Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Kentucky 2: The Switchblade Clown ~ or why I am NEVER taking Greyhound again!!!

Now on paper, I had a plan that looked pretty solid.
1. Go to the Greyhound station.
2. Get on a bus.
3. Go to Kentucky.
4. Go to job interview.
Sounds pretty damn easy, right?

..... Yeah, if you've been following me to this point, then we all KNOW better, don't we?

What should have been ONE ticket straight down to London ~ which would have been only a 6-7 hour trip at the very most ~ was split into TWO tickets. Why? Because Greyhound can't be bothered to plan a route not written by the Family Circus gang, so I wound up being sent on Bus #1 to Ohio, then transferred to Bus #2 to Kentucky.

A 6-7 hour trip would become a 12+ hour fiasco ~ and that's not even counting the hours prior to said Greyhound station. Bear with me here.

Now before I left, I had purchased a $20 Tracefone flip-phone, so I could take pictures along the way. However I'm low on minutes, so I used my digital camera to snap photos of my cell phone pictures. Podunk? Yes, but it works. I also kept a notepad with me so I could make sketches to pass the time. However, I wound up sketching the very people I had the great misfortune of meeting during my trip, so please understand that some of this story may be difficult to read/see for some readers. Keep in mind, I am only reciting what happened to me. Being of mixed race heritage, I understand that some of this story may offend some readers, so I would like to extend an apology now for anything that may be offensive to you.

My boyfriend John sent the money ahead for the Greyhound ticket. My mom paid the thing off, including the $15 "gift" charge since the cardholder was not going along (WTF??) and John agreed to come get me as soon as I hit London.

Now to get to the Greyhound station from my former house (more on that another time) I had to take a cab to the train station, take a train to a bus, then take the bus to a stretch of Chicago, then walk to the Greyhound. My father wanted to "help" me get to the station points, provided I fit into his "busy schedule" of hanging out with his batshit girlfriend "Maryse" and Masonic Lodge. So he ordered a cab for me at 6:30 in the morning.

Mama and Orion ended up going in his stead.

So up and out I was at 6:30 in the morning, after getting less than 5 minutes of sleep from the day before. I'm flying by on fumes right now, so it's a miracle I wasn't biting anybody's head off.

We take the cab to the train station, where I realize my first blunder of the day... my luggage.

I've had this Barbie bag for a very long time. It's actually bigger than some of the adult luggage Mama had in the house, so I figured it was the right size to cram full of my clothes and toiletries, and while heavily "little girly" and a bit embarrassing to drag through Greyhound, it does it's job nicely.... except that the handles were built for a three year old.... so while it has wheels, there's no way to extend this heavy-assed bag so that a 5'4 adult could carry it safely. So all through Chicago, there I was, leaning half-way down to street level on one side, trying to drag it from one place to another. I want you to imagine the adult daughter of Curly Sue and Igor, traipsing about, trying to avoid bird shit while carting this thing around.

We get to the station at 8:30.... my bus doesn't leave until 1:45. Awesomesauce.

So I sat with my brother as he tried to get the Nintendo Hot Spot to work on his 3DS so we could at least watch Pokemon. It took him an hour and a half to load a 23 minute episode. Why? Because Greyhound also has AT&T. Nice. So after trying to load the episode, my mom does what everyone with a phone does, she tried to take a picture of the two of us, since she doesn't know when we'll all be together again.
Out of nowhere like a ninja, Black Hitler jumps my mom, and gets really close to her face. "YOU CAN'T BE TAKING NO DAMNED CELL PHONE PICTURES UP IN GREYHOUND!! THAT IS AGAINST GREYHOUND POLICY. YOU BEST BE PUTTING THAT PHONE AWAY FO' I TAKE IT FROM YOU!!" My mom looks up confused. "Um... I'm just snapping a photo of my kids. My daughter is leaving. And there's nothing in the photo except my son and daughter. You can't even see the Greyh-" Black Hitler cuts her off. "I SAID no PICTURES!! I see you whip that thang out one more time, I'mma have to ask you to LEAVE!!" 

