(To be read aloud with my Bronx Married to the Mob accent.)
I bought this bulky chocolate yarn from Michael’s in Hartford. Ironically, I bought the yarn for a staff worker at the horrible shelter where I stayed: The SouthPark Inn Respite at 75 Main Street; Hartford 06106. In the end, bitch Latifah lied on me and together with two nasty residents, and the administrator–a hateful bitch named Alicia–tried to unsuccessfully have me involuntarily committed to Hartford Institute of Living. All because I filled out a 4-page grievance about ANOTHER staff member, a respite staff member I nicknamed Joanna Santoria who forbade me from calling 911 when my young dorm mate Lexi tried to get medical attention for an epileptic seizure she felt coming on.
Lexi thought she was going to have a grand mal seizure. She had a history of eplilepsy and once even coded on the table after suffering from one. She was puking all day and hadn’t eaten for about 4 days, ’cause she complained her stomach was upset. And at the same time she was go through withdrawal from her Abilify.
That stuff’s nasty. It’s a mood stabilizer, but there’s crazy withdrawals when you stop that shit. That stuff, and the SSRIs (like Cymbalta, Prozac, Paxil)…you can’t just go cold turkey. You get the brain zaps. It’s like there’s a little man inside your head when you go through those withdrawals. First of all, you’re a basket case. But then you’ll be talking along and it’s like the little man flips that switch and you just do a neural glitch. It’s nasty to have to go through that.
So she’s stopped taking Abilify, but she was still taking her gabapentin for the epilepsy, and when I went in to the teeny, tiny lunchroom where they served the food that made her stomach turn–when I get there–I see Bitch Joanna is just calmly wipin’ the table down like nothin’s going on.
So I ask her if she called 911 for my poor friend who was shaking like crazy, screaming, “Where’s the EMTs? Why aren’t they coming?”
And that bitch, Joanna says, “I’m callin’ the super. I ain’t callin’ 911.”
So I go back to my friend Lexi, shakin’ and sweatin’ and screamin’, “Where’s the EMT?!?!? Why aren’t they here?”
Clearly, Lexi understandably thinks this is a dire medical emergency, having died once ALREADY from it, and I know she’s afraid and panicking, but I’m thinkin’ it’s somehow MY fault. Maybe I didn’t properly explain to Miss Joanna how dire the situation really is.
I’m trying to help, but at the same time, I’m traumatized trying to be the only grown-up in the room when everyone else is panicking and everybody else is just being lazy and avoiding doing the fucking job they get paid for.
And how this was so traumatizing for me was that little Lexi–with all her health problems, the intestinal issues, the epilepsy, migraines, and the heart issues–reminded me of my daughter Ariel who struggled with the same things. My daughter, whose ultimate rejection of me–her loving mother who made so many sacrifices during her lifetime–left me emotionally raw. Even though she cut me off two years prior, the pain of my maternal rejection wounds still stung.
Ariel was my only daughter, whom I spawned by my ex Sugar Daddy Baby Daddy Joe. During her childhood, I was the self-sacrificing, codependent mother and wife, supporting my ex-husband’s criminal career with Mitek Industries, pushing him to finish college, and relocating to every cursed city with my daughter in order to give him all the opportunities he needed to succeed in his career with the abomination that is the evil subsidiary in the Berkshire-Hathway empire, the company called MiTek Industries.
My mistake in my errant raising of my ungrateful daughter came out of my misguided determination to overcompensate for the inadequate parenting of my own childhood. I suppose this also came out of my own perceived inadequacies, stupidly believing that my value as a human being lay in what I could create or buy and give to others. These gifts the losers I trusted happily took from me, only taking and offering nothing of value in return.
Little did I know they were stealing even more and like my daughter, even expected it. In the case of the daughter I admittedly spoiled rotten, I even went back to college to get two more degrees for a high-enough paying job to pay for her fancy art school. But she dropped out during her sophomore year due to her health issues. That is when I quit to pursue art, music, and writing full-time.
