C'mon Son!

I was in the middle of watching Law and Order Friday night when the picture went out.

Since I have Dish satellite for cable this isn't an uncommon occurrence.

If the wind blows too hard or the weather suddenly changes the dish won't pick up the signal.

Usually you give it a few minutes and the picture comes right back in.

Except on Friday.

I waited and waited and my picture never came back.

The weather seemed clear and I performed the diagnostics but no dice.

Since I had plans, I decided to pursue remedies when I returned later that evening.

When I did get on the phone with the Dish customer service representative we ran through a few more diagnostic tests with the same results.

So a service call was scheduled for Saturday.

When Luis the service technician came out he climbed up to the roof he quickly and efficiently diagnosed the problem.

My satellite dish was gone.

Some trifflin' ass motherfucker climbed on my roof---directly over my head my I add----on a dark, cold windy Chicago night and STOLE my satellite dish in the middle of Law and Order.

Ain't that a bitch?

I was completely undone. It took a day for me to calm down.

Who climbs up on your roof at night to take a flipping dish?

It turns out that despite a majority of the dish being plastic, there are some metal components that can be worth up to $15.00 on the street.

So does that mean that the thief goes around collecting dishes until he (or she) has enough scrap metal to make decent money?

Clearly we're not out of this recession if people are roof surfing for cable satellite dishes for scrap metal.

It's like I had my own personal "C'mon Son" moment.

Your ass is such a bootleg, ghetto ass criminal that you have to risk life and limb to grab dishes off peoples roofs.

Damn, player.

Normally during this time of year it's the beginning of the "jacking season."

The jacking season usually lasts from the holidays until after the tax refund anticipation loans stop.

They'll jack you for your Christmas gifts. Your purse will get cut while you're in a large crowd.

If you're foolish enough to get your taxes prepared at a Currency Exchange don't be surprised when someone sticks a gun in your face as soon as you exit.

People usually become extra cautious and take care to not draw attention to themselves.

Most people exercise using common sense and street smarts.

And until yesterday I thought I was one of those people.

Little did I know that jacking had gone three stories up.

Kool Aid

On occasion my neighbor Erin and I have serious discussions on what's wrong with this country.

While she sites Maroon 5 and Nickelback as prime causes, when I saw her yesterday I brought up a far more sinister force that is permeating our way of life.

Ladies and gentlemen, resist the Snuggie nation.

Billing itself as a blanket with sleeves, the American people have fallen for this ruse hook, line and sinker.

These abominations unto God are flying off the shelves like hotcakes.

At first I could ignore it like any other bad trend. Then recently I saw this horrific display in the front of the Walgreens at 67th and Stony Island.



Even Black people have taken a big gulp of the kool aid.

To quote Florida Evans, "Damn, damn, DAMN!"

When I asked the security guard if the evil Snuggies were selling briskly he said that they were. He even commented that he was considering getting one.

I guess the look on my face told him otherwise.

"So I shouldn't get one?" He asked.

"Ummm, no." I replied.

I then asked him what was wrong with the blankets that he already had at his house? He replied "But this is a blanket with sleeves. It's like I have a blanket on but it won't slip off when I walk around."

Damn player. How can you even begin to debate that slothful logic?

We're so lazy as a culture we can't even cover ourselves with a blanket. Now we have to take them everywhere?

I will say that if he expects any heat in the romance department, he best not be walking around in a Snuggie when his significant other is around.

'Cause if some man tried to rub up against me in a Snuggie I would inform him that until that thing is burned at the stake the candy store is closed.

Hell, the friction of all of that attempted rubbing might cause a spark which in turn would engulf the offending garment in flames.

Those things don't look too flame retardant.

Like all of the things I've instantly hated throughout the years----Pete Rose and Milli Vanilli just to name a few---I hope America wakes up before it's too late.

The Snuggie is the garment equivalent of having way too many cats.

You've been warned.

Salting The Earth---The Pictures

Vacant lots that until recently had grass and weeds in abundance. Then a few weeks ago---nothing.




Now do you see what I'm talking about?

Salting The Earth

I noticed something the other day.

Nothing was growing on the numerous vacant lots in my neighborhood.

Not a weed, not a blade of grass---absolutely nothing was green.

And when I say nothing was green, the grass had been cut a few weeks ago and the remaining stubble was brown.

On its face and in the short term, that might be seen as a good thing. But natural things just don’t stop growing for no reason.

They definitely don’t all stop growing only on the vacant lots in Woodlawn at the same time.

Is it possible to save money on labor, gas and the wear and tear of equipment that the city may have literally salted the earth?