Had this crazy son of a bitch not been caressing his pistol like an eager and happy wife with her husband's man business, I'd have popped this fool. But seeing as how I am grossly under-armed for a confrontation with the NRA's very own Black Hitler in Chicago, I simply ushered my mother and brother to the seating room... where we sat from 9 until 1:45, across from a man undressing himself and singing to his toes (I am not kidding) addressing each by name, and then near the Greyhound arcade, where a little girl messed up the crane game, and made it scream at us until my bus arrived. I am now convinced that mass shootings are the direct result of hearing crane game machines blasting ice cream truck music at a standard television set volume level of 60.

At 1:45 my bus arrived. I went through my security screening and balled like a giant baby, not knowing how soon I'd next see my mom and my brother. True, crying embarrasses me, but if you had a family like those two, you'd cry your ass off too.

I was on the bus exactly 3 seconds (I have a watch) when the ethnic, female equivalent of Austin Powers' Fat Bastard sits in front of me, taking out two whole seats. She pulls out her own Tracefone Flipper, and proceeds to scream as loud as possible in it, to some poor sot at an Enterprise Rent-A-Car.


It is this type of language by the way, that would cause Sidney Poitier to put his fist through a wall. I could just feel my civil rights fighting family from Heaven doing a group facepalm with Dr. King ~ and the bus was not even in motion yet!

As the late Billy Mays would say, BUT WAIT!! There's more!

Sitting next to me is a ditzy 20-something... with a screaming baby.
Oh! I get it now. I was BAD, and this is HELL!

Now, the baby is easily under a year old. I want to make that crystal clear. There is no freaking way this child is old enough to speak yet, let alone understand the world around her. Not a chance. Any moron would understand that this baby is not going to grasp the concept of Greyhound..... except of course the moron who gave birth to her.

As soon as the bus starts moving, the baby starts fussing about. She will look at something in the window, try to grasp it, and then cry. Babies do this when they don't want to take a nap while they are traveling. Sane people with babies usually try to keep the baby occupied, or they try to relax the baby so that he/she will take a nap. It's not brain surgery, and most people would try to do this.

This Valley Girl? No... not so much.

She tries to sit the baby in the adult Greyhound seat next to her. Oh yeah I should mention. This idiot did NOT bring a baby seat, baby toys, or anything in her bag that would scream "Hey! I'm traveling with a baby". NOPE!! So baby is in the seat next to her, screaming bloody murder at the top of her wee little lungs.

Mommy Dearest leans right into her face and says "ENOUGH!! You are being so selfish right now. You clearly are not even trying to understand MY feelings an' stuff. You need to stop, compose yourself, and stop being a PrimaDonna."

Obviously, this doesn't work. The baby starts crying. Mumsy ignores her to speak to me ~ the only other 20-something currently on the Hades Express.

Moron: So liiiiike do you have like kids an' stuff?
Me: Nope, no kids yet.
Moron: Like Ohmigawd i totally like envy you right now. Like for serious. She is SUCh a primadonna.
Me: Aww no, babies get fussy when they travel. This is a new experience for her.
Moron: GAWD like she should be all happy an sh-AT UP ALREADY!! Like I'm talkin' an' stuff! GAWD. I NEVER should have had her. Like if I could go back in time, an' meet myself when I was like about to have sex, I'd like abort her face in front of her before even having like condomless sex and whatever, so like before I even had sex, I wouldn't like get pregnant. I'd just abort her face before making it. 

Keep in mind, I am sincerely pro-choice, and in favor of a woman's right to choose. But hearing this was a little hard for me. Still, I refuse to change my stance on abortion rights.... I just wish this idiot's mother had had one before this moron was born, and then the moron grew up and she had a baby an' tried to abort it's face before it was even conceived an' stuff.

By the way. It is not scientifically possible to abort a child before it's conceived. I am ashamed of the public school system for not covering this basic, 4th grade knowledge.