After I left my ex, I tried to warn my daughter about her evil father being a narc, a convicted predator and about him and his evil sister Pinkee Jean being child traffickers. I tried to warn my daughter about all them kitchen witches, often referring to them as “The Jerry Springer family,” and how they and their demon spawn (her cousins) were secretly jealous of her gifts. I warned my daughter about how they poisoned her grandfather Laverne and her poor cousin Roshie and how if her dad and evil aunties had their way she would be next. But in the end, she believed her dad’s lies about me being crazy, chose the dark side, and cut her dear mother off.
Ariel actually resented that I gave her a home (free-and-clear) as a stipulation of my divorce settlement with my ex. I also sent her several thousand dollars from the forced sale of the cursed Buckingham property to help her while in her new condo.
She resented me and took me for granted. And I resented that she never appreciated any of the sacrifices I made during her life, especially THIS one, making sure she had a safe condo to live in when I myself was homeless. It was THAT codependent behavior–the part of playing the martyr–which I was forced to unlearn with this lesson involving Lexi and the evil innkeepers at the South Park Respite.
Ultimately, my daughter chose Sugar Daddy Baby Daddy Joe over me. Being disabled, she was financially dependent upon him, but she also fell for the illusion he tried to create that I was a psychotic bitch. It was easier to believe her father’s repeated claims that her mother was crazy, which I can’t fault her. I was deceived for 38 years, and often the real truth seems too complicated and fantastic for anyone to believe.
This was the lesson I learned from Lexi. I had befriended this woman as a daughter, because she embodied the same spirit as my estranged daughter Ariel. Although 12 years younger than Ariel, Lexi looked just like her, with long, straight dark ash brown hair. Both were naturally beautiful. Like Ariel, Lexi had a gentle, polite spirit, even to the point of Miss Kim’s milking of her infirmities to guilt her into constantly waiting on her. I found myself chastising Lexi continually for apologizing for things which were not her fault.
Such is the dilemma of being the devil’s emotional scapegoat. We are trained by narcissistic abusers to feel as though all the world’s problems and their bad actions are our fault.
I knew my own daughter was living under the illusion that she had an extended family all living on my ex-husband’s Texas commune, stupidly believing that they all cared about her. Even when I warned her that my evil sister-in-law @PinkeeJean had previously threatened to kill her if Derek refused to write the pickup line she dictated on the back of his business card. I knew Jean’s and Joe’s reasons for keeping my daughter isolated in his tiny house was to siphon all her creative energy. Ask her to draw a caricature of Pinkee Jean loving flamingoes. That was the real truth of her captivity there. They were siphoning her creative energy and keeping her trapped in a tiny house, perpetuating this fake idea Pinkee Jean was a good Christian woman and my ex wasn’t a pedo mob boss. Ariel was Sugar Daddy Baby Daddy Joe and his evil sister @PinkeeJean’s new human battery.
Where I had escaped captivity, Ariel was their new narc supply. And whether she was still under Sugar Daddy Baby Daddy Joe and Pinkee Jean’s spell, she ultimately chose them over me and decided to cut me off while a fully-grown adult.
Emotionally my daughter had moved on without me, and it crushed my spirit. I had been hanging onto this idea that Ariel would turn around, awaken, and wise up, but as time drew on, it became harder to accept the truth. Unfortunately, Ariel, like her dad, @PinkeeJean, and her other Auntie Camel Toe Sheryl were indoctrinated and brainwashed by the RPG game they obsessively played together called “Runescape.” To them, life was about mining all the resources you could find, even if it wasn’t yours to begin with. It was about raping the land and spiritually raping people and casting evil spells to fuck with their lives so you could win game. ‘Cause in the game, like in this 3D realm, the guy still standing at the end with the most shit is the winner.
Simultaneously, I felt my young friend Lexi ignoring my advice just as Ariel had in the past.. as my Spirit Daughter Heather from Baltimore had…and as the evil grifter ShanShan23 also did. After about 4 repeats of this karmic lesson, God had rapped my wrists raw with the ruler. I now recognized this toxic repeating pattern as my own codependence. The only way to break free of this pattern was to cut ties.
So back to the South Park Inn story. I go back to Miss Joanna and say, “Hey, where’s your supervisor? This girl is about to have a seizure. You need to call 911.”
