Thank You For Parking Here

8 06 2017

Lately, I’ve been having a series of parking issues. You could say my head is ahead of itself, as in, as I’m parking I’ve already parked and am onto my next task, but in reality I have not yet parked and thus end up failing to parallel properly or I land across the yellow line and need to re-do at least five times.

Last night, I come home later than usual and there’s not spot on my block. So, I park on the main street nearest me. Of course, I had gone to buy plants and groceries so I had an entire car to unload (because that’s obviously when one would need convenience the most and not get a close spot).

parkinghere

I am on my third and final trip, trying to tell myself positive things like, “hey you didn’t get your run in today so be thankful you’re getting some extra exercise,” and “look our neighbor has a pretty blooming bush, how hopeful late spring becomes,” you know, happy thoughts of that nature, etc. I remove my tote bags from my trunk (<- look at me remembering my reusable bags) when this old white dude in a maroon colored van creeps up behind me. He rolls down his passenger window, leans over and nearly inaudibly whispers, “thank you.”

It takes me a second to register what he said, then I am confused.

Is he thanking me for parking here?

Is he thanking me just because I exist?

Is he thanking me because I saved his life in some lucid dream he had the night before?

A second later I become angry.

He better not be thanking me because I’m wearing a dress and now he has a boner. He better not be thanking me because he somehow believes in some weird white male fantasy that I am wearing what I’m wearing for him.

I slam my trunk down.

This will not do.

I glare at him in a way that says, “if you do not move along in less than one second I will come after you and rip your eyeballs out of your head.”

I step in the direction of his van.

I am destruction.
I am fury.
I am woman who has had enough.
I am empowered Goddess.
I am not about to take another man’s shit.

White Old Creep lurches forward like a puppy dog that has been spanked for peeing all over the floor. If an oversized metal vehicle had the capabilities to shrug its shoulders this is what that van seems to do.

I turn and stomp back to my house. “Asshole,” I mumble under my breath.

I become conflicted.

Is it wrong to be thankful for the beauty in the world?

No.

Is it wrong to drive a creepy van and use it to creep up on a woman parked on the side of the road and whisper weird things at her?

Yeah, that’s pretty fucking weird.

Is it wrong for me to be wearing this dress?

No, I can wear whatever the fuck I want.

Is it wrong for people to be thinking in their heads, “yeah, but when you do wear short dresses, skirts, etc. that kind of lewd behavior from entitled creepy men is expected.”

Yes. Yes it is wrong to be thinking it, but it doesn’t stop people, even me from thinking it. Thinking about how I can’t even park a half a block from my house without being gawked at like some humping post. Thinking about how maybe I’m too old now to be dressing so scandalously, thinking about how dumb it is to think I’m dressing scandalously just because my dress cuts above the knee.

Wondering if I should actually feel flattered that I’m still getting cat-called. Wondering why I am wondering that when I know deep down that there are plenty of less creepy ways to flatter people, particularly strangers.

Proud of myself though, proud for getting pissed and going after him instead of retreating, smiling, acting like I’m complimented when I’m not, I’m annoyed.

I’m proud of my body.

Proud of my mind.

Proud of my ability to finally after years and years, move forward to fight instead of backing away.

Not that it’s a bad choice to back away, surviving is always a good choice. But, enough is enough already. Making that step is what I needed to do to get back in my head right. To be like, nah bro, I got this, watch me take care of me. Watch me wear what I want, walk how I want, be who I want, even park where I want–because now my head is back, which means there isn’t any parallel fear. I can back my boatcar wherever I need.





In Honor of my Grandpa Dave.

3 08 2016

This was the talk I gave about my Grandpa Dave on August 1st, 2016. And yes, the preacher did ask the crowd afterward if anyone had any ivory soap with them to wash my mouth out. If there’s one thing my grandpa taught me, it was to always tell it like it is, and I wrote this in honor of him and that passionate way to live life. 

meandgrandpa

Grandpa Dave and me when I was just a wee thing.

As many of you here know, my grandparents started dating in high school. One of my favorite stories is how, at the beginning of their courtship they would end up at the Dairy Queen; on the first date my grandma ordered a strawberry shortcake and because she was so bashful, she ended up having him order the same thing for her over and over, date after date, because she didn’t want him to know that she didn’t really like their strawberry shortcake all that much.

