The whammy drawer

THURSDAY

Alongside all this beautiful Southern California winter rain, came all this fantastic mountain snow. Last I read California drought was replenished by 40%. And it's not done raining yet. Thank goodness.

However...

All this much needed rain knocked out the cellular tower by my apartment for almost the entire day, about 13 hours, which isn't a big deal EXCEPT...

I live in a community close to the ocean, most residents only drive to work and back, that's it. Not a whole lot of driving on the weekends. The cars you see on the streets, most of them belong to people who are either just visiting the beach, and/or visiting friends who live near the beach, and/or picking up drugs from their dealers who live at the beach, or it's the third vehicle of a resident who can't fit it in their driveway. But mostly it's non residents. Like this one guy...

He's (somewhere around) 19-25 years old and recently, in the past three months, he made a friend who lives across the street from me nearby. On occasion he parks his car in front of my apartment, a heavily rusted dark brown Chevy, El Camino, and I use the word "car" very loosely. It's barely a car. When he turns the ignition it's like a Boeing 747 is about to crash on my roof, followed by ten minutes of solid thick blinding smog. He lets his car run for about 15-20 minutes regardless of the hour, early morning or late night. I bear in mind he's only been around maybe six times at the most, twice a month, but on THIS particular day when my cell tower was down, the sun came out, I opened my apartment windows and doors to air out the place, and there he was, starting his car in front of my apartment filling it with noise and smog.

My apartment wraps around the corner of the building. It's a unique "U" shaped apartment. Beside me are parking entrances, one on each side, and on the other sides of those parking entrances are outdoor stalls for the garbage bins...

After this guy gunned his ridiculously LOUD engine, filling my apartment with smog and noise I, very calmly, walked over to his car, got his attention and said, "Hey can you please do me a favor, can you please roll your car back a little ways so the bulk of smog coming out of your exhaust goes into the garage and garbage bins rather than directly into my apartment. I've got the windows open and I'd really appreciate it."

I was very nice about it.

All I was asking him to do was roll his car back a little, maybe 10 yards, and this is what he said to me in response, "Look, I'm just starting my car. I have the right to start my car. It takes 20 minutes for it to warm up. If you don't like it call the cops!" And then he gunned his engine again so a brand new batch of smog and toxins waffed into my apartment.

Aside from being a total asshole, I also observed an open bottle of alcohol sitting in his passenger seat, and here he was taunting me to call the cops? Really?

Noise and smog plus an open bottle of alcohol sitting next to him. Had I use if my cell phone, I would have called the cops because this guy probably doesn't know the police station is less than 5 minutes from my apartment. I considered walking over to the station with a photo of this guy's car, but by the time a cop would show up to my apartment, mister "smog" would be long gone, and then really what am I reporting?

"Newsflash! There's assholes in Los Angeles!"

I'm sure the LAPD would be amused.

Um. Search and seizure?

In my younger and dumber days, I would've been far more confrontational than a simple "Hey buddy can you do me a favor"discord. In my younger and dumber days, I would have already had (something like) a hammer in my hand as I approached his car. Prepared. When I was a little girl, 10-12 years old even, things that pissed me off built up in me. If a woman had a bruise on her face, I was mad. When I saw a news report about cats and dogs and their brand new litters being used for cruel laboratory testing, I couldn't eat for days, just sick to my stomach, and if you couldn't understand why I was so sick to my stomach then you were part of the problem, fuck you. I got shot in the leg for yelling at neighbor boys who were shooting squirrels and rabbits in MY yard. As a little girl, bad things got to me in such a way, with no release, I internalized until mass overload and then I didn't give a shit. Go ahead, shoot me. Fuck it. Put a bullet in my face if that's what it takes to make you feel like a man but you're first going to know what a worthless piece of shit you are, and quite possibly feel this little cheerleader's twirling baton dislocate your jaw even if it takes me 15 swings to get there. --Killer cheerleaders, not just a Quentin Tarantino, film.

In my teenage years, after my dad finally removed his (then) mentally unstable wife from our home, what a mess that was, I was sent to see a shrink (for a second time) who made the same diagnoses the first shrink made, "Your daughter is a normal kid. She's just been exposed to too much violence and instability..." and then told my dad to expose me to less adult situations my adorable little brain couldn't/wasn't yet mature enough to comprehend. In other words both shrinks blamed my parents. Ha! Isn't psychology GREAT. All this confused my dad because he didn't understand where a kid would get exposed to violence in a small upper middle class suburban Midwest neighborhood, safe enough to keep the doors unlocked, all pre Facebook, Twitter, and Snapchat.

Thing is...

I read

I watch the news

I pay attention

But...

This was also during a time and place where referring to women and minorities with derogatory slang was acceptable as long as you weren't, you know, physically hurting us. You could call women bitches and cunts in public (people just assume she had it coming) it was ok. It was also a time and place where schools had smoking lounges, health class showed slides of aborted fetuses, and bringing little kids to a bar with you rather than leaving them home alone was considered responsible parenting.

Furthermore...

Both shrinks told my dad to let me "creatively" express myself because it was a healthy outlet I seemed to enjoy. --Honestly, I really could have just murdered people at this point and gotten away with it.

In my adult years I teased dad (a lot) about being a supposedly bad parent because not just one, but two, two board certified psychiatrists told dad my mental anguish was his fault, which resulted with my dad (then) telling two board certified psychiatrists to go fuck themselves.

But before that...