And in front of two other guy residents watching TV, Joanna snaps, “I’m not calling 911. She stopped her epilepsy meds, so I just called the Super.”
Now, the ironic thing was this bitch Joanna was one of many medically unqualified staff members who were divvying out meds to the residents, which the respite held in a locked closet. And Joanna Santoria, being busy with some other shit, intentionally delayed Lexi’s gabapentin, thereby delaying her evening meal as a result.
I should remind you that these people are witches, and the time all this shit went down was leading up to the sturgeon moon on August 29th.
Gabapentin was the drug Lexi took to treat her epilepsy. The unqualified and very unpleasant bitch of a staff member I nicknamed Joanna Santoria struggled to even write the name of the medicine down after she dished it out to Lexi. She had no clue what she was giving out because she had no medical training.
So I told Joanna Santoria that Lexi was taking her epilepsy meds, which was the gabapentin. And Joanna, by screaming out false information about a patient was in breach of HIPPA protocol, which I knew would be of interest to Hartford Hospital, since they funded the respite and sent us there to begin with.
I stated I would call 911 myself, to which the bitch staff member Joanna threatened me not to call EMS and to mind my own business.
When I got back to the room, Lexi was crazy shaking and blew her top when I told her what that witch Joanna said, lying that she had stopped taking her seizure meds. There were so many things wrong with what she did.
Later I found out Joanna Santoria’s dog had dropped dead earlier. She was afraid she was going to lose her job over the incident with Lexi, so she tried to elicit sympathy from other residents in the respite after-the-fact about her dead dog. I knew she was an evil Santoria witch whose death spell work had probably backfired on her–in the form of her pet dog dropping dead. Remember, this is a full moon, and that witch was Santoria. And if you’re an evil witch wishing death curses on good people, your pets and your kids are the ones who croak. Not you. You are forced to sit back and watch while they do, ’cause it’s YOUR backfired spell work, and you can’t suffer if you’re already dead.
So I called 911, saying, “Hey, my friend’s about to have a huuuge seizure she feels comin’ on. She coded once, but we’re here trapped at the South Park Inn respite shelter, and they told us not to call you for help. I guess they just wanna let her die.”
When EMTs arrived a few minutes later, Joanna Santoria reluctantly led them into the dorm and stupidly admitted, “I told her not to call you!”
I screamed, “You yelled out HIPAA protected patient information in front of other patients!” and the bitch just turned around and walked out. After two minutes, EMTs escorted Lexi out the doors and took her to the ER.
I wish I could say the story ended there, but it got WORSE.
Somebody stole Lexi’s phone the week before. She had a new one with no number, but texted me from the Hartford Hospital ER, using their wi-fi. I gave her my Baltimore phone number, but I warned her my phone had been hacked by my ex, the crooked FBI, Baltimore PD, among others. I warned her to be careful what she texts because evil people will read it, and I warned that they would target her.
So they see this text exchange between her and me, where she’s at the hospital, and I’m still at the shelter. In the ER she’s fast tracked and out in two hours. They give her IV fluids and Zofran and they order an Uber for Lexi to return to the South Park Inn shelter, which is literally only a couple of blocks from the ER. Remember, Hartford Hospital is paying these awful South Park people to trap us there in the top of that cursed church. We can’t even cross the street and sit in the park except for three hours on Wednesday.
We text, and I’m entertaining my friend with stories about the snakes while she waits for the Uber…
…Soon Lexi is picked up by an “Uber driver” parked around the side of the ER parking lot in the darkness. There’s no security guard watching the parking lot. She knows an Uber’s coming, because they called for one at the front desk, but the did not describe the vehicle, and she’s still disoriented from being treated there.
Still dizzy and weak coming from the ER, Lexi gets into the (in hindsight) suspicious Uber car. She notes that the guy seems to look middle eastern, though she’s not sure where he’s from for sure. What she does notice is that the whole car smells like weed.
