JUST FELT LIKE SHARING

Howdy!  In my last entry I left off with: “To be continued…”  But frankly, there’s not too much more I have to say about my vacation.  The Night of My Visitation With The Paralyzing Supreme Light Beings - or whatever the hell it was - is about as exciting as it got for me that week.   Thankfully. 

O, wait – well – my cat Maisy’s tail caught fire at one point.  She was noshing on some tuna that I’d left on the kitchen table and I guess her ass got a little too close to a candle.   All the sudden I smell hair burning and next thing ya know, Maisy’s racing around the cabin like a smoking bottle rocket.  She put herself out pretty quickly with all that zooming-around ruckus.  And she’s fine, a resilient little thing.  I’ve always called her: “Maiser My Little Mouse-Taser”  or "Maiser my little Trail-Blazer.”   Now, I just add TAIL BLAZER to the list.  And so it goes.

But anyhow, today I watched a great movie while I was at work.  A documentary called: “The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia”.  All about this insane, dope-addicted, trigger-happy Appalachian family.  Talk about a hot mess.  Riveting stuff and I tell ya, I had to love their spunk.  I also had to marvel at the fact that I know of an extremely similar family who use to be fellow tenants in a building I once worked in.  Right here in Queens, New York.  For privacy purposes, I will hereafter refer to this family as The Buzzards.

In families of this type, there’s generally The Matriarch.  She’s the ring-leader, the gang moll who’s got the know-how to get all her homies on the government funding, welfare and crazy money.  She is the foundation, the focal point.  She is the cement (albeit, somewhat crumbly) that holds the pack together:  Nurturer of the Lunatics.  She is also the one who slaps everyone in the head and calls them vile names when she sees fit to rein ‘em in once in awhile.  Or when she’s just being affectionate.  Or just because. 

Babs Buzzard is just such a matriarch.  If I were to guess, she’s in her late 50’s, maybe early 60’s.  Wiry gal.  Alternately rides a motorcycle and a pickup truck.  Ruddy, weather-beaten skin and tattoos all over her arms.  But she takes real good care of her fingernails and always has a nice pedicure.   Looks like she stole those impeccable feet from some other woman. 

Babs smokes cigs like a fiend.  Voice raspier than an old man.  She’s flingin’ F-bombs like there’s no tomorrow – out the window: “FUCKIN’ BILLY YA FUCKIN’ SHIT FA BRAINS, I GIVE YA DA MONEY  TREE  FUCKIN’ OWW-UZ  AGO!!!   GET YA ASS  TA DA FUCKIN’ MCDONALD’S AN’ BRING ME A BOX A DA FUCKIN’ MCNUGGETS FOR DA FUCKIN’ BABY.” 

Because there’s always a baby.  Not Bab’s baby of course - she’s too old.  But she is always dragging around somebody else’s baby, all too often a crack-baby at that.  

Me: “That’s a different baby than the last one, isn’t it Babs?”

Babs: “I HADDA FUCKIN’ TAKE ‘IM IN, HIS MUDDAZ A FUCKIN’ PIECE-A SHIT.  SHE’S DOWN IN  FUCKIN’ BUSHWICK WHORIN’ -  SHE DON’T FUCKIN’  CARE.”

Is the baby related to Babs?  Who knows.  I don’t ask, just nod my head: “Thank God you took ‘im in, Babs.”

‘YOU AIN’T FUCKIN’ KIDDIN’.  HE’D  BE  FUCKIN’  KILT  ALREADY IF I DIN’T.”

Which I’m sure is true, crack babies don’t do so good out on the mean streets with their careless, whorin’ moms.  So thank heaven for Babs - just ask her!  Every word out of Babs’ mouth is a dire declaration.  To hear her tell it, Babs is SAVING THE WORLD  - ONE DIRT-BAG AT A TIME.

Typical morning conversation.  I run into Babs out on the street in front of our building.

Me:  “Hey, Babs.  What’s the good word?”

Babs: “Nuttin, I’m sick ta my fuckin stomach, I just got back fum da fuckin’ hospital,  my friend’s muddah fuckin’ DIED IN MY FUCKIN’ ARMS.”

Me: “Really?  How awful.  Was your friend there, too?”

Babs: “NAH, SHE’S OVER IN HARLEM.  SHE DON’T FUCKIN’ CARE ‘BOUT HER OWN MUDDAH.  IF I HADN’T FUCKIN’ GONE, THE OLD LADY WOULDA FUCKIN’  DIED ALONE.”

Me: “Wow.  Well, thank God for you, Babs!  Ok, have a good one!”

Because that’s another thing about ole’ Babs.  Everyone’s somehow always DYING in her ARMS.  Like, twice, three times a week or so.  No kidding.  Pretty wild. 

A favorite Babs memory was the day I come to work and she’s hopping out of her pickup.

Me:  “Yo, Babs – what’s the good word?”

Babs: “Ain’t no good word.  My son’s fuckin’ face is destroyed.”

Me: “Huh?”

Babs: “I just got back from the fuckin’ Emergency Room.  He was workin’ on ‘is fuckin’ car an’ a pipe blew up in ‘is fuckin’ face and now ‘is whole face is completely fuckin’ destroyed.”

Now, I’ve seen Bab’s son around.  Dopy guy, but not a bad looking kid, maybe in his 20’s.  Always working on his car.  I feel genuinely saddened and horrified.

Me: “O MY GOD, BABS!!! THAT IS SO AWFUL!  Is there anything I can DO??”

Babs: “JUST PRAY.  PRAY THAT HE MAKES IT.  PRAY FOR ME, PRAY FOR HIM – I CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE FUCKIN’ PAIN IN MY FUCKIN’ LIFE.”

So I actually pray for Bab’s boy and I ask my friends and family to do the same.  I mean, it’s such an awful thing to happen to a young guy like that. 

And then I get to work the next day, and there’s Bab’s son in front of the building.  Working on his car.  His face is completely fine – never looked better, actually.  I just stare at him and he smiles and waves to me like he always does.  Whistling, working away.  Playing his heavy-metal music loud on the car stereo while he toils.  Singing along with Ozzy like a champ.  Okaaaay….

After a few days, I realize that Babs has been avoiding running into me.  She seems to be timing it that way.  Finally, tho, it happens.  We meet up on the street.  Babs seems a bit jumpy.  I dive right in…

Me: “BABS!!  How you doin’??”

Babs: “Ok, but I gotta get RIGHT DOWN to fuckin’ Elmhurst General.  My cousin’s husband is on life support…” (Hmmm…don’t tell me…and  he needs to DIE in your ARMS...?)

Me:  “O, sure – don’t lemme keep you.  But I just wanted to tell you that I was SO GLAD TO SEE that your BOY is LOOKING SO WELL.”

Babs: (Not making eye contact, practically fleeing the scene)  “THANK YOU FOR YOUR PRAYERS.  HE’S A FAST HEALER.” 

Praise the Lord!