Skeletons in my closet

The silent running dialogue that I often have with myself.

Friday, February 03, 2006


If you want to know where I am coming from please check NPP for the background.

I kneel in front of her admiring my prize. Her soft tender breast, her smooth skin, her wet and shaved… I had just realized what prize had befallen me. This girl was freshly trimmed. Oh an attention to detail that deserves much gratitude and admiration. I love me some shaved ___________(insert your own descriptive noun here)

I tease her and enjoy her at the same time. I pause with each move to gauge reaction and prolong the agony of anticipation.

She enjoys my attention to details and swims off into her own mind and flesh.

Which is a problem often encountered with younger women. My official view on sex is “You got to work”. Whenever you commit to the act of sex do so with all intents and purpose. The worse thing you can possible do is to lay back play dead…or talk too much. Both of those actions will make me ask you to leave as soon as the deed is done. However, a little cooing in my ear action along with a show of aggression goes a long way.


Last night I realized something.

It was around 10:00pm, a pretty good episode of ER had just ended. I stretched and pulled my numb arm from underneath my wife’s head. I watched her as she slept with my son in her arms. I kissed her forehead and tried to quietly wake her without waking the baby.

I walked into the kitchen and checked all the doors in the back.

I turned off all the lights as I walked through house.

I stopped to kiss my wife’s forehead again, still trying to wake her without disturbing the baby. She stirred this time and like a pro lifted from the coach without waking the baby. She stumbled toward our bedroom in the now dimly lit house.

I turned off the TV, the DirecTV, the receiver, and the subwoofer. I am an audiophile…I love my gadgets.

I checked the front door and turned off all porch and front lights, which my wife insists on turning on every night.

I walked to my daughter’s room, just to look at her sleep. I tuck her in every night, been doing this for years. She sleeps like a champion, if getting your sleep was an Olympic Event my daughter would be on the cover of a Wheaties Box. I mean you ever look at somebody sleep and just want to sleep to curl up next to them and get some zzzzz’s.

As I am headed to my bedroom, my dog whimpers and I realize that I need to take him out to do his business.

This dog is so smart that when he does bad shyte I know that it is intentional. But last night I was in luck as he did his business and walked right back inside.

I pause to look around the house and I realize at that moment I am my Dad.


I grab her hair and tug slightly. I get the desired response plus extra. She comes out of her pleasure induced coma starts talking a bootleg gang load of shyte. Her mouth rambled of profanities including vile depictions of sexual acts. It escalated from full filthy sentences to harsh abrupt words. I continued my performance, unable to laugh out of fear, unable to stop out of fear, unable to finish out of fear.

I didn’t know if she was afflicted with Tourette syndrome or what. Then almost on que she chanted the word phuck repeatedly. I held my laughter and my fear in check. I seriously was unprepared for this sweet young lady to behave in such a manner.

Then as she yelled near the top of her lungs (into my ear I might add) it all ended just as quickly and strangely as it began.

The silence was deafening as I tried to gain my composure. I didn’t move as I tired to determine by best coarse of action. She interrupted the silence with a sudden “Whooh”!

I took that as my chance to jump in.

CO: What the hell was that!
Tourette Girl: What was what?
CO: That hollering, that filthy tirade that came from your mouth?
TG: Oh, nothing, I was just enjoying myself.
CO: Enjoying yourself, shyte sounded like you were fighting somebody.
TG: Nah, I just get kinda loud I guess when I come.
CO: Loud aint the word, down right vulgar is more like it!

Needless to say, that we went at it again. She rode we and the results were worse. I couldn’t do me cause of her distractive vocalizations. Even later when I “Mounted Her” she bit my hand…hard…like for real.

My continued interactions with TG got a couple of people interested in me. Most importantly my next-door neighbor. That story next Firday.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

From refugees to evacuees to refugees.

Please everyone, take note, the world as we know it has changed and we don’t realized the ramifications of the changes.

I often admired the sheer devastation of Mother Nature, a force that knows no equal. Cepting’ for maybe the devastation that man can bring upon himself. I can claim among my experiences that I lived in the life and times of Hurricane Katrina. I was a mere 60 miles away from a city that was inundated with floodwaters on a biblical proportion. I witnessed the mass exodus of New Orleaners escaping a mortal onslaught of wind, rain, and tidal surge.

Mother Nature is a force to be reckoned with. With wind and force of waves she was able to destroy a city of history, culture, and class. Mother Nature has no conscious, no worries, it does what it must to keep itself in balance. If a wall must fall then the wall must fall.

Seeing the impending doom was amazing. Watching the interstate fill to the brink of collapse, as Contra Flow evacuation measures failed to anticipate the uncounted population. How do you evacuate an area of over 1million people?
Short answer: “You Don’t, you just ask them to leave and hope they do, and can.”

However, even faced with devastation of all we hold dear, human kind has a strange ability to combine faith, and will power and fend of the natural forces to succeed again. To hold on to what ones most treasured and decide to make new.

The Human spirit is a prized and valuable thing. It only knows one foil. It is a natural foil too, a menacing presence, Sloth, Greed, and Duress. The landscape at large has suffered more by the hands of these enemies than any measure of Hurricane Force winds.