Moron: So liiiiiiiike how far does this bus like go an' stuff?
Me: Well this bus makes a transfer in Cincinnati.
Moron: Cincinnati? Like OhMiGawd! Is that like far away an' stuff?
Me: Um... Yeah.. it's like two states away an' stuff.
Moron: States? ........................ Is that like more than a county or what?

She has bred, ladies and gentlemen. This one has bred.

The baby starts crying again, after flipping out of the adult seat and smashing her little head into her mother's bag. Why? Because fuck child seats and seat belts. That's why. Nuno, that's fine Ms. 20-something, you go right ahead and seat your baby in an adult seat without proper restraint, that's totally okay. Brain damage builds character.

Just as the baby is being brought back up for air, I look to the front of the bus. I'm somewhere past Merrilville, and I see a McDonald's built in the middle of the highway. I shit you not. I did not realize right away that the highway goes around the french fry establishment, so all I saw were the golden arches coming at the bus super fast. Now call me morbid if you will, but at this point, I thought "Gee, isn't this the most podunk, redneck way to die? On a Greyhound that plows entrance way first into a McDonald's. Now how am I going to explain this when I meet St. Peter? Everyone ahead of me will have died for other reasons. Of cancer surrounded by loved ones, in a far away country in battle, Hell, some may even be rendered lifeless after saving a family of kindergarten nuns and puppies from a chainsaw wielding lumberjack in a pillow factory on fire. But me? My death certificate will read *Death by 'Merica*. How could I explain that? What would my mother think, knowing that I was out of her care a grand total of 2 hours, and was killed savagely, and found with the quarter pounder menu jammed in my face?"
OH THANK YOU SWEET BABY JEBUS ON A TRYCYCLE!!! I went to the right of it, and only skidded ONE barrier. Nothing like a lunchtime coronary to pep you up!

So I rode through Indiana, knowing that we would be making a stop soon. My ticket actually said that there would be two meals on the bus before hitting Ohio. Anybody who has ever rode Greyhound before knows that this is a lie. There are no stewardesses on board to grant you a shitty, $8 bag of peanuts like they have on airplanes. So where is the magic food coming from?

As the bus driver says: MAC-DONALDS, which is also a Greyhound bus stop for passengers in the middle of bumfuck Indiana.
We were told we could have 10 minutes to get off the bus and grab a bite to eat, but at minute #5 we were setting out again. Needless to say I was not stupid enough to leave the bus for ANY reason. Not even to pee. I could just use the toilet in the back of the bus, and let the vortex of ice cold air from the gravel filled road work as a dry bidet for me.

Now the baby adjacent to me started crying again about 30 minutes later. Her moron of a mother gets nose-to-nose in her face and says the following:

"You are So not grateful! You know what your problem is? You totally do not understand my problems at all. AT ALL!! You need to stop being a primadonna right now. You know? Other people have to be in Somalia right now. Think about that a minute. You could be in Somalia right now.. with people in it."

If you watch Saturday Night Live, then you probably figured out that this really IS the girl you regret talking to at a party..... but with a baby. 

Now the baby starts to get sick. So what am I sitting next to? That's right! A screaming, PUKING, crying baby ~ for the next two hours and fifteen minutes. (I have a watch.) So what does her mother give her? A toy? A Playtex full of milk or water? A story? Nope. How about TWO ADULT SERVINGS OF GATORADE!! The Pediatric's choice beverage for Greyhound babies. That'll stop the baby from crying!
Oh goody! And she's trying to cut her first tooth on the bottle!! So now I have a screaming, neon-blue-and-green-liquid-puking, crying, TEETHING, over-tired baby next to me. YIPPIE!!! And me without a taser.

At 7:15, we roll into a station in Indianapolis... where I am promptly thrown off the bus, and have my pink bag chucked full force at my head. What the fuck?? Someone hands me a ticket, and I am left stranded in Indy. Did the bus need refueling? Nope. Did we change buses? Nope. Did we change drivers? Nope. We're just out here... because fuck you. I'm not kidding, that's what we were told. But fortunately, TMZ's mom of the year has reached her destination, so maybe the pounding in my head will stop.

