Part VII: I See Dead People
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Part VIII: Dumpster Diving 101
"You never finish anything you start!"
Yeah, yeah yeah. These words ring like bells in the back of my mind. From finger painting to college degrees, it's all the same. I did finish undergrad, so does anyone really give a crap if I finished a finger painting in kindergarten? ;) I do however, intend on finishing this story.
I left off with the corpse in the backyard. A bright, sunny afternoon, possibly a Tuesday. Shots fired and me frantically hanging out the window yelling "Are you okay?" to a dead guy. Wouldn't be the first time I tried to carry on a conversation with the non-living. My first day as a nursing assistant I was assigned to a dying woman. I was instructed to wet this little spongie thing on a stick and run it over her lips for hydration. Also, she could suck water out of it if she was thirsty. I crept into her room, oh, I would say just about every five minutes, sticking the spongie thing on a stick into her mouth, hydrating and talking, hydrating and talking. I don't remember at what point I finally noticed she wasn't breathing, but it freaked me out. Not in a grossed out kind of way, hell, I had seen a handful of autopsies. I could eat a sandwich, post mortem bedside, while watching a cadaver brain being sliced like a piece of bread (it's actually called "loafing"),no problem. This was more like an "Isn't there something I can do?" kind of freaked out feeling. It had only been a few hours, but I felt like I knew her. I can't even remember how many times I asked the head nurse on duty "Are you sure she's gone? Are you sure? Check again! Make sure!"
She was as dead as a doornail.
The guy in my yard was also as dead as a doornail, but I still kept screaming out the window, asking him if he was okay. Maybe I am crazy.
Turns out there had been a drug deal gone bad, right there under my son's bedroom window. This was the last day of my stay at the corner of 20th and ___. I still stop in the neighborhood every time I'm in the city. Why? Poppy's corner store is the only place I have ever found that sells Mango flavored Juicy Juice. And you thought I was buying a bag of weed. Shame on you. ;)
I realize that in my last blog I had already moved out to "The County", but never quite touched on the "How I survived" part of the story. Simple. The tools of my trade were a hooked umbrella handle and a flashlight. I picked trash, cleaned it up, sold it, and generated an income. Later, after receiving several citations (because taking things that other people don't want is illegal. WHAT???) I graduated to buying stuff cheap and selling it expensive. Yard sales, e-bay, Craigslist, etcetera. I was becoming a regular hustler. One re-sanded and re-painted nightstand could bring in enough cash to feed my kids for a week. One ugly (the ugliest I had ever seen) gold charm bracelet at the bottom of a Goodwill dumpster = 65 of my kid's piano lessons. (So don't let it fool ya..I'z a poor mo fo. Just because my kids play sports and take music lessons doesn't mean I have money.)
This highly addictive behavior must be carefully monitored. If not it can become an issue. I collected and hoarded stuff for five years to open up a thrift store. After a basement flooding, I stuffed it all back into my garage, where it still resides today. I am not a hoarder, but I started recognizing behaviors. I do not throw things away. Ever. Someone, somewhere, might need it someday. I do not continue to bring things in. I donate every now and then when sales are slow and I get sick of looking at it all.
Some say that hoarding behavior comes from fear...the uncertainty of knowing what tomorrow will bring, or take. Others say this behavior stems from leaving all of your material possessions, or, somewhere along the line in life, being abandoned. I had to put an end to this before I found myself on television. You know the show.
So that's all I have to say about that. As much as I have enjoyed, and sometimes not enjoyed, writing this, it has to end somewhere.
I would like to leave you with a few things that come from the heart of my more "serious side".
Brace yourself for my next blog entry. MALES as Domestic Violence victims. That's right, I said "MALES".
http://domesticviolencestatistics.org/domestic-violence-statistics/
Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women—more than car accidents, muggings, and rapes combined.
The costs of intimate partner violence in the US alone exceed $5.8 billion per year: $4.1 billion are for direct medical and health care services, while productivity losses account for nearly $1.8 billion.
There are simple things to look for when you meet someone, go on a date, begin a relationship, etc.
a.) Read them b.)Learn them . c.) Don't forget them.
http://www.turningpointservices.org/Domestic%20Violence%20-%20Warning%20Signs.htm
Domestic violence is not so much about wanting to hurt the victim as wanting to CONTROL the victim.
Please take a minute of your time to watch this video. Copy and paste it into your browser.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=1vjZdXoQ0nY
I hope you find these links informative and helpful. Also remember if you find yourself feeling leery about someone or something, you are probably right.
