Second Cousin, Once Removed By Police

Now, do you want to hear some gossip about somebody you don’t know? Laughing is so important; I take it where I can get it. For the past few days I’ve gotten it from The Potter Leader-Enterprise. The 2/15/18 edition of runs a front-page bit from a report from Pennsylvania State Police at Mansfield about Skyler Williams, 26.

Williams entered an elderly couple’s home in Westfield, a relatively close-by hillbilly hamlet, whereupon she shed some footwear and outer layers. She left her cellphone behind so that police could identify her. This whole ordeal already of a precision strike.

She began cooking breakfast. The report doesn’t detail whether she finished, or ate any of it, but she did use the wrong burner so, you know, I think the success story here is that she didn’t burn the place down considering a wooden cutting board was in close enough proximity to done get burnt up. Plus, raw eggs? Bacon maybe? I’m not seeing that.

Here’s the thing that guarantees her fame: she proceeded to the couple’s bedroom, where they were asleep, I should imagine, and “… climbed into bed with them.” They called police. Williams (she, not me) fled the scene leaving her belongings behind.

It’s not like this never happens (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2183006/Elderly-couples-horror-drunken-neighbour-climbs-bed-them.html). But it happened around here. That’s front page news, babe. That’s what some of us read and talk about. You’ll have to pick up a copy of the PLE or subscribe digitally at http://www.tiogapublishing.com/potter_leader_enterprise/ to find out about the legal troubles she faces now.

Police say she was inebriated, according to the article, but that doesn’t necessarily mean drunk. Alcohol may or may not have been involved. A friend heard she was, “tripping.” I’m not here to investigate, or stab in the dark. I’m just writing about someone with whom I share a surname doing something notably stupid.

It doesn’t seem fair to laugh so hard without making a disclosure of my own. When I was her age, when drinking was fun, I found myself locked out of a residence in an intoxicated state. With no regard for my hand, which remained uninjured, I punched through acrylic glass and opened the door. It was my residence of course, so there were no old folks in my bed, unfortunately.  Also, I’ve used the wrong burner multiple times since, but sober on each occasion. Most recently, I turned on the burner underneath a cheap cover; moments later I noticed the smell of paint burning off of steel. Decoration or safety feature? Perhaps both.

P.S. I’m kidding around in the title: she’s not my probably cousin. There are LOTS of Williamses even around here. If her first name were a little more common, like mine, she could take comfort in Williams coming in around third or fourth in the most common last names in these United States. We just blend with the Johnsons, Smiths, and Joneses.

P.P.S. Find out how common your name is or isn’t with a bit of research at https://www.ssa.gov/oact/babynames/decades/century.html. Neat.

It’s A Sign

For Rent
For Rent

The apartment unit under mine, 1 bed 1 bath, is available, per the sign. See it? It might be hard to read because it’s upside down under the snow. I don’t know how many people know about this sign situation. I would right the sign if it weren’t covered in ice.

Would I, though?

I didn’t when I could have, so I’ll be real and say “no”. It’s not even “my” yard. It’s the right wrong thing to do. I don’t think there is a single person who wants to deal with the rental of that apartment though which I mean most thoroughly and upon which I choose not to expound.

These are the things that make me laugh, and I need to laugh. I literally can’t cry which is weird to me; it seems like it’d be conveniently cathartic. In any case, the rental sign was the size of a postage stamp so I have been laughing about this thing since inception.

I won’t write any more beyond this: I could detail the symbolism of the signage which I also find hilarious in its way I’m going to zip it, lock it, and put it in my pocket.

Call 814— *squint* does that say 555???

Actual Groundhog Day

Here in the backwater, everyone complains about groundhogs eating their gardens, yet seem to be all too willing to take weather advice from the same big rodent ceremonially ripped out of a stump on an annual basis. That’s about the kind of overall logic I’ve come to expect from the place. There are exceptions, but they’re no fun to write about!

In my first post I referred to the popular movie starring Bill Murray, “Groundhog Day,” which is is a dark romp through the repeated day of a man stuck in a Pennsylvania town and ostensibly stuck in his own life. Two things come to mind: The Pennsylvania Polka and the following meme for which I claim no credit:

The Groundhog said six more weeks of winter, so I ate him.

 

Life in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania is not so bad but it is SO cold right now and I’m SO far off the path. I don’t get out of bed some days.

I refuse to feel ridiculous about posting my real feelings “warts and all” in this 2018th year. I’m kind of daring myself to put this on display and this is despite the creepy crazies who are far more infamous for blogging from here than I’ll ever be. Here in Coudersport, there is a single mental health provider for the downtrodden welfarie like me: Dickinson Center, Inc., and, I think it’s important to name them here because they are overloaded and, in my case, do the best they can though I often feel like doctors are just feeling their way along the wall of the dark hallway that is my case file. I’m healthfully distrustful of mental health providers. Just kind of sticking a pin in the topic in case I need to blast them for pulling a total crazy med swap on me at some point.

Short short version, and I won’t revisit this: My mom died when I was about four. My sister died when I was about seventeen. I’m the child of an alcoholic. All these things, together, ensure that a person is going to turn out, like, all fuc*ing wrecked up! And I’ve had a bunch of slaps in the face since I finished graduate school in 2006, which itself was a tumultuous experience, at best. I have all kinds of neurons wired together that make it really difficult to be what I know I can be. As an effeminate boy growing up in Trump country (not going to make the 16 connections from there to here for you , this is the short version, remember?) I was bullied to the point of, like, perfect situational awareness of who is in the room, what they’re talking about, and if it’s me. I’ve found that now that I’m getting in years nobody gives a crap about that anymore, so… maybe I’m losing that edge, which is fine because it takes a lot of energy.

Life was how I wanted it to be for maybe a handful of months. I call that the “I have arrived” time. I have to find new destinations that lie in what we call the future. For time reason and for some years now these potential destinations have eluded me and when I get to a point where I’m awake more often than not, I’ll be poking at that topic to see what I can conjure.