matic and loves it. She don't eat much either and drinks even less except for a martini or two when she's in between boyfriends.
The Mexican monkey is actually from Columbia. He owns a silk screening factory and loves to boss people around except I need him to climb ladders for Christmas decorations and hedge cutting. He's good at climbing being so damn short and as a kid, swinging from banana trees, coffee bushes and coca plants. Feet like a girl, he shimmies up the ladder and as long as I have a hold of his leash, the electric cord for the hedge trimmer, can't get to far away.
The two of them together, Mom barking orders in her squat, and the Mexican monkey jumping all around cutting the hell out of the shrubbery, the place looks pretty damn good. Cost me though, had to feed them hamburgers and give a gallon bag of string beans to them with a half dozen eggs but shit, to have a Jap gardener and a Mexican monkey work in your garden?
That's fucking cheap.
She likes to use a screwdriver to dig out weeds. Fine with me, shit, she can dig him out with a clam digger for all I care, the woman is a weed-o-matic and loves it. She don't eat much either and drinks even less except for a martini or two when she's in between boyfriends.
The Mexican monkey is actually from Columbia. He owns a silk screening factory and loves to boss people around except I need him to climb ladders for Christmas decorations and hedge cutting. He's good at climbing being so damn short and as a kid, swinging from banana trees, coffee bushes and coca plants. Feet like a girl, he shimmies up the ladder and as long as I have a hold of his leash, the electric cord for the hedge trimmer, can't get to far away.
The two of them together, Mom barking orders in her squat, and the Mexican monkey jumping all around cutting the hell out of the shrubbery, the place looks pretty damn good. Cost me though, had to feed them hamburgers and give a gallon bag of string beans to them with a half dozen eggs but shit, to have a Jap gardener and a Mexican monkey work in your garden?
That's fucking cheap.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Death's Waiting Room
A call came in from the doctor, I was to pick up a prescription to replace what my bum thyroid can no longer do and Wally had an appointment in geriatrics. The waiting room in the geriatric clinic was busy. A large woman with no throat, I had heard her tongue was removed along with other things and dying of cancer was there in a wheelchair. A wheelchair so large it was difficult to get it through the doorway. Everyone there was nearing the end and that includes me. The thyroid, then?
It was a long fucking wait. They were busy, a lot of folks are dying nowadays. Another lady who lived here for forty years but originally was from Massachusetts and pronounced her r's in that strange kind of way was there talking to us. Attired in pajamas and house slippers. She has great grandchildren and wasn't sure what the word dementia meant. I know what it means first hand.
I have to talk to a doctor in tranquilest. The doc talks to Wally, Wally smiles, blinks and then the doctor will glance at me and I'll answer. It's as if I had my hand up Wally's ass pulling his smile, blinking his eyes and saying his answers. He needed an EKG, another appointment with his regular doctor to have his cholesterol checked and an appointment with the hearing clinic. Blood work, try not to nap, cut his half of an Aricep tab in half again to wean him off the memory drug and, I don't know, try not to get depressed.
How the fuck do you not get depressed in Death's waiting room?
It was a long fucking wait. They were busy, a lot of folks are dying nowadays. Another lady who lived here for forty years but originally was from Massachusetts and pronounced her r's in that strange kind of way was there talking to us. Attired in pajamas and house slippers. She has great grandchildren and wasn't sure what the word dementia meant. I know what it means first hand.
I have to talk to a doctor in tranquilest. The doc talks to Wally, Wally smiles, blinks and then the doctor will glance at me and I'll answer. It's as if I had my hand up Wally's ass pulling his smile, blinking his eyes and saying his answers. He needed an EKG, another appointment with his regular doctor to have his cholesterol checked and an appointment with the hearing clinic. Blood work, try not to nap, cut his half of an Aricep tab in half again to wean him off the memory drug and, I don't know, try not to get depressed.
How the fuck do you not get depressed in Death's waiting room?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Tanked Up Party Boys
Drag Queen has excited the Zionists Jihad Party Boys. Her booty shakes, her hands twirl fans and she wears a pink satin butt flosser. It's too much for skull-cap wearing party boys. It drove them into such a sexual frenzy at today's performance that the eastern barrack took off in the biggest fucking tank--ever.
