Once Urine, Twice You’re Out

For more than a dozen years my office has been in the “Historic” (homeless) district filled with quaint shoppes, brick -paved streets and the dude on the bike with urine.  The first time I met him was 10 years ago.  I had just got out of the car and  was burdened with a purse, briefcase and a box of files and teetering on cute but unsmart shoes in the metered parking lot downtown.  Briskly and much like a ninja this grown-ass man on a kids bike scrambled up to me like a crackhead tornado and he said, “Hey ladyladylady, give me all your money or I am gonna throw all this pee on you!”  In his free hand  was a cup of yellow liquid with a rubberbanded  tin foil for a lid. I dropped everything and gave him all my cash…and I mean every red cent..and it was all the money I had to my name for a week (and I had small children to feed…does that make it worse?  Good!  Because that’s how it was!)  He left and I picked up all of my thrown belongings and walked to my office with my heart racing and aching that he had taken all the money I had, even though it was not a large amount.

Pitiful, huh?

Fast forward to April of this year after I had been called into the office to hear that our doors were closing that day.  I left in the sunlight wondering what I was going to do.  Up rolls this guy on the bike (probably a different guy by now but the same scam).  “Hey ladyheyladyladylady!” he screamed, ushering me to attention. “Give me what you got for money right now or I am gonna throw this pee all over you!”  I threw everything down except my purse and I rared my head back and just belted out, “HHHHEEEEEEEEEELLLLPPPPPP!”  It was so loud that I think I burped in the process and it sounded like a lion’s roar!  His face was priceless.  He was afraid.  I said, “Bring it, BITCH!  Let’s go!  What cha got!?!?”  I was a crazy woman! I even think I was trying to pull off one of those Fred Sanford fancy footwork boxing deals..I dunno, I was in a zone. (Mind you, this was 100 feet from the police station).   My would-be assailant scooted off faster than Moody’s goose.  I gathered my things from the pavement and walked bravely to my car, feeling fearless and amused.  I knew I would be okay.

P.S.  The photo is not my actual would-be assailant, I think it’s of of them Walberg boys.

Topless Tuesday at the Thrift

toplessI am late for everything.  I have two teen sons, a full time job (I call it my “Big girl job”), the Vintage Warehouse space and have a full load at USF.  So what that means is that when I am somewhere…somewhere else is a sufferin’.  I have to work extra hard at everything to get it done and that includes scoring my good junk and antiques to paint.  And before you get your thong in a wad, I am not all about painting great-Aunt-Gerties prized Berkey and Gay buffet that has been in the family 3 generations.  I am about getting a half sanded buffet that Jolene is selling for her crack habit.  (I am kidding about the crack but it’s funny to say so I do).  I haul these half sanded junkerz in and they roll back out like they have had Botoxx and a full-on ass-lift.  So, I see it as a service to it.

At any rate…   I rolled up to one of my face honey holes (I can’t tell you where or I’ll have to take you out) and on the step were these tops…a bikini, a ragged out bra and a push up bra.  Panic came over me as I feared it was Topless Tuesday at the honey hole and here I was knocking these A and B cups straight out of the game.  A tingle rushed up as I knew that if this were a contest for a discont that I WAS GONNA WIN!.  I quickened my step, rushed the door to see every heiffer in there with a shirt on.  Dang… I had missed it again… me and my full schedule.

Hate the smell-love the look…

I  have a confession about my addiction.. it morphs and shows up in many forms.  Sometimes I get on an enamel ware kick, or a chicken wire frenzy.  Other times I start twitching for burlap and linen.  One category of … Continue reading