Take in point, New Orleans Refugees.
One who flees in search of refuge, as in times of war, political oppression, or religious persecution.

A person evacuated from a dangerous area.

And because I hate to define a word with a word,


To relinquish military possession or occupation of (a town, for example).
To withdraw or send away (troops or inhabitants) from a threatened area.
To withdraw or depart from; vacate.
v. intr.
To withdraw from or vacate a place or area, especially as a protective measure.

When the people of New Orleans first left their beloved city, the Media made a Freudian Slip. They referred to all the people stuck and attempting to leave New Orleans as evacuees. Of course everyone was in an uproar. The moniker didn’t fit and they strongly cautioned the public on the use of that word. Almost overnight the reports changed from refugees to evacuees.

That name stuck. For the last 5 months these evacuees have been eeking out an existence among the their fellow Americans. Shuffled between evacuation centers, hotel rooms and mobile homes, these Americans have been promised much and given nothing.
The problem is, to most people this aint news. The storm was news, the life of the people after the storm wasn’t. After the storm news was boring, depressing, and anticlimactic.

Did anyone stop to think about what will happen to these people…sorry did anyone think about what will happen to US?

Let me give you a little incite into this growing and developing situation. New Orleans was 80% Black. Blacks occupied every strata of the economic system, from the extremely wealthy to the poor and impoverished. Unfortunately Blacks inhabited over 90% of the areas that were severely damaged.

What does that mean in clear language?

Today over 80% of the severely damaged areas of New Orleans have not been rebuilt. Today a city that once thrived on a population around 450,000---600,000 (ya know black people are not a part of the census), is now struggling with a population of less than 150,000.

What does it mean? Why have they not gone back?

Simple answer…there is nowhere to go. New Orleans, especially East New Orleans, and the Lower 9th Ward were destroyed. These same areas are several feet below sea level. These same areas surrounded by Lake Ponchatrain ( A source OF Tidal Surge), the Mississippi River (A continuous flood threat save for levees), and various canals and estuaries. These same areas are were black people were living. Areas were black people have lived for several generations.
New Orleans has enjoyed one of the richest histories of free people of color. It also enjoys the status of being the most Africanized City in this nation. The street names, schools, and traditions, speak to a culture rich in African, Spanish, and French heritage.
Because several answers have been devised and several problems have been identified with each answer no one does anything. The Feds are waiting on the State and the Local government. The State and the Local Governments are crying uncle, suggesting that the problems is too big for them.

Mean while, no one can get permits to rebuild because no one knows if the areas are going to be protected by levees. Will the homes have any value once rebuilt? Will homes be insurable once rebuilt? Will defaulted loans be forgiven and allowed to be repaid so home owners can continue their lives as homeowners?

Insurance Companies have remained conspicuously quiet.

Realtors have bumped up prices on all land in South East Louisiana, expecting a windfall of profits, and remained conspicuously quiet.

Banks remain conspicuously quiet.

Closet Owners Take on this Shyte:
The straight truth is that the lack of action by the federal government is doing more harm than their lack of action during the Hurricane. We cant expect people to rebuild without certain assurances. The Feds wont give those assurances. They are still having fucking hearings on what went wrong. Shyte a Hurricane is what went wrong. Now its time to fix the fucking problem.

All the rich and powerful are waiting for the American public to forget about New Orleans. To forget that there are 4 separate areas in and Around Baton Rouge that are housing people displaced by the Hurricane, several thousand people. Insurance Companies are going to wait until they can suck this land up at 1/3 the value and then rebuild it with their kind in mind. Rich people. Notice I didn’t say white, because economics have out paced race in this country as the dividing line. Just so happened the middle class, and the wealthy are predominately white.

Now Shrub sat his stupid azz on National TV last night for damn near 2 hours and spoke about some 400,000 displaced people for 42 seconds. Bitch please, we rebuild a goddamn country full of American Haters so that Exxon can post record profits again off our backs, and yet he refuses to help our own people. We have been lead astray again by this MutherPhucker, and I for one am tired. IF it is determined that we need a Trillion dollars to rebuild every single inch of New Orleans, every blade of grass, every damn Mardi Gras bead, give it to us. I would much rather spend a zillion dollars on my state and New Orleans, than spend a phucking cent teaching Mohammad how to read, rebuilding his country, and insuring a constant supply of oil for Exxon to make money.

I am aware that statements of this nature will probably get my phone tapped or get me audited by the IRS but owe well. With this new Supreme Court he does have unlimited power, Well consider this Free Fucking Speech…look under the bill of rights…amendment 1!

So let me tie it all back together for you in one little paragraph. The people of my great State and the City of New Orleans were evacuees/refugees fleeing a war between the forces of Mother Nature (aka Hurricane Katrina). These same people were evacuated to other cities, states, and regions of this country after the dangers of this storm made their city and homes uninhabitable. Now with no homes, no plan to rebuild and a less than effective federal government, these same people are refugees, victims of economic persecution, victims of the United States of Corporate America, Victims of Greed, Sloth and Durees, victims because they are being ignored by the very country sworn to protect them.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Your Honor....