Big ole nasty thing. It roared down the alley, a tank with tanked up Jihad Party Boys. Their skull-caps and beards flying in the wind. Drag Queen has sent them on a quest I'm sure. A quest to retrieve some bauble for her. A promise, perhaps, of special favors only a drag queen can perform with lip muscles that have no limits.
Scared the shit out of the chickens. If I see Drag Queen, I'll have to comment that she could have had some eggs if she only didn't scare the fuck out of the chickens. Not her fault, drag queens can't help themselves when the fleet is in. These Zionist Jihad Party Boys never met a guy more girl or one so manly as Drag Queen. Jihad Party Boys like he-man men. They even like their girls that way too.
My thyroid kicked out on me. I now have an excuse for being fat. Not that I needed one, but when I sit and eat for four hours straight, I can say, it's a thyroid condition, I won't be lying. Well, not that anyone would believe me. Mother won't wait on me when I told her, "The doc said I should be waited on hand and foot until they can get me the pills for a bum thyroid."
Hell mom won't give me her thyroid and she won't give her sister a kidney. Mom is like that. Not selfish, just stingy with her body parts.
Big ole nasty thing. It roared down the alley, a tank with tanked up Jihad Party Boys. Their skull-caps and beards flying in the wind. Drag Queen has sent them on a quest I'm sure. A quest to retrieve some bauble for her. A promise, perhaps, of special favors only a drag queen can perform with lip muscles that have no limits.
Scared the shit out of the chickens. If I see Drag Queen, I'll have to comment that she could have had some eggs if she only didn't scare the fuck out of the chickens. Not her fault, drag queens can't help themselves when the fleet is in. These Zionist Jihad Party Boys never met a guy more girl or one so manly as Drag Queen. Jihad Party Boys like he-man men. They even like their girls that way too.
My thyroid kicked out on me. I now have an excuse for being fat. Not that I needed one, but when I sit and eat for four hours straight, I can say, it's a thyroid condition, I won't be lying. Well, not that anyone would believe me. Mother won't wait on me when I told her, "The doc said I should be waited on hand and foot until they can get me the pills for a bum thyroid."
Hell mom won't give me her thyroid and she won't give her sister a kidney. Mom is like that. Not selfish, just stingy with her body parts.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Trash Wars
The hood was on full alert yesterday. Trash day and everybody wanted their trash removed pronto. Drag Queen, who knows her trash, had it ready and waiting. Proud of her ability to stuff every bit of trash in the dumpsters, she gloated and clapped when pick-up began. The Village Idiot, had a couch out and was, in his idiot way, trying to get the green trash people to take it. It isn't fucking green, Village Idiot. Drag Queen saw the dilemma I have with Village Idiot, she smiled and watched his fool antics in trying to get the green barrel people to take his stupid, flea ridden sofa.
Lady of the Forest, had two barrels of green from her trees. She had more but they only pick up what is in the barrel, something Village Idiot never learned. But trash day was chaotic and pick-up was untimely and upsetting to the barracks and to the palace next door.
Daddy had the lawn mowed and, what's more, watered. The crew had been there for an hour at least. It wasn't mowing so much as harvesting the wheat. Their grass had all gone to seed and really, I enjoyed the wildness of it. No screeching on the part of Mean Queen, though her car was parked there for a short while. Daddy won and Mean Queen has lost the battle of wills. She is preparing a fatwa on Daddy. A Jewish fatwa to kill Daddy but the Zionist Jihad Party Boys will have nothing to do with it. They have Drag Queen and she knows trash when she sees it and she sees plenty with the Party Boys and their skull caps and clap-clap songs.
The alley is clean, the palace is mowed and Drag Queen saved us by keeping the Party Boys happy with many bouncy butt flosser dances.
Lady of the Forest, had two barrels of green from her trees. She had more but they only pick up what is in the barrel, something Village Idiot never learned. But trash day was chaotic and pick-up was untimely and upsetting to the barracks and to the palace next door.