My last meal was at 8:30 this morning. It is now 7:15 at night, time to rustle up some grub.

I check my wallet and realize I need to break a $10 if I'm going to use the vending machines. So I head on over to a counter with a Jamaican lady behind it. She has absolutely NO interest whatsoever in me purchasing her wares, so I have all the time in the world to gaze at her collection of beauty store jewelry, Half-sewn teddy bears, $7 a slice mini-pizza-slices the size of a Ritz cracker, and bootleg WCW rip-off figures ~ complete with chipping Chinese paint and breakable title belt.

Finally, I decide to spend $2.15 on an Ice Mountain. I point out what I want and hand over the $10.
She hands me a tiny can of Mountain Dew and tries to charge me an extra $1.75 for it.
This is NOT okay. I demand my money back and the water. NOW.

"What do joo mean you no want Mountain Dew? It is the same it IS the same! I know what joo want, joo want de soda pop!"

"I want NO such thing! You march over there, get me my water and give me back my money, NOW!!"

"What joo problem? It is de same, it is de SAME!!!"

Suddenly, a gorgeous Ebony Magazine model pops up behind me. "Excuse me, but the little lady purchased her Ice Mountain water. I heard the whole thing. Please do what's right and give her what she needs."

The woman behind the counter roughly hands me back my change and my water. "Greedy American! Joo want somting for noting. Greedy greedy."

I smile a thank you to the other lady as I put my wallet away. The model looks to the woman behind the counter. "May I please have some ice for my drink?"

"It is a dollar per ice cube. You give me dollar, you give dollar NOW!!"

"Um... the other station didn't charge me for ice. What's going on here?"

"No such ting, you LIE, Bitch you give me dollar now."

Have you ever felt your skin tingle, just before lighting is about to strike? My hair stood up slowly, as I could feel this charming, eloquent lady beside me, suddenly channel her inner street soldier.


I grabbed my luggage and skedaddled to the vending machine, just as a 4'6 Chinese man tippie-toed out from behind the counter. "YOU GO NOW!! YOU NO PAYING BITCH! LEAVE NOW!!" 


I found myself hiding behind the Coke machine until security came to claim the two workers.

8:30 we finally start boarding for Ohio. Sometime after 10, I rolled into Cincinnati.

Now Cincinnati will fool you. When we first rolled in, this city looked amazing. Freshly painted buildings, new light fixtures, and clean streets. I didn't see even ONE piece of garbage anywhere. This city looked absolutely lovely...... and then I saw the people.

The first person I saw was a man with what I thought was an art deco lamp. It had an oval on the bottom, and a circle near the top, and was bright red. I thought "Wow! What an interesting lamp." .. And then he lit the bottom on fire and inhaled whatever smoke came out the top of it.

I saw another dude with a crack pipe (Thank you D.A.R.E. for your coloring book when I was 7) and then I saw a hooker.
She had a dress that stopped before her lady bits, so her va-jay-jay was out for God and everyone to see. She had a fanny pack with a living, screaming, newborn baby inside, strapped to her hip. Her earrings ran past the boob line, and her hair looked like plastic. She angrily chased after a young man, screaming "I KNOW you WANTZ sum o DIS right here!!" pointing to her crotch. This made the baby cry. So, she slapped the baby and yelled "SHUT UP!! Mama be workin'."

I saw a few more hookers, each with shiny, sparkly and far too short dresses, and then a pimp in full regalia. Fur trim on the suit, large hat, sunglasses after 10 at night, gold chains, jewelry, a cane, and LIGHT UP platform shoes with goldfish swimming about. I seriously wish I had filmed this. But before I had the chance to pull out my camera, I saw the most terrifying sight I could have possibly seen... the Switchblade Clown.