Guy drives like 4 miles, and Lexi is not only completely lost and disoriented but scared she’s getting kidnapped. And she’s freaking out, ’cause she realizes she got in the wrong car and that this is a trap. For days I’d been talking about witches and my drug and child sex trafficking ex, telling her my story about the loser orange clown being a child rapist and sending spies after me, about my ex chasing me and stuff about dirty Sheriff Carmine….
And she’s scared, so she keeps asking the dude where he’s taking her and he just keeps driving. Finally, he drops her off at a dark, abandoned church on Main St. and just dumps her there.
Now this is August in Hartford, but it’s midnight/1AM, and she has no phone, right? The wi-fi cut out the moment the devil’s chauffer picked her up around back of the ER. And now she had to huff it all the way back to the hospital where she came from, and she has no clue where she is.
And she’s being followed by a white van, and the guys driving alongside her slowly on the street keeps stopping behind her as she’s walking, asking her if she wants a ride back. And she’s says, “No, thank you.”
She’s still soooo nice, even though she knows these dudes are lookin’ to sex traffic her and probably kill her. And they was working with the Uber driver. ‘Cause this is organized crime, right? Everybody has a part to play in the crime.
So Lexi just keeps walkin’ and walkin’ and walkin’ in the dark streets, like four miles. And by this time, she’s super mad. Not just ’cause South Park Inn refused to call 911, but that Hartford Hospital seems to want her to get kidnapped and killed by sex traffickers if they can’t just permanently silence her with a fatal epileptic seizure and medical neglect.
When Lexi finally hoofs it back four miles to the ER and explains what happened to the staff on duty at Harford Hospital ER, they’re unconcerned, like it’s really no big deal, like that stuff happens all the time there. More than likely the patients who ended up getting in that guy’s fake Uber that smelled like weed– never survived to tell the tale. They just went missing.
The really curious thing about when Lexi finally made it back to the ER, she was greeted by none other than sleazy Katie the Call Girl, a girl who lived with us at the respite and transferred to the YWCA shelter for addictions treatment the week before.
I knew Katie was in jail. She just happened to mention it while living with us, and she also stated she would have sex for money, which told me she was most likely a sex worker who would work for her fix. Remember, my ex has a child sex trafficking cartel, but his evil sister @PinkeeJean was trafficking oxycodone along with her dead fake husband Dr. Ted Trimble. She and my ex paid A LOT of accomplices to work with them. Some were hit men, drug mules, sex workers, and co-conspirator lying-sacks-of-extortionist/blackmailing-shit like the “Fake 911 Puta Caller” Anastasia Tollard.
Katie the Call Girl just happened to be at the ER where her exhausted friend Lexi walked 4 miles back to after being followed the entire way by a suspicious white van of men who intended to kidnap her. No doubt they gave Call Girl Katie the heads up about where Lexi was headed. I said they read my texts. I suspect they were probably the same cartel motherfuckers who stole her iphone the week before, probably fellow brothers of her no-doubt Mason narcissistic dad and her drama queen Jezebel younger sister.
There was Katie, who just happened to be in the ER, but well enough and happy enough to offer her friend Lexi BIG HUGS…and a ride home?
Anyways…this time a REAL Uber driver shows up to pick up Lexi. Upon hearing Lexi’s story about the fake Uber guy, the upset female Uber driver expresses concern and apologies, and she safely drives my friend Lexi back to the shelter.
When Lexi returns, she’s exhausted and fightin’ mad when she tells me the story. And as she tells it, I’m shakin’ my head, saying “God was watchin’ over you, girl. They wanted to kidnap you, and that sleazy bitch call Girl Katie was working with ’em to set you up. It’s a miracle you found your way back. How DID you find your way back?”
“I saw you,” Lexi answered. “You kept leading me, telling me where to go,” she said. She saw a spirit in the darkness who looked like me, and she trusted me enough to follow me back to safety.
“It was probably my mom,” I answered modestly. In hindsight, I knew it was my higher self from the spiritual realm, leading my little buddy back to the ER while walking alone and scared in the darkness.
So back to the 3D and my story.
I’m doing what I always do at these shelters. I’m doing what they claim to encourage when there is an obvious problem with how the shelter is managed: I file a 4-page grievance which is completely ignored. And I tell them about how they tried to kidnap Lexi after she was discharged from the ER, and how I suspected Miss Katie was in bed with the sex traffickers.
