Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Drugs, work and packing it all in. (A cheery wave goodbye from a man stuck in the burbs)


I’ve been slacking at this writing thing lately. The truth is, nothing of interest has been happening, and some people are getting mad about me writing about my past. Too many toes stepped on I suppose.
I started a new job, its part time and the pay is low, but after a year of unemployment I’ll take what I can get.
I started taking new meds, Adderall and Xanax. They seem to doing their job. I’m not scared of the outside world anymore and I am finding it easier to focus on things.
That’s it really. I mean who wants to read about the adventures of a middle aged suburban guy with mental problems?
No one that’s who.
I’ll check in from time to time if anything of interest happens, but consider this the end.

Cheers,
James

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

The 1978 fruit basket (How to ruin your parents coke party)

My friend Hal told how to make a fruit basket. " Bend over and stuff your balls between your legs." He also told me what a brown eye was.

My mom and dad were having a typical 1978 coke and disco party. I was in my room practicing my tricks. When i felt I had perfected both feats I walked out into the living room naked. I shoved my junk between my legs and bent over. i spread my ass cheeks apart and yelled " Hey! Brown eye everyone!" The room was silent except for the music.

I sat like that for about 30 seconds before my dad started laughing. My mom started apologizing to all her friends saying how embarrassed she was. One of their friends said "Verne's going to be a real swinger when he's older. I better keep him away from my daughter!"

Laughter

I took a bow and went back to my room. My dad came in drunk off his ass and gave me half his beer. He told me how funny I was.

I was so proud.

The next morning I went to the bathroom and tripped over my dad. He was passed out hugging the toilet bowl. My mom was nude on the living room couch. I poured myself some cereal and watched cartoons.

No one ever mentioned it to me again.

Dead Cows and Grandpa


I had one birthday party when I was a kid. All the neighbor hood kids were there. I got a lot of Star Wars toys.  My birthday cake had Tweedy Bird. I don’t know how I ended up with that cake. I wanted a Star Wars one. I didn’t care really though. I was just happy I was having a party. My mom was pregnant with my sister at the time. It was my last hurrah.
I was excited to be having a little sister. I asked my parents how my sister got in there. Mom went to a library and checked out an extremely graphic book. She explained to me about the penis and vagina. I told all my friends about it.
My dad dropped me off at my grandma’s house. I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept thinking that the next day I will have a baby sister. I got up the next morning. We got in grandpas’ car and drove to the hospital.  I was too young to go inside. Mom’s room was on the first floor. She opened the window and held my sister to the screen. She was dark and screaming.
“That’s not my sister, that’s some Mexican baby.” I said.
My sister came home three weeks later. She was sick a lot and couldn’t eat. All she did was cry and throw up. I would hear my mom yelling at her to stop her fucking crying and just sleep.  I was scared for her. I wanted to take her and run away so she wouldn’t get hurt and yelled at.
She had a few operations. She started to eat and hold the food down. My parents decided we should take my grandma to Ohio for my great grandparent’s 50th anniversary. I don’t remember a lot of the trip. My sister throwing up every half hour or so, an electrical storm in New Mexico. I saw cows getting struck by lightening. My grandma told me not to touch anything metal in the car or I might die. I got my head stuck between the bars on a motel balcony. Dad spread the bars apart and pulled me through.
I remember my great grandparents. Andrew and Anna Kichka, they barely spoke any English. She was a tiny little woman. She just in her chair with a huge smile on her face. I sat at her feet. She put her hand on my head and sang Slavic songs to me.  It was uncomfortable, but I liked the attention. Great grandpa was a huge man. All muscle. He took me to his garden and let me pick raspberries.
I don’t know much about them. I know they left Czechoslovakia, went to Hungry and came to New York in the late 30’s. Eventually they settled in Cleveland.
In 1953 my grandma met some Ukrainian sailor and got pregnant with my mother. The sailor left. No one saw him again.
Some how she and my mom ended up in LA, I don’t know how. No one ever told me about it. I never asked about it. I figured if they wanted me to know, they would have told me.



Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Minnesota.