" Denial" is not a river in Egypt. Learn what it is and how to avoid it.
http://www.lhj.com/relationships/marriage/challenges/the-face-of-domestic-violence/?page=2
Yeah, yeah yeah. These words ring like bells in the back of my mind. From finger painting to college degrees, it's all the same. I did finish undergrad, so does anyone really give a crap if I finished a finger painting in kindergarten? ;) I do however, intend on finishing this story.
I left off with the corpse in the backyard. A bright, sunny afternoon, possibly a Tuesday. Shots fired and me frantically hanging out the window yelling "Are you okay?" to a dead guy. Wouldn't be the first time I tried to carry on a conversation with the non-living. My first day as a nursing assistant I was assigned to a dying woman. I was instructed to wet this little spongie thing on a stick and run it over her lips for hydration. Also, she could suck water out of it if she was thirsty. I crept into her room, oh, I would say just about every five minutes, sticking the spongie thing on a stick into her mouth, hydrating and talking, hydrating and talking. I don't remember at what point I finally noticed she wasn't breathing, but it freaked me out. Not in a grossed out kind of way, hell, I had seen a handful of autopsies. I could eat a sandwich, post mortem bedside, while watching a cadaver brain being sliced like a piece of bread (it's actually called "loafing"),no problem. This was more like an "Isn't there something I can do?" kind of freaked out feeling. It had only been a few hours, but I felt like I knew her. I can't even remember how many times I asked the head nurse on duty "Are you sure she's gone? Are you sure? Check again! Make sure!"
She was as dead as a doornail.
The guy in my yard was also as dead as a doornail, but I still kept screaming out the window, asking him if he was okay. Maybe I am crazy.
Turns out there had been a drug deal gone bad, right there under my son's bedroom window. This was the last day of my stay at the corner of 20th and ___. I still stop in the neighborhood every time I'm in the city. Why? Poppy's corner store is the only place I have ever found that sells Mango flavored Juicy Juice. And you thought I was buying a bag of weed. Shame on you. ;)
I realize that in my last blog I had already moved out to "The County", but never quite touched on the "How I survived" part of the story. Simple. The tools of my trade were a hooked umbrella handle and a flashlight. I picked trash, cleaned it up, sold it, and generated an income. Later, after receiving several citations (because taking things that other people don't want is illegal. WHAT???) I graduated to buying stuff cheap and selling it expensive. Yard sales, e-bay, Craigslist, etcetera. I was becoming a regular hustler. One re-sanded and re-painted nightstand could bring in enough cash to feed my kids for a week. One ugly (the ugliest I had ever seen) gold charm bracelet at the bottom of a Goodwill dumpster = 65 of my kid's piano lessons. (So don't let it fool ya..I'z a poor mo fo. Just because my kids play sports and take music lessons doesn't mean I have money.)
This highly addictive behavior must be carefully monitored. If not it can become an issue. I collected and hoarded stuff for five years to open up a thrift store. After a basement flooding, I stuffed it all back into my garage, where it still resides today. I am not a hoarder, but I started recognizing behaviors. I do not throw things away. Ever. Someone, somewhere, might need it someday. I do not continue to bring things in. I donate every now and then when sales are slow and I get sick of looking at it all.
Some say that hoarding behavior comes from fear...the uncertainty of knowing what tomorrow will bring, or take. Others say this behavior stems from leaving all of your material possessions, or, somewhere along the line in life, being abandoned. I had to put an end to this before I found myself on television. You know the show.
So that's all I have to say about that. As much as I have enjoyed, and sometimes not enjoyed, writing this, it has to end somewhere.
I would like to leave you with a few things that come from the heart of my more "serious side".
Brace yourself for my next blog entry. MALES as Domestic Violence victims. That's right, I said "MALES".
http://domesticviolencestatistics.org/domestic-violence-statistics/
Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women—more than car accidents, muggings, and rapes combined.
The costs of intimate partner violence in the US alone exceed $5.8 billion per year: $4.1 billion are for direct medical and health care services, while productivity losses account for nearly $1.8 billion.
There are simple things to look for when you meet someone, go on a date, begin a relationship, etc.
a.) Read them b.)Learn them . c.) Don't forget them.
http://www.turningpointservices.org/Domestic%20Violence%20-%20Warning%20Signs.htm
Too often, victims of domestic violence find themselves in a pattern of abusive relationships, going from one to another. This is why you need to (see a, b, and c.)
Domestic violence is not so much about wanting to hurt the victim as wanting to CONTROL the victim.
Please take a minute of your time to watch this video. Copy and paste it into your browser.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=1vjZdXoQ0nY
I hope you find these links informative and helpful. Also remember if you find yourself feeling leery about someone or something, you are probably right.
" Denial" is not a river in Egypt. Learn what it is and how to avoid it.
http://www.lhj.com/relationships/marriage/challenges/the-face-of-domestic-violence/?page=2
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)