While I hate weeds and overgrown lots, the possibility that some type of chemical was applied to the ground makes me incredibly uneasy.

If this is what’s going on is this a new city policy? Is it safe for the ground and the water table? Hell, are we even by the water table?

What happens if a (reputable) developer someday builds on those vacant lots? If a chemical was applied will it retard any other vegetation growing?

Could you dig and put in a vegetable garden?

Note: Due to the high concentrations of lead paint in older buildings, it’s normally recommended to not use the grounds around the site of an older building or former building for vegetable planting.

I just find it extremely odd and the timing too close to be a coincidence.

Has anyone else noticed new “brown fields” popping up on city owned or vacant lots in their ‘hood?

Batty Batty Batty

After having a rare Saturday night off, I woke yesterday morning intent on doing chores.

Number one on the list was to start with the front porch.

I had filled up paper bags with stuff from the day before and was transferring them to the back porch to finally go to the alley.

The first bag---no problem.

But when I picked up the second bag, a loud and aggressive hiss came from whatever was under it.

Startled, I did what any self respecting feminist would do.

I screamed like a little girl, turned tail and ran into the house.

Sad, but true.

Perplexed, I went about my chores until I screwed up the courage to see what exactly was hissing at me.

Courage being my middle name (*ha!*) I opened up the window that leads to the front porch, opened it and took the broom handle and once again lifted the overflowing trash bag.

What revealed was an uglier version of a mouse with rougher looking fur.

Ladies and Gentlemen I believe I had found a bat.

This time he didn’t hiss at me so I assumed that he was dying.

My burning question was why a bat had suddenly appeared incapacitated on my front porch?

Despite their blindness, bats have built in sonar so it’s not like their going to slam into wall, objects or people.

Furthermore, they tend to avoid people and sunlight.

I could only deduce that Mr. (or Ms.) Bat might be infected with rabies.

Now I was tempted to let Mr. Puss out to make short work of the beast but the ensuing vet bill if the bat was infected gave me pause.

All I need is for my crazy cat to become rabid. He already has a questionable disposition.

The only reason why he hasn’t cut me is because I have opposable thumbs and can open his food.

So a few more hours pass and my intent was to scoop up the dead bat and throw him over the side where I imagine some neighborhood scavengers would take care of him.

But when I went to check on his whereabouts, he had moved.

@%^&*#$?!

I hoped he had taken flight and left me alone.

When I went to reach for the trash bag and disturbed some of the other stuff on the porch, that hiss told me otherwise.

*Cue Woody screaming and running like a little girl (again)*

It was time to call 311 (The City of Chicago’s non-emergency help line) for animal control.

While I missed them the first time, they did come within the hour and were quite courteous and helpful.

The ladies (yes, ladies---I felt so ashamed) popped in and scooped up Mr. Bat within 5 minutes.

They agreed with me that the beast was acting strange and they wouldn’t be surprised if it had rabies.

Their next concern was Mr. Puss’ exposure to the bat; as they were prepared to take him in as well.

I told them he rarely went out on the porch and had not been out on the porch yesterday.

After taking some additional information, they gave me a slip and said if the beast tested positive someone would call me within 72 hours and follow up with me.

So while I ran like a girl and immediately thought of how a man should help me; to my credit I did contact the proper authorities who in turn handled the situation with promptness and professionalism.

And they didn’t laugh at me.

Even though I had some laughable behavior.

With all the waste you hear about concerning the City of Chicago, at least you know that your dollars are being wisely spent at Animal Control.

I can stare a wannabe gang banger down like nobody’s business but a bat can make me his (or her) bitch.

Woody, redefining irony everyday.

Frank---The Back Story

Yes, that is a picture of a squirrel with a chicken wing in his mouth.

And no it wasn’t photo shopped.

But I’m getting ahead of myself----let me introduce you all to Frank.

Frank is mainly seen in the Washington Park neighborhood but no one knows exactly where he (or she?) resides.

My friend who lives across the street from Washington Park encountered Frank about four years ago when he started digging up the container garden that I worked so hard to plant.

At the time I didn’t know that those cute furry woodland creatures commonly known as squirrels were garden destroying rats with a fluffy tail and good PR.

Both my friend and I were extremely pissed.

Frank tore out my hard work to bury one of his many prizes----a corn cob, half a snickers bar or perhaps some other delicacy he found amidst the urban landscape.

Motherfucker.

So over the years during the warmer months, a battle would ensue between us and him.

At first my friend would leave his three dogs on the back porch where the flower boxes were located.

Frank merely kept out of their reach while he proceeded to rip apart another flower box.

