My Jacked Up Life

As I have stated in past posts, I grew up in a…..ahem…..’not so afluent’ neighborhood. Ok, it was a run down portion of an inner city, also known as a ghetto.

In my old neighborhood, we had some pretty interesting characters. One of my favorite’s was one of the local drunks, Cross-Eyed Rita. Rita was a harmless soul, she just had a monkey on her back that she couldn’t shake. We all know someone like that, regardless of our surrounding’s.

I think of Rita every Christmas. Mostly because of one particular incident that happend many years ago, when I still lived on the north side of this fine city. Rita was an interesting looking lady. She had this short, crazy hair that stuck out everywhere, it always looked pointy. Her eyes looked like she was checking out something on the end of her nose, hence the nickname. I don’t think that I ever saw Rita walk a straight line, she always had that drunk stagger about her.

 One Chrismas, my parent’s discovered the joy of decorating the outside of the house for the holiday’s. This wasn’t a common practice in this part of the city by any mean’s. Now, when I say they decorated their house, I mean they went all ‘Clark W. Grizwald’ with it.  They still do.

One night, I arrived home sometime around 8 or 9 in the evening to find Rita standing in the middle of the street looking at our house. She was wearing a trench coat that was completely open in the front but she still managed to tie the belt. Rita was standing there with her arms in the air, wide open, struggling to stand up straight.

When she saw me, she said, in her drunken slur, ‘Thasss jus bootiful. Juuussss fuuckin’ boooo-ti-ful. FA LAAA LAAA LAAA LAAAAAAA. Puhleeeeaaazzzee tell yo’ Daddy thasss jus fuckin’ bootiful. Nun dez uder cheap azz basstards ‘roun her got the Chritmus spirut like yo Daddy.’

I thank Rita and tell her that I will be sure to pass the message along to my Dad.

 As Rita begins to stagger her way home, I hear her mutter to herself, ‘Sanna Clauz best be a black man. If I’s find a white man I don’ know in my hous’, I’s gonna pop a cap in his fat ass!’

Not long after that, Rita seemed to disappear from the neighborhood. She may have gone off to live with relative’s or just wandered off and forgot her way home. God only knows. Hopefully, Rita is still staggering around somewhere checking out holiday decorations.

And hopefully, she didn’t ‘pop a cap in Santa’s ass.’

Ho, Ho, Ho, Bitches!!!!!!