Over six feet tall, red and orange spotted hair, wife-beater with paint splatters on it, cargo pants, gold hoop earrings on the right ear, red clown nose and shoes, clown makeup, and a switchblade, that he kept loudly flipping. He started to follow my bus, glaring at it like it personally insulted his Mama.

All of a sudden, I hear *BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM!!* the bus makes a sharp turn, knocking everyone out of their seats. The bus screeches into the station, and we are all hurried outside. Once again, my luggage is hurled at my head, and we are huddled under a TV set inside, and told to keep quiet.

10 minutes later, whatever documentary we were all watching is interrupted. 

"Breaking news! Man shot to death two blocks from Greyhound Station right here in Cincinnati!"

I look outside and see cop cars and news crews jamming up the roads. There is gunfire everywhere and sirens blaring. A little old lady sitting beside me looks up at the gruesome scene on TV and says:

"Oh is THAT all? Gee, and here I thought something went wrong with the bus! Oh you silly Cincinnatians!"

Everyone had a good laugh, and acted like nothing happened.
The local police and the highway patrol came inside, and the Greyhound people told us to keep our cell phones OFF and to not even say a word to anybody outside of the station, unless they had a badge. They didn't know if we'd have to take statements or not.

We ended up not having to say anything to the cops, as these bozos were just happy to walk around us, and stroke their gun holders. They wanted to scare us, but never actually said word one aloud.

As we're all waiting for the next bus, the Switchblade Clown stands outside the windows, glaring at me. The cops see him and opt not to do anything. Frightening the little old ladies inside with me is all the job they can handle right now. Fucking wonderful.

The clown starts pacing back and forth outside, by the window, flipping the switchblade every few seconds, as loud as possible. The door is open a wee bit, but he decides not to step in. So instead, he locks his eyes on me, flipping the blade.

*SHINK* ......................... *SHINK* .............. *SHINK* .............. *SHINK*..................

I was only supposed to be there ten minutes at the most, then head out to Kentucky.

... I was there for two hours and forty five minutes.

I have a watch.

As we're sitting in the spot designated for those heading to Kentucky, I realize that my bus will be full of the elderly and those who are special needs. I talked wrestling with the elderly people, while the special needs ones took turns telling me I reminded them of an old friend someone had back in 1948 who was killed and then reincarnated into a swan. I want to go home, did I just type that?

*SHINK* ......................... *SHINK* .............. *SHINK* .............. *SHINK*..................

I guess the Switchblade Clown didn't have a home to go to, because he spent the entire duration pacing back and forth, while I got to hear the life story of the entire medic unit of 1948.

Finally at 12:45, we are told to line up, as the new driver stands in front of the line.

"Alright ALRIGHT PEOPLE NOW LISTEN UP!! I am only taking passengers 1-10. Anybody got a ticket 1-10? Line up lemme see those 1-10's naw!"

Now here I spot another SNAFU. We all compare our tickets and realize that NONE of us are numbered 1-10 AT FUCKING ALL!! Mine was ticket #11, everyone else had #20 and beyond. So now we know that the people in charge of Greyhound tickets CAN'T FUCKING COUNT, and what does it matter what the damn ticket says anyway? IT'S A BUS!!! YOU SIT WHERE EVER YOU FUCKING WANT TO!!!

But this guy is threatening to leave us all behind, and the Switchblade Clown won't stop staring at me. Slowly, he taps his nose.

*ERR-EE! .......... Errrrrrrrrrrrrr eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*

*SHINK* ......................... *SHINK* .............. *SHINK* .............. *SHINK*..................

I wanna go home now!!

So I make it crystal clear to the asswipe driver that he WILL be taking the lot of us, NOW. I explain the mess with the ticket numbers, and finally, we're on board.

The driver slams the door shut, just as the Switchblade Clown was glaring at the luggage spot. The driver clears his throat.

"May I have yo attention PLEASE? I be yo' driver fo this evening. Our first stop will be in London, Kentucky, we should be arriving at 2:45 eastern time. If you have ANy questions, please step up to the glass and holla at me and we can sort this thang out."

