So I have pretty much holed myself up inside my apartment. My neighbors are just to flipping crazy. I mean, dude, it only gets good when I stay inside. To venture outside leads to entirely too much craziness.

Thank gawd it is cooling down here in the South. That means most of the freaks will stay indoors. Which means I can escape for a run to the store going unnoticed.

Here is an example of the latest bafoonery…

So I get a call yesterday. It is my 17 year old neighbor who is in highschool and just had a baby. Seems she wanted to go out to a homecoming dance at the school. Her parents were refusing to babysit. At first, I was like, uh, NO, I am not babysitting no body!!

But then she goes on to ask me :’Can my deadbeat babydaddy who is homeless and loves to eat up all of your food come to your apartment to use your phone and watch the baby from 8-11?’

Huh? Uh NO again.

I tell her that is not going to be possible because the last time his sorry arse came over, he used my phone and I ended up with $50 in long distance charges and I was missing 2 of my damn BLUEBERRY BAGELS!! I want my damn bagels BACK!!!

Can some one please tell me why in the HECK this little CHILD (because I don’t care how MANY babies your underaged ass has, you still a CHILD UNDER ME and my 31 years on planet Earth!) proceeded to try and get mad. Girl, you better go somewhere. You should have thought about this ahead of time, BEFORE you decided to play house and have a baby. Its called REAL LIFE.

Everything takes back seat to your child. Get used to it.

I don’t know what to say about these folks. Not to mention her and her baby daddy tried to STEAL MY CAN OF SPAM yesterday! WTF! First my precious Blueberry bagels and now trying to take my delish can of spam????? I don’t think so!

Hmph. Ain’t no babysitting getting done up in here. And I still expect a full bag of bagels when that lil youngun comes across some money. $1.28 for 6 at the local wal mart. He betta recognize.

You know, living in the ghetto is like living in one endless book of weird freaked out fairy tales. Seriously, I couldn’t make this crap up even if I tried.

I laugh at it. I know its sad, but really, you have to laugh otherwise you will succomb to the ghettoness and become stuck and thinking that this stuff is the norm and believe you me, it aint the norm.

So, what’s been going on in my neck of the woods, you ask? Whuh? You didn’t ask? WHO CARES IF YOU DIDN’T ASK!!? I AM GOING TO TELL YOU ANYWAY! And you are going to read and enjoy and then laugh hysterically and then comment and tell me how funny it was!! Understood??? Great! I am so happy we came to an agreement.

I don’t venture outside much. I find it better not to associate with the neighbors too much because they start asking for too many favors. Dude, the guy next door to me, with the ‘No Smoking, Oxygen in Use’ sign in his window, who I see all the time smoking cigarettes, has one more time to call me Keisha (that is so not my name) and tell me I look pretty enough to eat while he proceeds to reeanact a KISS concert with his tongue. NOOOOOO!

There is also the neighbor who found out I work on computers and ask me to reload about 5 laptops for her. Yes, she seems like your typical granny, but being that she offers shots of bourbon and vodka on Sundays for $1 a shot and sells cigarettes for 35 cents each makes me doubt she bought them at our local Wal Mart. Um, lady, I don’t think so. I am NOT trying to have my fingerprints on your stolen goods!

Then you have the dude across the street who keeps getting kicked out by his girlfriend. He once hung out by the dumpsters for a whole week wearing the same red tshirt and faded jeans because she refused to let him in. I kinda felt bad for a moment, and thought about sending a box of goodies down to him because he was starting to look hungry. But you know that saying about not feeding the strays. I would probably never get rid of his ass. So I kept my distance, occassionally peeking out my blinds hoping he didn’t start digging in the trash.

There is also the woman one building over who, when off of her meds, likes to tell me about people scratching her Ford Taurus because they are jealous of it. Um, yeah. I didn’t know how to respond when she said, “Honey, they won’t scratch them white folks cars…and I aint meaning your white friends, honey. Your white friends don’t count. I don’t mean nuffin’ about thems.” Oooookay.

I tell ya. I stay inside for a reason. I feel safe in my apartment with my internet, telephone and cabinets full of bbq sauce. A chick can’t be seen outside. No telling who the heck might come up to me asking all kinds of weirdo questions.

And dear neighbordude, please keep your tongue in your mouth. It has little white splotches on it that makes me want to puke. Juss sayin’.

life has been one big ol fat hullabaloo of shit.

so what has been going on, you ask? i shall tell you. not that anyone cares, but i am going to tell it anyways and i dare one of ya’ll asses to say shit!

i am currently involved in shit.

oh my, who woulda thunk that shit!?

i now have the neighborhood crackheads (who surprisingly aren’t anorexic looking) on my ass. If they ask me one more TIME if i have a bottle of bbq sauce i am going to scream!

dude, you get foodstamps! quit selling it for a crack rock and take yer sorry nonSKINNY ass to the meatmarket down the road and pick up a bottle $1.89 bbq sauce! what is wrong with you!!???

and quit asking me for a shot of vodka. dude that is so rude. alcoholics don’t share with crackheads. us alcoholics have standards. the last time i decided to share my vodka with you, i caught you in my kitchen pouring it into empty beer cans and claiming your beer tasted funny so you were sending it by yer pregnant 17 year old to take to her father to test it out.

i am asking you nicely. please do not knock my door and ask me for any bbq sauce or koolaide. you know what i am going to tell you?

i am going to tell you to kiss my ‘brown skinned white girl ass’ and hell nawl you aint getting no bbq sauce and you damned sure aint getting none of my generic-it-aint-really-koolaide-juice-but-what-the-hell-you-know-packets.

Peace, love, bbq sauce, and here’s to the much needed CRACK intervention that is your sure 15 minutes of fame reality tv show. Bye.