Daddy had the lawn mowed and, what's more, watered. The crew had been there for an hour at least. It wasn't mowing so much as harvesting the wheat. Their grass had all gone to seed and really, I enjoyed the wildness of it. No screeching on the part of Mean Queen, though her car was parked there for a short while. Daddy won and Mean Queen has lost the battle of wills. She is preparing a fatwa on Daddy. A Jewish fatwa to kill Daddy but the Zionist Jihad Party Boys will have nothing to do with it. They have Drag Queen and she knows trash when she sees it and she sees plenty with the Party Boys and their skull caps and clap-clap songs.
The alley is clean, the palace is mowed and Drag Queen saved us by keeping the Party Boys happy with many bouncy butt flosser dances.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Saucy Drag Queen
Oh, she is a bitch in heat alright. Drag Queen comes out to dump trash every time I'm in the garden. Every fucking time. Today was a goose wave. One of those, raise your hand high like a goose neck and then make the goose speak by bending the hand back and forth, waves. I had a quart of string beans in my hands, my butt flosser on and panama hat. She adored me.
Later, after I waved back and bent over to give her a view of my ample ass, I thought while searching the bean poles, 'I should have offered her eggs and string beans.' I didn't though, once you make friends with drag queens you're their friend for life, no matter what you say or do. Like a gob of gum on your shoe--they stick.
I dated a drag queen once, years ago, before I won, in a dating contest, a drag that liked to go to straight bars and pick guys up. I was commenting on her absolutely stunning looks as a woman but why is there a tooth missing. Well, apparently some people have issues at straight bars but that didn't stop her. I gave her the free dinner for two we won at some restaurant and wished her well. But the other drag queen, the one I fell in love with in my twenties, well, he was a pro drag. Tall and thin with Irish eyes and smile. He was in faded jeans and an easy wearing plaid shirt. We talked and I'm ready but he said his show was about to go on. So an hour later, out he comes in drag and he doesn't lip-sync. He does his own version of the song of the performer he is impersonating. I'm intrigue and wait until three fucking in the morning to go home with him.
Biggest fucking dick I've seen in a while and hard. The man loved pounding ass. Didn't get screwed himself, so he said, but there was a price.
He was an entertainer and I like sports. When the sun sat, he got up, and when it rose, he went to bed. That and his next show was in Nebraska, where he wanted to whisk me off. Picturing myself in fields of corn I would only see at night, I stayed behind.
Oh, I know drag queens alright and Drag Queen has her party boys and her trash. But for drag queens, one is too many and ten are not enough.
Later, after I waved back and bent over to give her a view of my ample ass, I thought while searching the bean poles, 'I should have offered her eggs and string beans.' I didn't though, once you make friends with drag queens you're their friend for life, no matter what you say or do. Like a gob of gum on your shoe--they stick.
I dated a drag queen once, years ago, before I won, in a dating contest, a drag that liked to go to straight bars and pick guys up. I was commenting on her absolutely stunning looks as a woman but why is there a tooth missing. Well, apparently some people have issues at straight bars but that didn't stop her. I gave her the free dinner for two we won at some restaurant and wished her well. But the other drag queen, the one I fell in love with in my twenties, well, he was a pro drag. Tall and thin with Irish eyes and smile. He was in faded jeans and an easy wearing plaid shirt. We talked and I'm ready but he said his show was about to go on. So an hour later, out he comes in drag and he doesn't lip-sync. He does his own version of the song of the performer he is impersonating. I'm intrigue and wait until three fucking in the morning to go home with him.
Biggest fucking dick I've seen in a while and hard. The man loved pounding ass. Didn't get screwed himself, so he said, but there was a price.
He was an entertainer and I like sports. When the sun sat, he got up, and when it rose, he went to bed. That and his next show was in Nebraska, where he wanted to whisk me off. Picturing myself in fields of corn I would only see at night, I stayed behind.
Oh, I know drag queens alright and Drag Queen has her party boys and her trash. But for drag queens, one is too many and ten are not enough.
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