He then gets in my face as I'm turning OFF my cell phone.

"And If I see ANY cell phone light offa that DAMN thang I'mma throw yo' ass OFF this bus, you GOT me??"

Well fuck you too.

The Switchblade Clown gets into a small car, and tails us for a while, occasionally riding beside the window I'm seated at, driving with one hand and flipping the blade with the other.

*SHINK* ......................... *SHINK* .............. *SHINK* .............. *SHINK*..................

If that doesn't put the fear of God into you, nothing will. Ever.

Suddenly the lights inside the Raggedy Bitch express go off. Now I am in the dark, riding alongside the Switchblade Clown, in a bus full of elderly and special needs people. I may not be a religious person, but prayer was had that evening.

The Switchblade Clown didn't stop riding alongside the bust until I was halfway through Lexington ~ a city that believes in turning off ALL the lights on the highway after 9 pm.

Lexington is where something must have gone wrong, or dare I say...... STUPID!!

Now the bus driver is an asshole dejour. The bus is ice cold, so several of the people on board took turns asking him very kindly, to turn the a/c down a little bit.

What does he do? 

Ignores them, and makes it colder.

Now like I said, I am on a bus filled with elderly and special needs people. NONE of these people cops a clue, that asking him to turn the a/c down will actually work.

"Excuse me Mr. Bus Driver, can you please turn the a/c down a bit?"


"Excuse me sir, but my medication needs to be at room temperature. Can you please turn down the a/c?"


This continues, as I notice that we have hit the SAME sign for Lexington about three times already. All of them have the same number and the same destination, Lexington.

I check my cell phone. I realize that I am going to be VERY late.

I tried getting the bus driver's attention. He is NOT talking to me AT ALL. I poked him, spoke loudly, yelled, nothing is working. He's just a glazed donut behind the wheel, as we hit the SAME Lexington sign for a fourth time. I realize that he is going in circles, taking the scenic route ~ IN THE DARK!!

Now I am really upset. So I did something that I do not recommend, because it is VERY dangerous and could have gotten us all killed.

I flipped open my cell phone, waived it on the glass, knowing the light would bounce and hit his eyes, and screamed "HEY MAN WHASSUP??" 

He freaked and started screaming at me. I informed him that we were going in circles and demanded to know when we would reach London.

"Aw. AW SHEET! It'll be anudder hour and a half I guess. Shit."

"Okay, now that I finally have your attention, can you PLEASE turn the a/c down?"


There are people in groups of four and five behind me, huddled onto ONE chair each, trying to keep warm. I am shivering. My teeth are clattering. I am pissed.

At 3:15 in the morning ~ the driver puts the brights on in the bus, blinding everyone. 

"AIGHT! London, Kentucky coming up RISE AND SHINE. People you is gonna have exactly FIVE minutes to get yo' shit if this is yo LAST destination. If you ain't be fast enough to get OFF or get yo' shit, it ain't my muthafucking problem."

I stand up, grab a bar and start riding this bus like fucking Tarzan. I am a foot over the white line. I am pissed off and I want to get HOME.

At 3:49 in the morning, more than an hour past where I should have been let off, I am kicked off the bus at a Shell station.

...... WHAT???

People are being hurled from the bus by this asshole, as he is yelling that this is London, Kentucky.

I march over to the luggage gap as he is being slow with the bags.

"If I don't be seeing' yo' bags I can't give 'em to you. Sorry but it ain't MY fault if you be LAZY about yo' damn bags." 

I am officially LIVID right now.

I flip open the cargo door, climb inside, snatch my pink bag, drag it out, and get nose to nose with this asshole, screaming "AS GOD AS MY WITNESS, I AM NEVER RIDING GREYHOUND AGAIN!!"

I look around the gas station and realize I am seeing NO familiar faces. Panic is setting in.

I walk inside to ask the worker there if he's seen anybody like John. But the worker speaks precious little English, and sounds like a Malaysian spam bot. "YOU want to buy Clark bar YES??? NO???? YES??? Please respond YES????'