At the same time, another resident named Miss Kim is out to get me, but like Tai she’s terrified ’cause she keeps hearing my snake stories. She’s one who reminds me of my evil voodoo high-priestess bitch of a mother-in-law Christine Sears-Peete. And like Christine, Miss Kim’s got a walker, COPD from a lifetime of smoking, out-of-control Type II Diabetes, and a nasty fucking spirit just like my fucking mother-in-law Christine. And I know whatever is happening to this awful woman Miss Kim is what’s gonna happen to my evil mother-in-law. That’s why God puts ’em there–so I can witness what is happening real time in the life of the original person possessed by that same demonic spirit.
And I know the real reason why bitter biddie Miss Kim and the horny lyin’ stud with the moon boot known as Tai was there was ’cause they were both getting their bad karma.
‘Cause Miss Kim was a witch. A bad witch, and how I know she was a witch was ’cause she was lyin’ on me. And she overheard the snake stories I was telling Lexi. And she was scared of them snakes, ’cause witches believe in the magic. They believe in the snakes, and they know MY snakes have the power to eat THEIR snakes, just like in Exodus.
And she was working with the dude named Tai, who had two babies by different mommas, but was bad news and possessed by a Lust demon. And all he’s interested in doing is trying to bag my friend Lexi, who’s stupidly believes his lies about being a good guy, when secretly he’d tell her any lie just to bag her. I even warned Lexi about him, she’s all like, “Naw, I don’t think he’s up to anything bad. He just wants to be friends.”
And I’m like, “No, honey. He wants to jump your bones. He wants in your pants. He hates me ’cause I can see all he wants is your sacral energy. ‘Cause he and Miss Kim, they need your energy. Miss Kim needs you to wait on her, take care of her and rescue her from her bad karma. She needs you to make her herbal tea and heat up her food in the microwave and be her slave. She wants you to feel sorry for how bad her health turned out after a lifetime of smoking, eating sweets, and cursing good people like me.
“And Mr. Tai wants to bag you. It’s ’cause they’re energy vampires, and they’re here because of their own bad karma, especially whatever Tai did to his ankle running from the cops trying not to get caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, ’cause you know he’s part of a gang somewhere.”
‘Cause I noticed. That dude had a moon boot on one ankle…and an ankle monitor on the other ankle.
But Lexi wouldn’t listen to me. Young kids…they think they know everything and you can’t tell ’em anything. She still wanted to hang out with Tai, wait on ungrateful Miss Kim, meanwhile apologizing left and right for shit that wasn’t her fault.
I felt ignored and disrespected by my friend Lexi even though she conveniently forgot how it was MY HIGHER SELF who saved her life just days before.
Miss Kim and Mr. Tai were ruthless, and they kept spreading lies about me on the new moon–the devil’s spellwork. They was mocking me and breaking the 9th commandment all over the place but still pretending to be Christians. And they had the nerve to claim I was the evil witch setting the snakes on ’em. At one point, Mr. Tai kept calling me racist and a “kookoo,” which really made me mad. That’s when I warned ’em I had a couple of snakes left from my silver braids and asked ’em wouldn’t they want me to gift ’em some?
They got defensive an angry, threatening me not to “do that evil bone lady shit” on them. And although they talked tough, I could see they were secretly scared.
By the way, I have no idea what bone ladies do. I’m sure they sacrifice something, but it just goes to show you what kinds of lies black witches tell to defame me.
Finally, there was another awful staff member, a black guy named JOE, which really–even ignoring that he had the same nasty spirit as my ex–was ACTUALLY my ex’s name. And evil black Joe is talking about how Trump is the answer to all his problems, even though I’m saying, “No! Trump hates black people! Just look at my poor hubby in prison. But this black Joe guy hates immigrants. ‘Cause they’re all racists (Ms. Kim, Tai, Black Joe,) claiming that I’m the “ignorant racist” and that Trump is gonna have me shipped back to “China where I came from,” even though I’m a natural-born citizen and my mother was Korean.
