One caveat: Strangers are the nicest, most helpful people on the planet. And I love them. Likely, because I don't have to tolerate being their friend. Oh Jersey.
Jersey is a big place so I should say that my Jersey is North Jersey, rich, spoiled, lots of white racist weirdos, deluded Republicans (the law to legalize women's health is as old as me) and I'm old. Get over it or volunteer to counsel or ....
Oh, Right. They are busy. They must go shopping, they say. They seem to be always shopping. Not just for groceries. Shopping seems to be always about a variety of must-haves. This people are so rich, it confuses me that they could possible not have everything.
Yes. Clothes. Right. Rich folks like seasonal new clothes. In NYC, I acquired rich people's last season clothes when they tossed them away on the sidewalk, as a kindness, really. They were often laundered and folded and I once even found a note telling me to "Enjoy." That kind of shopping is fun. We called it "using God's credit card." Which begs the question: Where do the fancy clothes go in N Jersey?
Perhaps, they sell last year's fashions at these "estate sales" as they are now called.
Not "garage sales" because rich people think it's a badge of pride to be rich, as if they did something to deserve it. Lol. They really believe they worked hard. They forget the fact that the only reason they can afford a Lexus is pure luck.
You hear me? I was normal Amerrican kid who worked and gave my shit away to actual humans, not a box in the parking lot of Whole Paycheck Foods. Hell. We didn't even have Whole Foods. We ate, played and lived our lives like the rest of the country. A destination wedding is rude. And creepy. If this lifestyle is what rich people enjoy, I don't want it. Keep your money. That's right. I never asked anyone except my mother for anything. I call it "being raised" but nowadays, it's a clear sign of the ever expanding class divide. Trust a JerseyGirl. Money does not bestow class. Trump is too obvious an example.
I never considered myself upper class especially since my accent deceives most people but then I met a woman who did some totally trashy things all the while speaking in some odd textbook English and dismissing my offers to assist her in her intellectual pursuits time and again. Finally, it dawned on me. This woman has serious class issues. Sad.
I must have been raised in a local small bubble because the NJ people in the small wealthy town I grew up with were in "like duh" moral agreement and were kind and many were, what I once called, Real White People. I thought my family was loud bc of our culture. Not so. Jersey is loud. We are all NY transplants enjoying the fresh air, the gigantic houses and the shopping, of course.
I became an artist. I never desired money bc it was never an issue for me. Even when I was so broke, I couldn't afford toilet paper, I just decided that the extravagance of toilet paper is something most Americans are quite unwilling to go without. Most Americans are spoiled. I'm over any rich kid guilt. Though, I must confess that I never imagined I would stay poor forever but it seems to be a rigged game. Then again: You can't buy class.
So now I am going to tell you about 2 incidents years apart but startling enough to make me very suspicious of any man from Jersey.
A number of years ago, I was waiting for a clam bar to re-open down the shore, in some rIch person bar. A guy shows up and orders when the oyster shucker guy returned with a fresh supply. I said, "I was here first." What did that guy do? Yell at me to get in the back of the line, now 6 people deep. Excuse me? I was standing in the wrong place? Where's the sign, asshole? (My thoughts.) "No. I was here first. And you can't talk to me that way." Why can't he? Because I am a fucking lady. Is that not enough? Anyway, the asshat shoved me. It was crowded, so someone caught me and without hesitating, I smacked him.
Oh my god. You'd think I had just cut his balls off. Screaming like a little girl. Yelping about the cops. A crowd forms (in his defense, lol) and I ran (hobbled, really), shouting, "What kind of man calls the cops on a woman? After he shoved her?"
A Jersey guy. They think assaulting women is just fine. They find a screaming "get your fucking hands off me" woman to be a form of amusement.
Hey. I'm from Jersey. I will yell if I want to. Fuck that.
Recently some guy whom we shall call "Mr. Connecticut Who Is Actually From Jersey" kept snarling at me during a comedy event that I attended .. alone. After the 5th "look", I stopped laughing BC he was creeping me out. And I'm a tad ptsd about violent actions. In reality, I do laugh very loud. Whatever the case, it was hard to concentrate on the show that I paid to see because I was afraid to laugh. If that isn't weird, what is? I was pissed.
After the headliner left, who dealt with the guy like the pro he is .. Here's the thing. I would never have been there if I wasn't a fan of the headliner. I don't go to Bananas in NJ to watch Rich Vos, the tattooed Jewish guy who seriously doesn't get the contradiction. God. Cross the Hudson River and the quality of comedy plummets. Being a fan, I decided to keep my cool around one of my fave comics and let my Jersey out after he left.
I can't say that was my best move. This guy has a brain and what follows would probably have not happened had he been there but I felt foolish for feeling irritated by some idiot who denies he actually lives in Jersey.