My phone buzzes. It's John. Our mutual friend Jimmy is with him.

John: Where are you?
John:................................. What?
John: What are you doing at a Shell station?
Some dude behind me: "Missy we're off of exit 38 if it helps.
Jimmy: Exit 38? That's on the opposite side of where we are!!

Using his phone, Jimmy factors that the Greyhound station John was told I would be at does not exist. There is no Armar Oil Company station here, just a Shell station. Good job Greyhound for misleading people!

John: Now honey calm down, we're coming to get you. Where are you standing? Is the place lit?

Which is the truth. The able-bodied elderly folk at this point had brought out their hammers, and were beating the bus, screaming "You somBITCH does this look like the Armar Oil company to YOU?? It's damn near four in the morning, I have work at FIVE numbnuts!!!" while the bus driver had locked himself back inside the bus, screaming.

Finally, just as the men folk were trying to tip the bus over, John and Jimmy pull up. I race over to the car, thankful to finally see some familiar faces. I plop down beside John and scream "I'M ALIIIIVE!!!" as I am rushed inside to avoid the villagers with sandals.

Upon pulling into the driveway, I tried telling the two about nearly being shot. This is where we played a game called "Guess the most dangerous place Kori has been to today". 

Jimmy: Was it Chicago?
Me: nope:
Jimmy: Dammit.
John: It was Gary, right?
Me: Shockingly no.
John: Shit!
Jimmy: Didja hit Detroit? The Greyhound people said you might have.
Me: Nope. Didn't go that far north.
John: Was it Indy?
Me: Nope. Good guess though.
Jimmy: Cleveland?
Me: Close!
Both: Well?
Me: Cincinnati.
Both: D'AWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! So close!!

After I called my mom and told her I made it, John gave me a "Thank God you're Safe" kiss, and held me tight. I was finally safe, far away from the moronic Gatorade mom, the nasty Greyhound people, and far far away from the Switchblade Clown.

I'm home.

Kentucky 1: I can has blessing???

This will be a several-part mini series of blogs about the summer of 2013 and what has been going on with me. This post is sentimental, but the next post will be very humorous.

You may have noticed that my last few blogs were about AT&T and pop culture. Outside of the AT&T posts, I haven't really talked about my life until right now. So! It's recap time, m'kay?

So let's go back to May. Right around here, we got the notice that despite negotiations with my parents' lawyer, the house was going to Sheriff's auction anyways. So to summarize:

1. GSF snookered my parents into a loan in 2007.
2. They told my folks to send payment to Countrywide.
3. They sold the mortgage to CitiBank.
4. Citibank inflated the payment cost, and demanded payment every two weeks instead of monthly.
5. Citibank sold the mortgage to NationStar.
6. NationStar foreclosed between July 2011-June 2013.
7. Fannie Mae now owns my house and want us out ASAP so they can knock it down for the new Wal*Mart.
8. All of these transactions happened WITHOUT my parents knowledge or consent. And if you Google these mortgage companies, you will find several pages worth of this happening to other people. So my story on losing the house isn't even rare or special.

Right, now imagine my stress level.

So between items #6-7, my father's father dies.... ranting and raving about how badly he wished my parents' divorce would have gone faster. Yeah, Grandpa died, hating his youngest son's wife and kids and wishing we would leave the family. He really wasn't much of a fan of us. And I was sort of asked not to show up for the funeral. Kinda banned as it was put to me. So um... yeah. Let's move on okay? I don't think I want to deal with this right now.

Well after Grandpa met his maker, my parents were able to sign off on the divorce. They are now divorced, and both are actually quite happy. In fact, they giggled all the way to the courthouse about it. No nasty fights, no screaming fits over who has what, and I am now a retired referee. :D

So in planning a move, trying to get a job in time to pay for said move and all of the above, one would need someone to lean on, right?