But black Joe is the worst kind of Trump lover. He’s the black guy who wears a big chip on his shoulder, but at the same time he hates women, and he’s an ignorant motherfucker who’s clearly sold his soul to worship this orange clown. So racist black Trump-lovin’ Joe is mad at me for saying Trump’s a pedo president who fucking hates black people. And I have a black husband in prison to prove it. And you know Joe hates me most of all, because I’m telling him Trump is a child rapist. Saying that triggers all MAGAts, and all they can do is come out threatening to deport you or abolish the constitution if you was born in the US and ship you back to China anyway, even though you’re not even Chinese.
Then finally, there’s my case manager Kevin, who doesn’t know how to do his job and is useless. He’s clearly immigrated from I-don’t-know-where, and I know he’s being threatened with being fired or deported if he doesn’t follow what that bitch Alicia tells him to do. So they tell Kevin to lie about me being crazy to get me sent to the psych hospital and so Kevin’s screaming “Have you been taking your psych meds?” So all the other residents hear him while I’m screaming at him for not doing his fucking job. ‘Cause he’s embarassed that I’m telling the truth about him not doing his fucking job.
Needless to say, I know this is coming, right? I know this time, just like I knew all the other times they were fixin’ to kick me out. ‘Cause each time I know ahead of time. God warns, “It’s time to start packing. You’re almost out of here.” So I get ready.
So I’m packing and purging. By this time I had gotten my CT driver’s license the day before, and to celebrate I bought an Ibanez guitar and named him Derek. Knowing that I would most likely be carrying whatever possessions I had left, I emptied out my dresser and left my two remaining braids in the drawers. A little gift for the evil residents and staff at the South Park Inn.
It was at that point, Miss Diamond, two-faced Alicia Keyes evil doppleganger, knocks on the door and says paramedics want to talk to me.
I know what this is, ’cause I’ve seen it before in NY and Florida. It’s whistleblower retaliation. It’s a setup, and knowing what’s coming. So I record the interview between me and the EMTs who are there to do a “wellness check’ and see whether I have completely lost it like these Jezebel and Jezeboy bitches at the South Park Inn claim I have.
And during my interview, I say, “Hey, I’m gonna tape y’all, because I know you was called in to haul me away, which is really whistleblower retaliation. And they’re like ok. So I did. I taped the whole thing.
I interview with the Paramedics and Miss Diamond and Miss Alicia promise that if I go with the EMT to the ER for assessment, they will keep my bed open at South Park Inn if I am released. And yeah, the tape was still running when Ms. Alicia promised me that bullshit, which obviously was a lie.
Obviously, they didn’t live up to their promise. Hartford Hospital said I was good to go. I even made a couple of friends from the paramedics who brought me over. But the South Park Inn refused to let me stay at the shelter anyway, contradicting their earlier promise and claiming the residents were scared of me coming back. They just lied to get me out there. Staff packed the stuff I had left on my bed–minus the two braid snakes I left inside my bureau drawer. I guess they missed those.
But it’s okay, South Park Inn. I meant for you to have those snakes.
When I came to pick up my stuff, I went through my bag they had packed, and I purged some unwashed clothes, tossing them on Kevin and Diamond’s office floor. “What am I gonna do with this?” Kevin asked. “You can’t just leave them here on the floor!”
I answered, “Evil witches stole my dirty panties before. You can probably sell ’em.” Then I zipped up my Arbol de la Vida duffel bag which arrived just the day before in the mail, and I angrily crossed the street and set up my 2-hour protest, singing songs and holding up a sign about my YouTube channel.
A freaky MAGAbilly walked by to make fun of me, and I said, “Hey, John Boy Billy Bob. Why don’t you go get your gun, and come and shoot me? Put me outta my misery. I dare ya to.” But he never came back.
Miss Diamond first warned me about “rats the size of puppies” in my shelter orientation tour. Just days before the 911 incident, I sat out in the smoking zone late one night, blissfully unaware of the rats whose presence instilled terror on most of the residents. One of those little fuckers ran straight toward me. I looked it dead in the eye and said, “Come get me, you motherfucker!” It bolted off in another direction, scared shitless. So I guess I can understand why the shelter residents we afraid of me, when even the puppy-sized rats they were afraid of knew to be scared of me.