Then at the start of last planting season we heard that blood meal would keep squirrels away from your flower boxes. So naturally we grabbed a few bags.

It seemed to work, yet Frank still came around to tease the dogs.

It seemed that Frank had upped the ante. It wasn’t about the flowerboxes anymore.

If my friend didn’t keep up with his blood meal application Frank would merely come back and we’d find plants on the floor of the back porch the next day.

That flipping squirrel was (and is) a sadist.

So it was no surprise when I got an excited phone call one day about his outrageous behavior.

“Woody, you won’t believe what I just saw!”

“Good God, what happened now?”

“The dogs were going crazy on the back porch barking at Frank.”

“Alert the media.”

“He was carrying a hot chicken wing in his mouth.”

“Shut up you liar. I should hang up this phone right now. Since when do squirrels start eating chicken wings?”

“I don’t know but he has a chicken wing in his mouth right now----I have a picture to prove it.”

“Bullshit.”

“No really, I have a picture.”

“So let’s see it, homeboy. Send it to me.”

And so he did.

At this point, all I can do is shake my head.

This Is So South Side

Photo courtesy of M. Cannon

Trying To Do Right

I regularly check the stats for I Hate My Developer.

While I wrote a post some time ago about Mike Holmes, I continue to get traffic to the blog based on a Mike Holmes search string. You’d be surprised at how many people search to see if Mike Holmes is married.

He is a tasty piece. Trust me, I get the interest

Roughly two weeks ago I was checking the stats for the blog when I ran across the following search string in the visitor activity log:

http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&q=i hate my school i want every kid there dead

It stopped me cold.

My mind went in a million different places. What should I do? Should I notify the authorities? Am I paranoid?

With all the school shootings at both Northern Illinois and Virginia Tech, I think the red flag goes up when anyone starts shooting off their mouth about----well----shooting.

I wrestled with what to do for two days. If I can prevent someone else from mourning for their child, I'm all in.

In the end, I didn’t want to have any deaths on my conscious. I decided to notify the school district of the city and state where the query originated.

You guys aren’t completely anonymous when you come in to check out my little blog.

This is what I sent:

Good Morning,

In light of the recent campus shootings at Northern Illinois University, I thought it might be wise to make you aware of a recent hit I saw in the visitor activity log of my blog. Frankly I was a little disturbed when I saw the search string. While wrestling if I should or should not send this e-mail, I reasoned that it's better to be over cautious than ignore a possible sign.

The following entry was received on 2/25:
VISITOR ANALYSIS
Referring Link http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&q=i hate my school i want every kid there dead
Host Name
IP Address xxx.xx.xxx.xx
Country United States
Region New York
City xxxxxx
ISP xxxxx
Returning Visits 0
Visit Length 0 seconds
VISITOR SYSTEM SPECS
Browser MSIE 7.0
Operating System Windows XP
Resolution 1024x768
Javascript Enabled

Navigation Path
Date Time WebPage
25th February 2008 14:25:26 www.google.com/search?hl=en&q=i hate my school i want every kid there dead
www.ihatemydeveloper.blogspot.com/

I'm not sure if the sender is even a school aged child or if they even attend a public school in your school district. My intent is not to cause unnecessary worry but if the IP address can be traced, hopefully the author of this string, if a student, can receive the help that he or she may need.

Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions.

Regards,

The Woodlawn Wonder


Ooooh Whee…

Did I anticipate them shutting down the entire school system of this little hamlet in New York state? Did they do it? You bet your ass they did.

Not only did two Chicago Police show up on my doorstep to ask me a few questions but I received e-mails from the hamlet’s police AND the New York State police.

I just wanted to make sure that a disaster was averted. I didn’t mean to rattle everyone’s cage.

Moreover, if a young person could get the help that they needed all’s the better.

Shit, if I shot everyone in junior high and high school that was mean to me I’d be under the jail.

Hell for that matter, if I went off the deep end every time drama popped off during the last two years I’d be sitting on death row.

Blogging, gardening and normal coping mechanisms help me relieve stress.

Unfortunately some people in our society think that the business end of gun will put an end to all of their problems. When in fact, it simply creates so many others.

Luckily, the young person was located and explained that the search string was a result of a very bad day at school. The officer who explained the situation stated that the young person gets bullied and isn’t very social.

It should also serve as a warning to those who bully. One day an ill placed gesture or deed may result in someone being very upset with you.

And when I say very upset, I mean get a gun upset.

Not only are manners a good thing to practice but one day they very well may save your life.

Thank God the young person is getting the help they need.

And I can sleep at night.