The shrinks told my dad to monitor my reading material, and not discuss politics in front of me anymore, and not let me watch the news or horror movies. Of course, this was all before giving troubled kids drugs was en vogue. The solution of MY era was prevention via psychiatry and denial. --Therefor, Mrs Henderson was just "clumsy" and ran into a lot of walls and doors, and THAT'S why her right eye was black and blue three times a year. Never mind the fact everyone knew from the 4th of July softball games, Mr Henderson bats lefty.

And according to shrinks one and two, I was an idiot with a tiny, yet adorable, immature brain. Rather than explaining/talking to me about what was going on in the world, shrinks one and two concluded I was too young to be exposed to such terrible things and my parents were advised to do a better job shielding me from violence and adult content...

My parents failed their mission.

I mentioned that part about my dad telling those shrinks to go fuck themselves, right? Ok.

This is how villains are made in Batman's Gotham, by the way. Both villains and heroes. Amazing how thin a fine line can sometimes divide the two.

Back then, I needed something to ease my tiny, yet adorable, underdeveloped brain. I accepted anything. How many kids did you know who wanted to spend their summers at bible camp? No one? Just me? Sounds about right. Everyone else's parents made their kids go. I wanted to go. I saw things I couldn't explain. No one could explain. I needed answers no one could give me. I needed to believe there was more to life than THIS. There just had to be.

So...

When some adult asshole makes the decision to intentionally drink and drive, and intentionally smog up my apartment after I asked him very nicely not to, (back in the day) it would have been a trigger for a lot of hammer-therapy on his vehicle. --Excuse me officer, my psychiatrists told me I needed to creatively express myself when feeling emotional. THIS, breaking his windshield, is art!

Lucky for "Smog" an English teacher introduced me to the philosophy of Buddhism.

No

Really

Lucky for him.

Studying philosophy did more for me than two psychiatrists.

Cheerleaders back in my day used to spin metal batons with fat pieces of rubber on the ends, but swear to god, even with the rubber stoppers, you could still break every bone in the human body with it like a hammer. Brass knuckles? Amateur. I was little cheerleader with a metal baton. I could wreck you for life!

Today, much (much) older, and wiser, I know my young hammer-therapy is nothing compared to the miserable existence for a life this smog-El Camino-asshole has before him. If he's an asshole to me. He's an asshole to everyone. What's a girl and her hammer compared to a society sick and tired of assholes like him. Karma. He's all yours, world. Enjoy.

Do I blame "Smog" for being a dick with an open bottle of booze in his car, and not having any general decency? Yes. Absolutely. He's an adult. But he's also an adult who was born during the Facebook social media era where his earliest memory could have been being duct tape to a wall, mouth taped shut, by his own mom, as she updated her FB page by filming her son crying for "likes" by other young disgruntled 19 year old moms everywhere.

And

So

That happened.

The additional thing that happened when the cell tower was down...

Mr Gordon called me about going to the Getty on Saturday.

When the cell tower was down I could text and receive incoming calls, but I couldn't call out.

FRIDAY

Somewhere between noon and 12:30pm I returned Mr Gordon's phone call. My phone was working once more. Yay! I hit "return call" and got (the studio lot) where he was working. The nice operator who answered my phone call said, "No problem. He's signed in. I can patch you through to his extension if you like."

I didn't want to disturb Mr Gordon at work. I left a message on his private voice mail instead. It's supposedly going to be a beautiful day out tomorrow. I didn't want to spend the day inside a museum in between all these rainy days. I suggested perhaps hanging out by the ocean.

About a half hour later Mr Gordon called me back.

"So no Getty." Mr Gordon confirms.

No. Another day. It's supposed to be beautiful out tomorrow. I want to be outside. After all this rain the air is going to be crisp and clean like we're in the mountains. We could get a bite to eat at a nice patio café. Have coffee by the ocean.

"Tempting. What time do you want to get together tomorrow?" Mr Gordon asks in his Tom Brokaw voice.

11am?

(No answer)

Noon?

(No answer)

1pm?

"11am." Mr Gordon says.

11am. What do you want to do? Coffee? Late breakfast?

"Lady's choice. Whatever the lady wants, the lady gets." Mr Gordon replies.

Ok.

"Ok. I'm going back to work now." Mr Gordon informs me. "See you tomorrow."

(Click)

That's one thing about talking on the phone I appreciate, you know when the conversation is over when someone hangs up. With texting I THINK I know when the conversation is over, only to have that person pick up on the conversation with a new text message three days later. --Very irritating.

After Mr Gordon hung up, I made the decisive plan he and I should get box lunches at Whole Foods, and then drive up the coast to Malibu, for a picnic and a nice sunny afternoon on the beach.

SATURDAY

9am. Mr Gordon called and cancelled.

He sounded awful and he was losing his voice.

"I think I came down with something, kid." He says. "I'm sorry. We'll have to do this another day."

I understand. Just feel better.

"I've been looking at the Huntington Library." Mr Gordon says. "I think we'll have to go there a few times to see anything."

Yes. You're probably right.

"Ok. I'll talk to you soon. Forgive me."

(Click)

SUNDAY

The El Camino smog-mobile is back. Only this time he parked across the street. There were at least three parking spots in front of my building, even a wide open parking spot in front of my apartment, but the guy squeezed in between two parked cars on the other side of the street.

Maybe confrontation ain't his thing.

Too bad

I just bought a new role of duct tape.

With all these women's marches sparking a new women's empowerment movement. If a woman was going to murder a man, now would be the time to do it!

And if she's little and adorable, trust me, cute females can get away with A LOT. Just as god intended.