Saturday, February 25, 2012

You Can't Make This Shit Up

I’m so fortunate to have a huge circle of pals that I can laugh with, sob with, bounce ideas off of, turn the radio volume up high with…
My friends and I spend endless afternoons, nights and occasional weekends pondering answers to life’s questions and more importantly, validating the shit out of each other.
We listen hard and laugh even harder.
There’s a whole damn group of us who raise hell every chance we get.
The Bad Girls Book Club started out meeting at the park a few years ago. The trailer park seemed like the perfect setting because right next to the Astroturf area was the hot tub.  Basically my peeps would come over, we’d pour the wine, laugh like fools often do, discuss the assigned book for less than 5 minutes, suit up and jump in the hot tub only to laugh some more.  This is how we roll.


DJ

DJ and I have been friends for nine years.
Our friendship started with a little walk around a neighborhood in which she told me of her Catholic upbringing, her 5 siblings, her childhood memories of telling the nuns where they could shove it…
And me, divulging my redneck roots, my rebel-rousing days, my fetish for sappy love songs. 
Neighborhood walks turned into lengthy pit stops at the local brewery.  Eventually, my big fat closet door busted open, in which she calmly informed me
to "get over it" b/c she had a gay bro.   Since those early days, we’ve travelled to Mexico, Palm Springs and the High Sierras together.  She used her all of 5’2” muscles to move me to the trailer park and told me some bullshit story when I got the manager position; that I was “totally cut out for the job.” She, like my other pals, is one of those “lifers” that, if I were to commit the heinous act of murder, she would tell others, “She must have had a good reason.”  We’ve fought off toothless dragons in honky-tonks, run out of water in the sweltering heat of the Yucat√°n; her with her head full of shampoo, answered personal ads on wine-induced evenings.
We’ve danced under the stars as if this time here on the planet were not a dress rehearsal.
DJ and I have more commonalities than differences; for example, we both have our priorities as to what “staples” are always in the house.  Neither of our essentials ever get crossed off the shopping list.  

LS

LS should be invited to every party.  She’s hella fun. Last night some of us gathered for our weekly TGIT which many of us have been doing every Thursday, more or less, since 1997.
We usually all talk at the same time and none of us can hear a word that anyone’s saying, but we still validate each other anyway; nod and bob in agreement and continue drinking.  LS is a character and I should emphasize Char-ac-ter with a capital “C.”
She’s witty, charming and petite but whoa can she carry a punch!   Her hubby makes the best marinara sauce; like the kind you’d lick the plate spotless and proudly tout your saucy red mustache above your upper lip.
So last night, when the chatter subsided to a rare low, LS told us that while at home the other day, there was a knock at her front door.  When she answered it she was surprised to see a neighbor, an acquaintance of sort, who rarely visits.
Did I mention LS to be charming? Well, in her perfectly charming way, she greeted the neighbor…
Would you care to come inside?” 
Oh, no.” the neighbor thanked her.  “I’m just stopping by to tell you that I have a friend who had a “calling” from our Lord the other night.  In his vision, the Lord told him that your home 
was destined to be his.” 
I’m certain my pal held a friendly smile on her face.
“The Lord came to him in a dream and told him that you and your husband needed to sell your home to him as soon as possible, as your home was the place that he absolutely needed to purchase.”
She went on.

Smiling, (I would have been totally creeped out) LS asked, 
“How did he know it was our home?”

The neighbor pointed up to the stained-glass window next to my friend’s front door.
This very window, and the dove at its center, was clearly on the front door of the house in his dream.”
“I see.” my friend replied as she politely brought her down easy and let her know that her house 
was not for sale.

I absolutely dig those “you can’t make this shit up” situations. 
Like the time space 20 decided to host a birthday party for his two-year old son. 
Cars started piling in around 10:00 am.  (I’m always shocked at how huge a two-year old’s birthday party can be with Mexican-American families) Folks of all ages, carrying pots filled with steaming hot entrees, pans of enchiladas, balloons, beautifully wrapped gifts, a cake the size of my living room, 
ice chests of Modelo, Mariachi’s, …And everybody was dressed like it was a wedding.  I managed to direct all the vehicles to appropriate and legal parking spaces, but the unforeseen clincher was when I got a call that there was something being blown-up in the middle of our narrow street and it was blocking the road.  I walked back down to 20, only to find one of those inflatable fun houses BOLTED into the asphalt in four places. 


Oh, yea, and then there was the time space 10’s cousin was running for local office, so he took it upon himself to plaster election posters of the candidate on every fence post, light pole, electrical box in the goddamn park.  He used Instant Krazy Glue.  

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. 

FLASHBACK




INTERVIEWS FOR PART-TIME MAINTANCE WORKER
12-15 HOURS PER WEEK   MINIMUM WAGE

9:00 AM
Sitting in the “club house” which consists of a picnic table, 3 chairs, a small bookcase of paperbacks and a closet with cleaning supplies, I await my first applicant.
He shows up 10 minutes late with a face as red as Bing cherries and breath that would blow you over if your chair wasn’t firmly planted on the linoleum.

9:15AM
The next applicant is punctual, arriving early in a three-piece suit and carrying a box of Winchell’s Donuts.  He’s as happy as a used car salesman.

9:30 AM
No show.

9:45 AM
No show.

10:00 AM
I see a cowboy pull up in a beat-up Chevy pickup with tons of crap in the back.  He gets out and as he heads toward me, his body odor burns a hole in my nostrils.
He’s polite and apologetic about his appearance as he’s “been haulin shit ever since the sun came up.”  
He takes a seat and proceeds to tell me how much he loves driving his Chevy; how horrible Toyotas and Fords are, “They’re so ugly you have to toss a steak in the bed just to get your dog to take a ride.”

(I especially love # 37)

10:20 AM
I encourage this cowboy to wrap it up.

10:30 AM
A twenty-something, who lives 30 minutes away and really needs work, comes in. 
He’s clean, intelligent and sober.
I hire him on the spot.

All my friends kept me sane during the nearly 8 years I managed the trailer park. 
Yesiree, and I‘m forever in their debt.  And if you’re reading this right now,
I’m certainly talking about you!
~tpg     

3 comments:

  1. You're awesome! Thanks for the good read and thoughts. V2

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  2. you do such a great job of capturing and telling the stories that no one could make up! : )

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  3. Wickedly funny, as usual, especially enjoyed seeing the pic of the grocery list on DJ's refrigerator....brought back great memories of a fun time. Ms. Blogger, you do know how to have fun, and you capture your characters' wit, quirks, and vices so well that we readers can almost become part of their world. And that is where the laughs come in! Great stories that will roll around in my mind all day, bringing a smile or two.

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