Yes. I forget that I am disabled. Kinda like having a phantom limb. I really really should not involve myself with assholes but being a Jersey asshole my own self with a functioning big mouth, I decided to confront Mr. Connecticut regarding his hairy eyeballing of me. He denied it. I told him I videotaped it. He still denied it. Instead, he called me crazy which was odd for many reasons not least of which was the fact that he was caught on camera. (In truth, he wasn't. I only shot the show.) During his peculiar tirade in which I would occasionally tell him to fuck himself, I had a conversation with his fiancé who, not being in the room while her boyfriend was creeping on me, to her credit, said it was likely true and apologized. Vindicated, I decided to leave bc the crowd who I thought was just tired was mad drunk and had decided to turn into an angry mob aimed at me.
Not the guy. Me.
I tried to run but using a walker, I was grabbed by the booker who pulled me into a bear hug, separating from my walker, causing to cry and scream even more loudly. We have been acquaintances for a while but I can't really say I know him all that well. I knew the danger involved in not leaving immediately but he threw me into the drunk while saying, "I love you, Mo." Now I'm seriously confused.
"If you love me, let me fucking leave!"
One drunk lady said, "She's off her melds." I lose it. Again. I go to smack her and a dozen people assault me. I was punched in the face, thrown to the floor while a dozen drunk people pile on. My so-called defender fell on top of me. God knows what happened to him. These people were so drunk, he was just in the way. It was insane. Pun so fucking totally intended. The insanity did not stop there.
OK now. Management realizes the people they had been serving booze to for 4 hours just assaulted a disabled person. Oh shit. The drunk people were legally not at fault. The manager was. So I was incarcerated in a room with no egress when this asshole had the brass cojones to accuse me of being drunk myself. I had clearly complained to him about my twennie dollar watered-down Diet Coke. Scumbag. As we say in Jersey.
But really, who was at fault? First: Me, for being stupid enough to get mad at a man from Jersey. Do I imagine I'll find one I like? Second: The management. It was not possible to tell the drunk mob to leave bc they were too drunk to drive. The business was liable.
Of course, I could of called the cops but NJ cops can not be trusted to uphold the actual law and I was so tired. I just wanted to go home and not spend hours accusing dozens of people of assault. Also, I would have been required to go to the hospital and I hate the hospital. All this went through my mind while lying on the floor. I just wanted to go home.
The person at fault is the same guy who claimed he "loved" me. He did not understand the situation, just saw me being mad and having been brainwashed that I'm "crazy" by too many people to count, he seriously fucked up.
Everyone says this guy is soooooooo niiiiiice. Whatever. He's from Jersey. He was to believe it his right to tell a woman what to do. Because men are not crazy or some other indefensible idea. Like a regular Jersey guy, he has to be da man! His attempts at protecting me could be considered funny, if I didn't permanently damage my right knee. Asshole.
So I am furious. "Get me the fuck out of here. You people are insane." The pseudo-calm reply, "You gotta calm down, Mo."
"I don't gotta do squat diddly. You fucking love me? Get me safely to my car."
Instead some guy came and literally dragged me out the door while laughing at my inability to walk bc he was holding my walker out of reach.
I wreaked his glasses. Best I could do.
The guy who said he loved me?
Hilariously, I actually thought he'd sincerely apologize.
But he's a Jersey guy, so fuck that.
I feel the rhythm.
Body and soul hurt.
I'm a winner.
I just want a friend. Forever friends, good luck with that.. Sure. But a friend today and a friend tomorrow. I am tired of being alone. I've become a recluse bc I don't want to go out alone.
Unless it's to do art. But I also like to watch. But then I don't go anymore -- bc what if I get stuck in a ditch? I really do think scary thoughts. Whynot? Wot. Someone always helps me. I know my city folk. The cars are scary. People understand.
Update to long absence: walking is a struggle these days.
So that is my hurdle. I need someone. I can't face the world alone unless I'm feeding my art to the wolves.
Competition. That was my drug. Mnn.
I acknowledged the hurt.
While ignoring it.
I'm too embarrassed
To tell anyone
about the thing
that keeps happening
over and over again.
I recognize I am alone.
I'm ok with it.
I feel the tear as it slides down my face.
I am moving on.
I am the Light Divine.
I am Love.
I am Will.
I am Fixed Design.
The TV says all I need is family. (Albeit a sappy, hypnotic version.) What lie are they trying to implant? A Libertarian pipe-dream where humans are equipped to help one another? TV and movies celebrate "family" as if the word were the meaning of life. Meanwhile, mesmerized by the boob tube, humans are allowing community to crumble.
People tell me that I shouldn't use the word, abuse. That it's too strong a word, like rape and assault. I was raped twice last year. Who knew that my condition would make me a target? I'm ok. I fooled both the idiots.
I think maybe I should move to California but the level of stupidity there is worse than NYC. I suppose I could move to Berkley... And what? My peers will miraculously appear? I will still be in a wheelchair. No matter where I go in the USA, there is too much pavement.
Why is it everyone on tv walks so well? No one uses a cane except for Dr. House!