You want something boring!

I got it in spades…double spades…triple spades!

You can take your pick from the boring azz nature of my job. I can’t discuss cases that are ongoing. But you wouldn’t want to hear about them anyway.

I am being sabotaged. In fact I think I think my wife is the saboteur. I offer to the Blog Panel the following list of facts on which to properly judge my charge of sabotage.

Exhibit 1
At approximately 5:30pm Monday, my wife arrived home. I was outfitted with my bike riding gear. Mp3 player in hand, I head for the door.

Wife:Oh I need to go to the store before you leave.

Closet Owner: Well, its 5:30. It gets dark in 30mins I kinda wanted to get started.

Wife: Oh well, I just needed to pick up a prescription for me and the Baby from Walgreens.

CO: Okay, did you already call it in, did the Dr. Call it in for you.

Wife: No I was just going to drop off the script and wait for them to fill it.

Every since the Hurricane pharmacies all across south La have adapted a strategy of delaying a prescription as long as humanly possible, continually suggesting that you pick it up the next day or come back in a couple of hours. The poor fools who choose to wait are subjected to constant looks of scorn from the pill provider (everybody behind that counter aint pharmacists) as well as being forced to wait so long that the disease has run its course

CO: Shyte that will take hours, can’t you do it later.

WIFE: Well I guess this stuff for the baby can wait.

That move is called the trump card. Usually reserved for big issues but sometimes used a used in a low priority case.

CO: Oh well, I guess I will ride harder to tomorrow.

Exhibit 2
Later that evening I was subjected to a barrage of temptations of the culinary kind.

Wife: Are we out of butter? I am thinking about making some oatmeal raisin cookies. I need butter not margarine.

CO: I don’t know, but why are you making that. I shouldn’t be eating that, especially since I didn’t ride today!

Wife: Who said I was making them for you. Besides if you don’t want them don’t eat them.

CO: It aint that simple, but never mind.

Oatmeal Raisin Cookies are my favorite!

Exhibit 3

Wife: I think we ate that last bit of homemade ice-cream the last week, so I picked of a ½ gallon of Blue Bell Vanilla.

CO: What?….Blue Bell….serenity NOW!!!!!

Ice Cream is my favorite desert, bar none, but I like them even better with oatmeal raisin cookies, and a glass of chocolate milk.

You decide. I trust your judgment. I trust your reasoning skills. I would also like to add that there have been a sudden proliferation of Hershey’s Kisses, and Reese’s’ Peanut Butter Cups.

I know, include her in my exercise plan! Yeah right, I have attempted to get my wife to exercise with me on several occasions. She aint having it…and I am cool with that…I mean don’t get me wrong, I am not suggesting that she needs to loose some weight or anything. I mean how insensitive would I be to suggest that a woman who had a baby 4 months ago may need to shed a few extra pounds. I may be a man, but I aint no fool!

I am determined to drop this little gut that was forming around my middle. I am working on squaring these shoulders back up after hours of computer and court have rounded them down.

I even have a little goal in mind for yours truly. Adventure Racing! Yeah I know it is 100% white boy type stuff, but it is a challenge that looks like it will be fun. So I am in training.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Yeah BOyiiieeee

In court today. May try to post later.

Just got this over the email. I reviewed it but I don’t think it applies to our little niche of the BlogWorld.

For the record. Why yall aint tell me that my blog looks like shyte.

Could I please get some help in putting this blog on proper footing? I look like a dangone third grader. My daughter could do better than this. I focused more on the writing and less over cite.

Any help would be recognized and shouted out!

Further, since I promised to only post hot mess on Fridays, you will have to wait for the next installment.

I like the idea of 3-part post.

Be on the look out for the story of my first wife/marriage. That is a damn story to tell.

I am addicted to the Flavor Of Love…yeah I know the show is a traffic accident, yeah I know it is reality TV at its worse…But Dangone that show is hard to turn off.
1. How much money does Flav Have?
2. Is that his house?
3. Do the girls on that show get paid for being there?
4. Does the winner get a monetary award?

I can’t find this information anywhere. I wonder because these women really seem to like this dude. They kiss him get naked for him, compete for him, all of that. Is this just an extreme from of I wanna be famous disease. I mean c'mon. Flav looks a like a frog playing the banjo. He looks like a burnt roach! Sorry I aint hating but boy do look torn up. Damn! What the hell is going on!

I went to Galveston Beach Party back in 1995 or so. The weekend was a straight ball out phuck-fest of awesome proportions. I did all right and I have had a hard time destroying the pictures. Please destroy any pictures you happen to find that depict a young African American male, slapping the ass of a African American/Asian girl on the back of a motorcycle. But that aint the point!

It rained the entire weekend so me and the boys dropped by a local Wal-Mart on the strip to get some raincoats so we could walk outside in the rain like damn fools.

While purchasing said gear, I happen on the subject in question...Flava Flav!!!! Public Enemy was still a little famous at that time so we participated in a little paparazzi action. We dapped ole Flav, and continued shopping. Flav was in the joint by himself. No body gaurd no entorage, and dude was looking grimy. Serious, I thought brother was broke and doing bad!

True Story