Improper Ghettiquite
Blurbin' Warfare
Ahh, wonderful Culver City. Home away from home.
Last night at the apartment, after Jackie had fallen asleep, I went into the living room to do some studying.
At about 11pm, there were three very loud, very pronounced, gunshots down the block: not a car backfiring; not some kid with fireworks - actual gunshots, in a distinct succession; pronounced and unmistakable with perfect spacing in between. Following soon thereafter, the air was filled with the sound of sirens and the hum of a helicopter looming overhead.
"Fuck tha po-lice!"
"Yeah, there are some cops on my street. If they see me, I could go to fucking jail."
Some ghetto thug decided to sit right outside of the kitchen window, talking on his cellphone to some girl he "fucks around with" while his wife takes care of their baby. He also admitted to being drunk - repeatedly. Apparently the girl on the other end of the line was interested in pursuing romance with someone else, and she had just decided to break the news to our friend. Heartbroken Mr. Gangstizzle certainly didn't seem to be much a connoisseur of romantic tragedy and happenstance, since he immediately began expressing his discomposure with a drunken soliloquy that was sure to entertain and frighten simultaneously. A couple of juicy quotes that you'll be glad you never got the pleasure of hearing:
"I mean, he may have a bigger dick than me - you know I got a big dick - I'm bigger than your boyfriend, unless you're lying to me about that shit. He may be better looking than me or some shit - he may have more tattoos - but you know it and I know it: I hit that shit first."
"It's all good - in the heat of the moment, if you punch me, I can take it. I'm a grown man. I'm not gonna hit a lady. But if you're fucking around and you decide to hit me just for the fuck of it and you're just fooling around, then I'ma hit you back. Just being straight with you."
"If you're sucking my dick and decide to bite it 'cause you're angry at me - I'm not even messing around - I'ma take my elbow to the back of your head - just being straight with you."
"This is America. This is California. This is Los Angeles. I'm Mexican, so if someone (meaning his wife) fucks with me and I fuck with them back, I'ma be the one who goes to jail for that shit. Even if it ain't my fault."
"You think this guy wants to get with you because you have a nice personality and he wants to hold your hand and shit? Fuck that - No, fuck that. You know he's after that shit, and if he isn't, he ain't got no dick."
"If my wife found out about this shit - or it got to my baby daughter - I'ma fuck up anyone who tells 'em. I ain't no fucking idiot - if you fuck wit me, I'll fuck you up, and I'll pop that punk-ass (referring to the new guy) if he steps to me. I'm a grown man and I can handle myself, and you're a grown woman so you should be able to handle yourself if someone tells your boyfriend you been fucking around with me."
"If he (her legitimate boyfriend) comes to me in the supermarket and says 'You been fucking around with my woman,' I'll tell him it's on you, because it's on you for fucking around with me. He needs to take that shit out on you 'cause you been fucking around."
There was about an hour of that, so there's much more that I'm not remembering offhand. I didn't get much studying done. By the way, Jackie slept right through all of that - gunshots and all.
Gravel's Bolero
Warning: the content of the following section is of limited appeal, and will probably only be interesting to the two parties involved, if at all.
I was sent on a mission today: a mission to collect gravel. The girlfriend has been particularly bogged down and preoccupied lately, so I eagerly volunteered my time to assist her with retrieving some gravel she needs for a classroom experiment on glacial erosion that she'll be doing tomorrow. I didn't realize how difficult it was to find a handful of decent gravel in Culver City.
After about a half-hour of driving around (all right, most of that time was spent sitting in my car eating a burrito), I found a desolate street with some impeccable samples; so I hopped out of my car with Del Taco bag in hand, scooped up the gravel, and drove off - much to the bewilderment of the 4 or 5 people that happened to be passing by at the time. The experiment required filling ice-cube trays with gravel and water, and I was well on my way back to the apartment when I decided that I should probably get enough gravel to fill a second tray - just in case.
Driving along, I stopped at a Mobil station to fill my tank up, where I was promptly solicited by a destitute pump-jockey that wanted to "borrow" a dollar from me. I let him "have" the dollar, and he immediately asked for another - at which point I told him not to push his luck. He walked off embarrassed, and I felt like a stingy bastard. After topping off my tank, I swung around to a fenced area right by the gas station, and found the motherlode of terra-firma I had been looking so directionlessly for. After leaning in to scoop a few hands full, I hopped back into my car - two ice-cube trays full of gravel and a smile on my face.
Finally, I arrived at the apartment, filled the two trays up with water and stuck them in the freezer. I decided to call Jackie up to tell her the good news: the future of her project was secure! However, she informed me that she had bought a pack of three trays for a reason, and that she needed a third sample. I had thought that she only needed one tray-full, and I had filled up a second one for good measure. After beating my head against the refrigerator, I embarked on my third - and hopefully final - silt-scavenging mission.
This one was easy. I drove down a couple of side-roads and parked behind a storage building. Some Mexican guy was unloading couches into his storage space when I arrived - he gave me some disquieted looks for the entire time I was digging. After carefully selecting and apportioning the grit from compartment to compartment in the tray, I got back in my car and made it safely to the apartment again.
Right now, there are three ice-cube trays sitting in Jackie's freezer - full of gravel and ice, mimicking the abrasive surfaces of glacial bodies as they grind against land, causing erosion in the process.
Oh, the little satisfactions of life.
Mission Accomplished!
*If you are not Jackie, and you have read the complete body of this text, I apologize for any undue suffering this may have caused.