...... Well here's where my story takes a beautiful turn. :)

On New Year's Eve, I blogged about one of my best friends ever, a man named John. My best friend since 2009, and one of the few to have ever heard me cry. He's believed in me when I couldn't even believe in myself.

One thing I left out of my blog, is that John is the boy next door I never thought I had a chance with.

I write alot, but when it comes to this sort of thing, I stumble with my words.

When we first started talking on MySpace, I was timid. I had been BURNED badly when a girlfriend of another friend of mine hacked me, and posed as everybody on my friends list to gain personal data on me, so I was really scared, I didn't even give out my phone number at first! But once I knew that this really was John asking for me, I gave out my number, and soon we were gabbing away about wrestling.

I was more hot-headed back then than I am now. (Scary thought much?) And very stuck in my ways. There were a few times I almost lost him because of my temper, but he stayed with me, and helped me to see a different way of life.

I was torn then, I secretly loved John, but I also had feelings for another friend who I never see anymore. I don't want to name names, but let's just say he's on television alot more now then when I last saw him. Strange how bright lights can change people.

John and I didn't always agree on politics, so I didn't think I had any chance with him. I listened from afar when he was with other women, women I thought he'd marry, since he is so much more than a good catch. He listens, he tries to do the right thing as often as possible. He's far more patient than I am. I never thought I stood a chance with such a gentleman. I've always been told how rough I can be, so I was afraid of hurting him. But we would talk forever, almost every night about wrestling, music, what we were watching, stupid people, and soon, we shared our lives with each other. We compared family notes, and I felt safe confiding in him my darkest hours. Even when my heart was broken by the man I originally loved, John was right there to coax me down from the ceiling. Even at my WORST, he never judged me. Not once.


My head was on my desk/shelf, just two inches shy of the monitor when the phone rang. I felt like I had been suplexed repeatedly. I was trying as hard as I could to fight back the tears, after my mom told me about there being NOTHING we could do to save the house. My eyes were red from having scanned the entire internet for a solution, and closing my eyes only gave me the Google after-image of 24 search entries. I was babbling HTML code markup in my sleep the night before, and my skin was white with worry.

I picked up the phone, and confided in John how bad off we were with the house. How being a cartoonist just doesn't pay the bills these days, and about how there were no jobs left in my area. None.

I took a weary breath, ready to tell him that I couldn't take living like this anymore. I couldn't deal with the constant pressure, the endless phone-calls to the house from the people who screwed my parents out of their home, constantly being told I wasn't good enough ~ even to work at fucking McDonald's. I just didn't want to go on anymore. I took a breath to say this entire paragraph. I was just about ready to s-

"I love you."

........................................................................................... I'm sorry, say that again John?

"I love you, Koriander. I have always loved you."


I was quiet for a few minutes. He gulped, worrying that maybe he crossed a line.

Wanna know what I was doing?

Pinching myself.

I wanted to make absolutely sure that I was not dreaming again.

That I hadn't lost my mind.

That I was in reality.



..................................................................................................................................... Naw for realz and serious I'm NOT dreaming?!?!!?! :D

I didn't know what to say or where to go with this, I didn't want to screw this up.

I didn't post about this blossoming relationship until I felt I was emotionally stable enough to do so. I didn't want to wreck it before it had a chance. It's really not every day your best friend says "I love you" like this.

In this moment, I had been given a reason to keep going, keep on living. I had somebody who needed me as much as I badly need him. I had a clear idea now, I have to go to Kentucky.

I applied anywhere I could, and finally got a job interview lined up in London. I told John when and where, and we devised a plan. He paid my way, all I had to do was pack a bag or two, and head down to Kentucky.

My mom was actually ecstatic for me. She and John had also been friends for about as long as I had, so she felt I'd be safe, like I was just heading down to family as opposed to just randomly moving in with someone. John formally asked her for my hand and she was very happy to say yes. And before long, I was heading out the door for the Greyhound....................................................................................

And on paper, riding the Greyhound seems like a "good" idea. Stay tuned.....