Once in awhile, when darkness falls, I will sling my trusty hedge trimmers over my shoulder and march up and down my street looking for neighbors whose brush encroaches on the sidewalk. I will snip, snip, snip as fast as I can and scurry off to the next offender.
Before you think I’m that one weird-ass neighbor every has, let me explain.
A handful of my neighbors do not regard their lawn as something that deserves care or maintenance. Fine and dandy. It’s their property to do what they see fit. However, when their overgrowth overtakes the sidewalk, it’s a slap in the face of all neighbors. When elderly people and children are forced to walk in the street, it’s downright villainous. VILLAINOUS, I SAY!
But day after day, no neighbor comes forward to speak to the offenders and the growth continues to expand.
Except for me.
I’m coming forward, mother f’ers.
I realized that in order to take care of business, there were a couple avenues I could pursue:
1.) I knock (more…)
I have a friend.
His name is Tyrone.
Tyrone is homeless.
We’ve been buddies for years now, and we have each other’s backs.
Our favorite pastime is to hang on my front porch, chewing the fat on the troubles and joys of this beautiful and sometimes hateful world.
I could write a novel on our relationship — like when he and I pooled our resources to buy him a van to sleep out of, or when he wanted to heal the stye on my eyelid with a needle and whiskey — but I don’t feel it’s appropriate or necessary to write about it in a public way. Maybe one day.
However, there is one thing I want to share:
Two days ago, my boyfriend mentioned to Tyrone that I lost my job.
Yesterday Tyrone came by my house to gift me lunch.
Tyrone, who has no home, no steady employment and who struggles to find healthy and satiating meals on a daily basis, brought me lunch because I lost my job.
I love Tyrone.
And I’m thankful for his friendship.
(Note: I used Prisma to obscure Tyrone’s face to respect (more…)
I saw you walk into the diner with your husband.
Your back tired from years of living; your face pointed to the ground.
I saw you walk into the diner and I thought to myself I don’t want to get old.
I don’t want to sit across from my love and sit in silence because I cannot hear, I cannot see.
I saw the cataracts floating in your quiet eyes.
I saw your knuckles rising like mountains through the terrain of your hands.
I saw the permanent scowl you never asked for.
I daydreamed about your life, your marriage, about the emptiness you might feel right now.
I watched you from over my love’s shoulder, sitting in silence, staring at the table, lost in your own thoughts.
I also watched as you picked up your straw and blew the wrapper into your husband’s face.
And I watched as you clapped your hands and laughed until tears formed in your no longer quiet eyes.
Inspired by Kelly Oxford’s tweet, I asked my friends and family to share their stories of assault. I was not prepared for the answers I received.
In order to protect the identity of those who were brave enough to share their stories on my Facebook status, I will not share their comments, but I will tell you that within a few hours of asking my peers if they’ve experienced sexual harassment or assault, 50 women responded.
These 50 women wrote of being raped by loved ones, people they trusted.
They wrote of being groped by medical professionals or bosses.
They wrote of having their breasts grabbed or their vaginas or buttholes fingered by friends at school or strangers at a bar.
They wrote of being harassed “too many times to count.”
A few women shared their stories for the first time.
Some shared their stories with me privately.
The stories came from women ages 20 to 70, and they were all difficult to read. However, their responses reconfirmed several truths including (more…)