Ahh, wonderful Culver City. Home away from home.
Last night at the apartment, after Jackie had fallen asleep, I went into the living room to do some studying.
At about 11pm, there were three very loud, very pronounced, gunshots down the block: not a car backfiring; not some kid with fireworks - actual gunshots, in a distinct succession; pronounced and unmistakable with perfect spacing in between. Following soon thereafter, the air was filled with the sound of sirens and the hum of a helicopter looming overhead.
"Fuck tha po-lice!"
"Yeah, there are some cops on my street. If they see me, I could go to fucking jail."
Some ghetto thug decided to sit right outside of the kitchen window, talking on his cellphone to some girl he "fucks around with" while his wife takes care of their baby. He also admitted to being drunk - repeatedly. Apparently the girl on the other end of the line was interested in pursuing romance with someone else, and she had just decided to break the news to our friend. Heartbroken Mr. Gangstizzle certainly didn't seem to be much a connoisseur of romantic tragedy and happenstance, since he immediately began expressing his discomposure with a drunken soliloquy that was sure to entertain and frighten simultaneously. A couple of juicy quotes that you'll be glad you never got the pleasure of hearing:
"I mean, he may have a bigger dick than me - you know I got a big dick - I'm bigger than your boyfriend, unless you're lying to me about that shit. He may be better looking than me or some shit - he may have more tattoos - but you know it and I know it: I hit that shit first."
"It's all good - in the heat of the moment, if you punch me, I can take it. I'm a grown man. I'm not gonna hit a lady. But if you're fucking around and you decide to hit me just for the fuck of it and you're just fooling around, then I'ma hit you back. Just being straight with you."
"If you're sucking my dick and decide to bite it 'cause you're angry at me - I'm not even messing around - I'ma take my elbow to the back of your head - just being straight with you."
"This is America. This is California. This is Los Angeles. I'm Mexican, so if someone (meaning his wife) fucks with me and I fuck with them back, I'ma be the one who goes to jail for that shit. Even if it ain't my fault."
"You think this guy wants to get with you because you have a nice personality and he wants to hold your hand and shit? Fuck that - No, fuck that. You know he's after that shit, and if he isn't, he ain't got no dick."
"If my wife found out about this shit - or it got to my baby daughter - I'ma fuck up anyone who tells 'em. I ain't no fucking idiot - if you fuck wit me, I'll fuck you up, and I'll pop that punk-ass (referring to the new guy) if he steps to me. I'm a grown man and I can handle myself, and you're a grown woman so you should be able to handle yourself if someone tells your boyfriend you been fucking around with me."
"If he (her legitimate boyfriend) comes to me in the supermarket and says 'You been fucking around with my woman,' I'll tell him it's on you, because it's on you for fucking around with me. He needs to take that shit out on you 'cause you been fucking around."
There was about an hour of that, so there's much more that I'm not remembering offhand. I didn't get much studying done. By the way, Jackie slept right through all of that - gunshots and all.
Gravel's Bolero
Warning: the content of the following section is of limited appeal, and will probably only be interesting to the two parties involved, if at all.
I was sent on a mission today: a mission to collect gravel. The girlfriend has been particularly bogged down and preoccupied lately, so I eagerly volunteered my time to assist her with retrieving some gravel she needs for a classroom experiment on glacial erosion that she'll be doing tomorrow. I didn't realize how difficult it was to find a handful of decent gravel in Culver City.
After about a half-hour of driving around (all right, most of that time was spent sitting in my car eating a burrito), I found a desolate street with some impeccable samples; so I hopped out of my car with Del Taco bag in hand, scooped up the gravel, and drove off - much to the bewilderment of the 4 or 5 people that happened to be passing by at the time. The experiment required filling ice-cube trays with gravel and water, and I was well on my way back to the apartment when I decided that I should probably get enough gravel to fill a second tray - just in case.
Driving along, I stopped at a Mobil station to fill my tank up, where I was promptly solicited by a destitute pump-jockey that wanted to "borrow" a dollar from me. I let him "have" the dollar, and he immediately asked for another - at which point I told him not to push his luck. He walked off embarrassed, and I felt like a stingy bastard. After topping off my tank, I swung around to a fenced area right by the gas station, and found the motherlode of terra-firma I had been looking so directionlessly for. After leaning in to scoop a few hands full, I hopped back into my car - two ice-cube trays full of gravel and a smile on my face.
Finally, I arrived at the apartment, filled the two trays up with water and stuck them in the freezer. I decided to call Jackie up to tell her the good news: the future of her project was secure! However, she informed me that she had bought a pack of three trays for a reason, and that she needed a third sample. I had thought that she only needed one tray-full, and I had filled up a second one for good measure. After beating my head against the refrigerator, I embarked on my third - and hopefully final - silt-scavenging mission.
This one was easy. I drove down a couple of side-roads and parked behind a storage building. Some Mexican guy was unloading couches into his storage space when I arrived - he gave me some disquieted looks for the entire time I was digging. After carefully selecting and apportioning the grit from compartment to compartment in the tray, I got back in my car and made it safely to the apartment again.
Right now, there are three ice-cube trays sitting in Jackie's freezer - full of gravel and ice, mimicking the abrasive surfaces of glacial bodies as they grind against land, causing erosion in the process.
Oh, the little satisfactions of life.
Mission Accomplished!
*If you are not Jackie, and you have read the complete body of this text, I apologize for any undue suffering this may have caused.