I think I was eight. It was Easter break and my mom, sister and I were going to fly to Minnesota to visit my grandparents. I hadn't seen them in years. I missed them. They were a nice escape from the crap at home. My parents didn't have a lot of money so we took the cheapest flight out there. WE had to take six different planes to get to Minnesota. Because this was a series short flights, we didn't eat. All together it took 12 hours to get there.
My mother was pissed that grandma and grandpa didn’t take time off from work to visit. I didn't care, my aunt Catharine was around and I liked her. My mom and Catharine did not get along. Catharine blamed my mom for taking her big brother away. My mom didn't like Catharine because my mom was my mom and no one was good enough in her eyes.
We went everywhere in the twin cities. Different zoo's, restaurants, amusement parks, and then it got weird, my grandparents were Mormon. My mother was Catholic. I was already an eight year old atheist. I had decided around five years old that it was all fake. I would try to hold in the laughter when the old people started speaking in tongues and rolled around the floor. Anyway, All these missionaries started coming over to visit. They showed us movies, read us books. I was bored. Mom was pissed. "You people are all wrong!" she said. She started getting extremely vocal and rude to them. They were just two teenage kids trying to do what they believed in. She kept telling them they will burn for what they are doing.  Grandma stood up and told mom "Debbie that is uncalled for. You need to knock this garbage off now."
Mom got pissed and walked out.
They pretty much left each other alone the rest of the trip.
On the day we left, grandma packed me and my sister a bunch of snack food for the trip. WE had a layover in Salt Lake City. Mom took us to an airport lounge. My sister and I were told to sit on the bench outside the door. She went in and had a few drinks. She came out in a better mood. Shawntele and I ate our potato chips for dinner. The last flight home was eventful. Mom slept it off, Shawntele played with her doll and I read a book.
We got off the plane. Our neighbor Nancy picked us up. "Is the bastard drunk somewhere?" my mom asked.
Nancy said she'll talk about it later.
We got home and Nancy handed me a rabbit. She told me there was a cage in the backyard for it. I put the rabbit in the cage and went to my room. What the fuck was going on? Why is my neighbor handing me livestock and where is my dad? Why am I being forced to stay in my room? Turns out dad had a heart attack.  Nobody bothered to tell me. I found out when he got home. I asked where he was. He said he had a heart attack and was in the hospital.  That's all that was said about that.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Your Academy


When I was in the Air Force I had a roommate named Charles. I absolutely hated him. He was the anti-James. He was a hard core Christian. He was always going through my crap. I'd wake up and he would be standing by my bed praying. When my friends would come over to visit, He would take out his knives and start sharpening them mumbling loud enough for us to hear about “Taking out any dumb sumbitch that crossed him”. How very Christian of him.
He told me he roomed with me because god wanted him to watch over me. His half of the room was covered in Reba McIntire posters. Mine was covered in Hubcaps, Christmas lights, bike parts and whatever else I could attach to the walls. I didn’t have any girlfriends. He would ask if I was a “fag”. Being from California and not having a girlfriend automatically made me gay in his eyes.
Chuck would invite his church group over for bible study. He ended each meeting with “Let’s pray for Jim.” He called me Jim, another reason to hate him.  
 I decided I needed to get rid of him. We couldn't just move out without all this paperwork bullshit. So I decided to scare him into moving out. I started collecting Serial killer/Mass murder books. I had trading cards. I started a correspondence with a couple. I gave my number to Richard Hanson and told him to go ahead and call collect. After about two months Ole’ Chuck split. He moved out to some Christian housing thing. I feel shitty about it, but he was an asshole.

Monday, March 12, 2012

How to make a first impression.


Ed’s fiancĂ© was coming to visit him. Ed had to work. He asked me if I would pick her up and show her around Fairbanks till he got off work. Sure I said. I pick her up. We go to lunch and get some coffee. She’s a nice girl. Ed’s a good guy. They are perfect together. I asked her if there is anywhere she wants to go. She says the naughty shop. That’s an odd request but oh well if that’s where she wants to go I guess I’ll take her. We drive a half hour out of town. I pull up into the parking lot of the porn store. She looks at me and says you’ve got to be kidding. “Why did you bring me here? I’m not going to tell Ed, but let’s leave.” I said “You said you wanted to go to the naughty shop.”  She said “No I wanted to go to the Knotty Shop.” An Alaskan gift shop an hour out of town. I had never heard of this place.  She told me not to worry that it would be our dirty little secret. That night I brought her to Ed’s. He asked her I had if she had a good time. She said “Yeah, but Jim is a pervert.” She looked at me and smiled. I had to explain to Ed what happened. He laughed his ass off and gave me a beer. 

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

I miss my jacket.


In fourth grade Enoch stole my Destro figure. I brought it to school to show off. No one else had it yet. Enoch was poor white trash. He always had a shaved head. His mom made his clothes. He never had any food for lunch. Enoch was one of the few kids nice to me. We'd play GI Joe or with Hot Wheels. He asked if he could borrow Destro to show his parents what he wanted for Christmas. I let him take it home.
The next morning he had Destro in his pocket. I asked for it back. He told me that he lost mine and his parents bought him that one. I didn't believe him. I didn't do anything about it.

Eighth grade.
I had a black Denim jacket with blue plaid lining. I wanted that jacket for Christmas. It's the only thing I asked for. To my surprise I got it. I wore it everywhere. At that time the Miami Vice and surfer look was in at our school. Not for me. I had my black Converse all-stars, jeans, black t shirts and that jacket. I wrote James Robison in big letters with black marker on the lining.
This kid named David had an older, faded coat like mine. He asked if h could borrow mine one day. He said he'd kick my ass if I didn't. Not remembering the Destro/Enoch, I gave him the jacket.
The next day he handed me his old jacket. It was a size smaller. It was faded. Verne Robison was written with an ink pen on the tag.
This isn't my jacket I told him.
Yeah it is.
He socked me in the chest and told me to shut the fuck up about it.
I threw his jacket in the trash and walked home.
I told my mother that I kept the jacket in my locker. I walked back and forth to school without a jacket the rest of the winter.
I really need to start standing up for myself.