I Wanna Be Your Crystal Baller

I’m ready to pack up the dogs, get in a vehicle and drive away; never looking back.

We received two emails from our property manager a couple of days ago. One was accusing of us leaving a bag of trash under the stairs on the other side of the courtyard near the gate (essentially, as far as one could get from us and still be under those stairs). I know of the bag because I saw it there.

I simply replied, “Not ours!” No response.

That email was shortly followed by one stating that they’d heard we have a new dog (we actually have two) and that it was a Pit Bull.

I simply replied that, “We’re dog-sitting until roughly the end of the month. There’s no Pit Bull here, though. Only a lab, a Basenji/Dalmatian mix and itty-bitty Carl. That was acceptable to her.

Of course, that first part wasn’t true. So we have to figure out what we’re going to do with George and Jeff – see if Mom and Dad will take them again? register them as ESAs? Then they can’t kick them out for any reason.

Jeff looks nothing like a Pit Bull. Beyond that, though, they’ve done nothing to anyone.

They don’t bark. Only Carl barks at door knocks and gunshots (for instance, this, which occurred just down the street from our apartment and where we no longer walk the dogs). Jeff grunts and George rarely barks. He only whines to go visit other dogs or chase cats when we’re on walks.

I know it’s likely our neighbor is the one who complained. He’s an older black guy who acts disabled when his daughter is over to take care of him but seems to like hitting up the crack house down the street before having different girls in and out of his apartment all day. I doubt we’ll ever know if he’s the pimp (unlikely) or the john (spending the welfare and crack money I’ve earned for him). He probably also told them we left the trash out there.

I’m happy he and his neighbors enjoy spending my tax money on crack and whores and then hit me up for $40 when I’m walking through the courtyard. Or even knock on my door asking for it.

And our dogs are the problem? Maybe they are. They prevent them from coming to the door to ask for money.

Call me a racist* if you want. But if we’re not being targeted for looking like normal-ass white people and not the familiar white trash, I’ll be damned. We catch all kinds of hell from these people. If they aren’t throwing things at us, they’re bitching about where our dogs shit or that they exist. (It’s okay to let your Pit Bull roam off-leash and not pick up its shit, though, right? Of course it is. You’re a resident of the projects. We expect no more.)

So, yeah, I’m ready to leave. These people don’t need more of my money in any form.

Nor do they deserve my compassion any longer.

I worked for too long for the services and benefits that my wife and I can’t access when we need them but yet provide for the care of people like the above gentleman and the ladies next door (one of whom share her dog’s name, Chocolate. No. Joke.).

Not only that, it supports the wealthy white fucks who run the private company overseeing this little HUD village. Their office is just down the street. We’ve gotten shit from the old white bitch that works there, too. One of the black guys they have out constantly cleaning up after the residents of the projects accused us of leaving dog shit on the ground. We’re the only ones who pick it up!

So, yeah, fuck this place.

It’s only a matter of saving enough money to get a truck to haul our stuff and pay move-in costs. And, in the meantime, finding a place to live – in Austin, Houston, a small town outside of a larger city or, really, any place that we can get a cheap (<$700 a month) small house with a small yard with high-speed Internet so I can work. That last thing being most important.

We’d move to my family’s land out in Alabama if we could get real high-speed Internet out there and not HughesNet. Not exactly a first-choice option, but it’s something to get us out of here.

Omaha sounds nice, but I don’t necessarily want to make another long move. At least, not right now. There are financial, emotional, mental and other needs that require attention before we make another significant move beyond getting out of this place.

It would probably be a good idea to be a bit more methodical in our search for places this time. Don’t want to end up in a place like this again.

They can keep their johns, crack whores, racists (oh, wait, I forgot, black people can’t be racist, only prejudice), welfare recipients with no intention of getting off the dole, lack of industry and jobs, crap tax revenue and flea-ridden feral cats.

I may sound like a Republican, and that should make you reflect on why it is that people vote for that party and Trump, its presidential candidate.

These people need to learn to police their own shit. Not have hired hands do it for them.

New Orléans – and this neighborhood, specifically – probably hit all nine circles of Hell, but I know that it certainly hangs out in the Seventh Circle.


*There is a significant cultural shift that occurs east of Houston. It is clear after one crosses into Louisiana. After spending a several years in Texas, that is, outside the Deep South, landing here and experiencing these racial issues again has just made me sick – to my stomach and my heart. Despite what New Orleanians tell themselves, the problems here are not reflected in every city. There’s something else going on here. And I’m not interested in living near it.

[Thanks to Misty for the Dante reference.]


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