But. She liked him, and he was a good one to like.

grandpaandgrandma

Dave and Arlene May 1961

They were married the day after Christmas in 1960 and have been together ever since. For me, they were a shining example of love that endures, love that survives through the thick and thin, the good and bad; a love that was real, true, even if at times there were struggles, they were always there for each other and for their children. They had four lovely, generous, and outspoken kids, 2 even named after hollywood celebrities, Rick (after Ricky Nelson), Sandy, my mother (after Sandra Dee), and then Tom aka “Spook,” and Bob. They loved good music and my grandfather never shied away from belting a tune or two out loud at any random moment.

grandpagrillGrandpa Dave was at his best when he was at home, spending time outside on the patio, the long nights with the bug zapper and the laughing and chatting; grilling, drinking beer and bellowing out those old tunes.

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket/never let it fade away…

Blue moon/you saw me standing alone/without a dream in my heart/without a love of my own

Charlie Brown — Why’s everybody always pickin’ on me?– you know Charlie Brown right?) he’d say.

I was to him, Krystal Leanie the Big Fat Green Beanie to which I would also yell back, “Grandpa! I’m NOT fat and I’m not a green bean!!”

All the grandchildren learned quickly to hide their knees when in his presence or he’d “show us how a crow lights,” by pressing on the pressure points that make the leg jump.

When we were really young we’d all climb up on top of him while he laid on the couch and try to take over his tv remote, which only worked for a short period of time before it was back on a baseball, or basketball, or football, or the worst of all, golf. He was an avid sports fan, dedicated to The Royals, The Chiefs and KU no matter if it was a winning or losing season. He himself played on a winning softball team. He also coached his kids on winning sports teams. And when my mom started coaching me, he’d come to all the games and cheer me on, very loudly, often expressing his opinions of the situation to the umpire.

He was a stickler for routine. Every morning he’d drink his Folgers and finish a crossword puzzle and we’d often find him listening to sports radio, many of us trying hard to turn that shit off.

He was at his worst on the road. Anyone who has everyone gotten into a vehicle with him knows what I’m talking about. To me, it was an adventure. I could tell other people were nervous, but I was always excited, ready to go fast, waiting for the next new cuss word I’d learn. “These damn farmers,” and “What? Are we in a fucking parade here?” were his top phrases, and to say that didn’t rub off on me would be a complete and total lie.

And that might be the most beautiful thing about grandpa Dave. He was not a bullshiter. He was bold and stubborn and always had an opinion to share even if it was sometimes a bit shall we say, off color, or about killing those worthless cats, though it was usually about politics or sports teams and certain players lack of skill.

It’s taken me years to admit that I am actually a less-than-average driver and when I sort of kind of ran into a menu sign at the Sonic while driving his truck to work one day, both my uncle Bob and my grandpa were the calmest I’ve ever seen them about someone in the family doing something really ridiculously stupid. I thought he’d kill me, but he was just glad I wasn’t hurt. And that’s the thing, deep down he was the sweetest, most loving, gentle soul, which is perhaps why sometimes he came across as the opposite–he didn’t want to give that secret away. Anyone close to him though, knew better. Not very many men baby-talk their dogs or let their grandchildren ride them like a horse through the house.

grandpadavehorse

Yes, I have proof this really happened, that’s me and grandpa Dave back in the day. 

He lived in Greeley his entire life, and worked for 32 Years at GM, many of you know him best from the Greeley Quick Shop aka the liquor store where he’d greet everyone with a big “how you doing today?,” and shoot the shit with anyone who had the time.

He was far from perfect, but who isn’t? There were things he liked and things he didn’t like and he’d always tell you which one was which. Regardless of which side you were on in those discussion, they were always lively; and his honesty and sincerity were two of his most admirable traits.

He will be greatly missed in the community, by his friends, and within our family.

I will say, that to this day, whenever I hear someone loudly sneeze three times in a row, I wait for the echoing GOD Damn It!!! I know I will never hear it again, but that God Damn It spirit will live on forever.

grandpafam

Grandpa Dave, me, Grandma Arlene, Mindy and Judy, Christmas 2011.





10 Randoms: Slut City Summer.

17 07 2012

1.) Our neighbors were gone for like 2 + weeks. They come back. And move out two days later. There goes our free internet and our porch chairs. Damn. Anyone looking for an apartment? It’s a cute one (with cute neighbors).

2.) I went to my first strip club the other night. Honestly, I thought I would hate it. I thought all the women would be Barbie-like with big fake boobs and tiny waists. But the opposite happened. The women were of many shapes and sizes, big boobs, little boobs, big butts, no butts, smiles, no smiles, Black, White, Asian; so many women making bank off of men. Good for them. Because until our entire system of oppressive capitalism changes. . . I say, shake what you got.  (If you’re doing it in an empowered conscientious way and not because you’re manipulated into it or feel like it’s your only choice.) Also, it made me feel more comfortable in my own skin. Seeing women of all shapes and sizes completely naked and embracing their sexuality was revealing–on multiple levels.