I knew for sure the snakes I left at the evil CCNV shelter on 2nd street in DC really took care of the rat and bed bug problem there. After I left, I saw one of my friends who was a resident there at a bus stop.
I asked her if there were still rats and bed bugs and roaches.
My friend confirmed the shelter still had roaches but denied there being any bed bugs and rats. “We have SNAKES Now!” She looked terrified. “I think they’re gonna KILL us!”
On the one hand, I was grateful that someone independently and without coaching affirmed my power of the snake.
I chuckled and assured her, “No, honey. You’re fine. It’s that evil woman who kicked me out. The snakes are after HER!”
I don’t really need confirmation about whether the snakes I left at the South Park Inn actually did eradicate the rats the size of puppies. But it would be nice to know if they took care of the rats with two legs….yet.
But about the hat, which I called “Fall Rose Crochet Cloche.”
How this winds up being a story about positive transformation is the lesson I learned from my fake spirit daughter Lexi and the evil witch Latifa. I bought this yarn to make her a NY Yankee cap in brown, which Latifah expected me to crochet her without really offering me anything to do it, just because I wanted to ingratiate myself to her and be accepted as her fake friend.
Latifah was the one whose spirits I recognized in my old grifter chum Shan’Derika Minns….and Victoria Seldon. She was a black woman who resented doing things for white women. They always claim to be God-fearing Christians while they’re secretly hating on you and wishing death on you so they can take your shit they don’t think you deserve.
Latifah was just a black Pinkee Jean, who would smile to your face, pretend to be your friend, and try to guilt you to get you to do free stuff for her…like crochet a one-of-a-kind baseball cap all for nothing. Apparently I just have all the time to whip that stuff together on demand, and I was about ready to do that, thinking Latifah wasn’t secretly hating on me, talking smack with Miss Kim and Tai about me behind my back.
After they booted me out of the South Park Inn, I kept that yarn, even after giving my expensive paints and POSCA markers to a college student walking through the park across the street. After I’d been kicked out and left all my dirty panties on the floor of Kevin’s office, I camped out across the street for several hours and sang my protest songs. I held up a sign for my YouTube channel, and I could see the residents across the street typing in my channel name to see what the fuck happened to me and why I was across the street singing with my new guitar, which I named Derek.
But I kept the yarn, even as I traveled through St. Louis, Kansas City, and Chicago and arrived in Canada. The lesson I learned about positive manifestation is how to take the shitty way people treat you in life and use that energy and lesson to reclaim your power. I carried that yarn all the way from the cursed South Park Inn in Hartford to St. Louis, Kansas City, Lee’s Summit, Columbia, Chicago, and into Canada.
I arrived in Canada with my guitar, three sets of clothes I bought at a dollar store in Chicago, and what art supplies I could carry in my Arbol de la Vida Duffle bag. And I carried these two skeins of this Loops and Threads dark chocolate brown, bulky yarn.
I used that yarn to crochet this cloche hat. It reminds me of a flapper vintage cloche popular in the 1920s. And by repurposing that yarn into something beautiful for me, I positively transformed what might seem an otherwise tragic story of betrayal by a bunch of mean-ass witches and ungrateful spirit daughter at the South Park Inn.
We have the power to manifest good things from the really shitty treatment evil fuckers subject us to. And this hat looks so much better on me than it would on that evil bitch Latifah’s fat head…with or without braids or a NY Yankees aplique.
If anybody has been a recent resident at the South Park Inn, please tell me if they still have a rat problem or if they’ve all been eaten by snakes.
The Fall Rose Crochet Cloche is not for sale. However, I may draw up a pattern and sell it online at a future date.
The Arbol de la Vida Duffel Bag is available in my RedBubble shop. It took an entire month for RedBubble to fill this order. I literally got this bag in the mail the day before I had to move out. For the most part, it is sturdy and well-made but it has taken a beating from extensive international travel.
Click this link to purchase the duffle bag online at RedBubble.
Click this link to see other items for Arbol de la Vida