3.) Also, that very night I ended up at a random Reggae event. It was Black & White themed. Good thing I went or the “white” part of the theme probably wouldn’t have happened.

4.) I’ve been getting mega-creepers at work. Two in one week. And I’ve realized it’s incredibly difficult to tell other people how someone else is being creepy. Creepy is hard to describe because it’s not just what they say, but how they say it. It’s a look in their eye. It’s doing something awkward and taking too long of a time doing it. It’s lying and being terrible at it. Guess what creeps? Just because I sell sexy things doesn’t mean I want to have sexy time with you.

5.) Speaking of sex. I’ve decided to have more of it with more people. I am determined to become a Super Slut. Every. Single. Dick. In. Denver. (That’s every Single dick, as in, not-taken dick, not every single one of them.)

6.) 5 is not completely true.

7.) I’ve realized that for many many years I have been incredibly good at reading people; what they need, what they want, and then mirroring those needs and wants for them. This has come in handy in regards to my like-ability—as I have a rather abrasive personality or I can be abrasive if I’m not careful. But, that’s the thing. I am not going to be careful anymore. I’m going to stop mirroring and I’m going to start living for me. I’m going to go after what I want, what I need, and I’m going to stop caring if other people care. This has been a theoretical issue with me for years, in concept I don’t care, but in reality I totally do. No longer! Sure, perhaps I will turn into a narcissistic ego-maniac but it’s not like I’ll be the first. And if it doesn’t work out for me, I can always go back to who I was before, right?

8.) The biggest issue is figuring out what I want. Wading through what society has told me I should want and what I want deep down within. Hence the Super Slut. Being a “slut” is “bad”. . . but why? Why does monogamous heterosexual relationships have to be “the norm” and even if they are “the norm” why do they have to be “the only” acceptable relationship model. To me it appears to be another way of controlling women’s goddess-like sexual allure. By taming us sexually, you control us on all fronts (it’s a theory I’m still working through…perhaps too third-wave post-feminist but whatever). I don’t agree with the monogamy model. I find it boring. Sure it works well for people. I actually don’t know if it “works well” for most people, but it works okay for the general public. But the general public has no confidence and likes to follow guidelines instead of inventing their own.

9.) I’m going to invent my own guidelines. If you’d like to follow them, you’re more than welcome.

10.) I’m excited for the development of my new personality. Be on the look out people. It’s either going to be the. most. amazing. thing. ever. or the Crashiest Trashiest Courtney Love-esque down-fall you’ll ever witness.

(I feel like there is a bigger development here that I haven’t quite discovered yet, perhaps tomorrow it will all tie together).





Beat the Heat, Not My Face.

26 06 2012

Was it the heat? A strange star alignment? Too much smoke in the air?

A combiniation?

Either way, yesterday was one of the most bizarre days of my life.

5 Fucked Up Things That Happened:

1. I got a strap-less strap-on thrown at me. This woman tried to return it because it “hurt” when she used it and supposedly whoever was working upstairs at the time told her she could get her money back if she didn’t like it. I informed her that we’ve never had that policy and we could only exchange a toy if there was a defect, considering that there was nothing wrong with it except that it was poorly designed there was nothing I could do. She got pissed, threw it at me and stormed out the door. Hey, lady, why don’t you go home and fuck yourself. . . wait, wait, you forgot your dildo!

2. I haven’t been sleeping due to a lack of air conditioning. Instead I’ve been drinking at bars until they close then passing out in my bed, only to wake up drenched in sweat a few hours later. So, after a wonderfully miserable day at work I get home and my roommate Emily and I decide that we should be drinking slushes. We walk to 7-11 and it’s so hot ALL the slush machines were broken except coconut, who the fuck likes coconut slushes? Gross. We walked to at least three connivence stores just to find one.

3. I decided that since I was already walking on Colfax that I should stop and buy the new Fiona Apple album. My brain wasn’t functioning properly so we wandered all over Twist & Shout looking for it (it was under Apple, by the way). Out of nowhere this black guy who was sitting down on a stool listening to rap turns around and across the store yells at us, “why do you have to be such an asshole?”

Emily and I look at each other, like, “who, us?”

He continues, “Why do you women have to be such assholes?”

Now he’s standing up staring at us.

I reply (in my usual snarky way) It just comes natural to us I guess.”

Then he rages.

“WHY DO WOMEN HAVE TO BE SUCH ASSHOLES? AND CAUCASIAN WOMEN ARE THE WORST. CAUCASIAN WOMEN ARE THE MORE EVIL CRUEL ASSHOLES TO EVER EXIST ON THE PLANET. ESPECIALLY YOU!” He says as he points at the woman working behind the counter, “YOU ARE ALWAYS ON MY BACK. . . . “

He goes on and on yelling about what assholes we are and every guy in the store just pretends to not hear him and continues to “listen” to their headphones while ALL the women in the store are getting verbally abused.

Finally, a group of people get him out of the store.

And Emily and I decide just to wait awhile in case he’s outside ranting. Then this 40-something white guy walks by us and says, “Oh, another angry black man, surprise surprise.”

We look at each other again and Emily replies, “That doesn’t help the situation.”

Umm. WTF People?

What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Everyone?

There is so much racism, sexism, classism stuff happening in this scene I don’t even know where to begin.

4. We decided we had experienced enough crazy for the night. And since everything was off we’d just sit on our porch in our safety zone and not leave. For some reason, (I’ll continue to blame the heat and the alignment of the stars) there were crackheads EVERYWHERE. At least every 30 minutes a weirdo would walk by and one of us would say to the other, “don’t make eye contact–another crazy.” We did a lot of avoiding.

5. Finally. We made a new friend. I named him Mystery. Emily named him Buddy. But his real name is Django. He’s a black cat who lives across the street with our neighbor Anthony. Anthony is an older gentleman who found excuse after excuse to come over and talk.

Here are the different ways.

1) He was looking for his cat.

2) He wondered how his cat was doing.

3) He decided he needed to go to the store, did we need anything?

4) He got back from the store with treats for his cat.

5) He wondered if his cat was still doing okay.

6) If he ever left out of town, would we be interested in hanging out with his cat?

7) He wanted to order a pizza but he didn’t know who delivered this last, did we? Would we like any?

Django just shook his head at Anthony.

And Emily magically became vegan for a night.

He never actually stepped over our safety boundary but still, we didn’t seem to escape the crazy even when we tried. And now we have a neighbor that will probably try to creep. Great.

I haven’t done much today. I’m kind of afraid it’s still happening out there.





5 Randoms: Sexy Swedish Fish Teardrops.

3 05 2012

1.) There was a free box at work today (free box hahaha) and I picked out this hair trimmer that came with all these designs a person could “shave” onto themselves. So, I tried to shave a tear drop on my crotch. That’s right, a tear drop because I’m sad. Now I’m even more sad because it didn’t work and now southland is just a mess.

2.) But, it’s a good month to explore weird hair arrangements since no one is going to see what’s going on down there. 2 days going strong!

3.) So. I made some enemies at work. These dancers came in the other night and pointed at a dress; this was our convo:

Them: “Is that the only one left?”

Me: “Yes.”

Them:”How much does it cost?”

Me: “I don’t know, let me look at the price tag.”

Them: “What, are you like new here?”

Me: “Well, I don’t memorize the price of everything in the store.”

Them: *roll eyes at each other*

Me: “$39.99”

I walk away.

Them whispering loud enough for me to hear: “Someone’s in a baaaad moooood.”

Uggh… I didn’t mean for it to come out sounding rude, but it was a pretty dumb question. I mean, is it impossible for people to look at the price tags themselves? Do they really think we know what EVERYTHING in the store is priced at?

They came back today and told the other girl that they hated me. Hahaha. Hahaha. Hahaha. Making friends left and right.

4.) So I was looking for an image of a teardrop and I forgot that people get those tattooed on their faces to indicate they’ve murdered someone. If I get a tattoo of a tear drop on my crotch does that mean I fucked someone’s brains out and they’re now DEAD??? Because it should. Not that I have, but maybe I’ll try that next May, it will be Man-Full May and I’ll go around like a sex addict and try to murder men with my kung-pow vag clutch power. That sounds really gross. I am a gross person.

5.) Why do I keep eating candy? Someone make me stop! Seriously, I’ve asked this before, does anyone want to take control of my life for a week? It’s like dominating me without dominating me. I mean, like you can’t beat me or anything you just get to tell me what to do. It would probably get really tiring but maybe you’re a weirdo and that would be fun for you. The safe word is swedishfish and you can control me until I eat them all, wait, too late.





Krystal Fawn: All in One Place.

19 01 2012

I’ve decided to move to wordpress because I like it better.

Here you will have access to all aspects of my life: writing, videos, art, music etc.

Yay!