Busted

There is always a show on the 6 Jackson Park bus.

The bus line is one of the few that runs from the Loop through the south east side of the city. You have a divergent mix of people along for the ride at all times of the day.

Since the bus doesn’t have 24 hour owl service, during the later hours on the weekends the 6 has more of it’s share of University of Chicago students.

Almost every time a group of tomorrow’s leaders get on a quiet bus, tranquility goes out the window.

Now it’s not just the U of C students, hell most young people get on the bus and disturb the peace.

It happens all of the time.

My thing is that I hold the U of C kids to a higher standard as they---well---go to the University of Chicago. Hell aren’t they supposed to be smart and intuitive?

Don’t they get that no one wants to hear loud conversations in an enclosed space that they can’t easily leave?

Then of course I’m almost about to turn 40 and am turning into a curmudgeon.

So it’s was with endless amusement that I noticed a group of bright young things happily chatting while being eyed up by an awkward young man.

Frankly if the girls weren’t sitting right next to me, I wouldn’t of believed that they went to U of C.

It’s hard not engage in stereotypes but let’s suffice it to say that the University of Chicago has not made any lists of hottest co-eds.

But then of course I’m no Beyonce.

The young man attempted to read a book but was so enchanted by the girls that he almost lost his grip on one of the rails where he was standing.

Another time he almost fell on me.

Apparently this young man doesn’t spend a great deal of time on the 6 as he couldn’t bus surf.

Those of us who frequent public transportation know that if you’re standing, you have to distribute your weight evenly when the bus sways so you don’t fall all over the place.

Apparently this kid couldn’t stand and stare at the same time.

Men looking at women is nothing new.

Men rudely staring and practically drooling is something quite different.

The only he didn’t do was start to touch himself. Creepy.

The fact that everyone sitting in the front part of the bus noticed the young man’s interest made for instant rolling theatre.

I’m sure the co-eds knew what was going on as well.

As a woman you have a heightened sixth sense when it comes to your personal safety. Especially when you’re traveling on public transportation.

Despite the fact they didn’t even acknowledge him, I’m fairly confident they felt his presence.

As the bus passed the Museum of Science and Industry both the co-ed’s and the young man prepared to get off the bus at the first stop on Stony Island.

As the ladies, and their chatter, left out the back door; the young man almost ran into the door leaving out the front.

Everyone else left on the bus gave each other knowing looks.

As a few of us chuckled over what had just happened, I hoped that none of those young women had a class with that guy.

Admiration is one thing, borderline stalking is quite another.

Boundaries

He’s at it again.

Our handyman has continued to store his personal belongings in one of our basements.

I also strongly suspect he’s the one who’s leaving one of our many basement doors unlocked. Who in Christ’s name would leave a door unlocked in Woodlawn?

Where does common sense come into play?

I was taking my trash out a few days ago and happened to check a few basement doors just as a precaution when I discovered that one was left open.

I walked in to the overwhelming smell of urine, various mechanical parts strewn all over a table, a shopping cart full of crap AND various condoms.

At least the condoms were unused.

Clearly our handyman did not learn anything from having his personal belongings thrown out the first time. He’s back up to his old tricks.

Apparently he’s taken up to living in the basement and can’t distinguish between his living and working situation.

Hopefully at our next board only meeting we’ll be able to make the distinction for him.

This is getting too creepy.

The Blustery Brit

I have a little spot I frequent to enjoy the odd adult beverage.

The fact that some people tend to find it swanky is great, I tend to like it for its sparkling décor and friendly service.

It’s just icing on the cake that on any given night you can see local, national and international movers and shakers and the odd celebrity.

It makes for fascinating people watching.

I dropped in a few days ago and was chatting with the bartender when a gentleman who has been one of the newer regulars sat down a few stools over.

While I’ve been introduced, I don’t really pay him any mind. He seems to entertain many others so I’m sure the fact that he’s missing my rapier like wit won’t keep him up nights.

He mumbled something in my direction about a bus---but like I said, I wasn’t really paying attention to him.

Plus it seemed like he has a few too many already. Frankly speaking that’s not too unusual for this guy.

If the scuttlebutt is to be believed, he’s a mean and crass drunk.

Since he got no reaction from me, he turned and said, “You can’t afford to drink here.”

Taken aback, I asked him what he was talking about.

He repeated himself and said, “You can’t afford to drink here.”

Now it was my turn to repeat myself.

He went onto ask how can I have a $15 glass of wine in front of me but take a $2.00 bus ride home.

And for the record, the glass of wine wasn’t $15 dollars. It was way less. I also reminded him that I took two buses to get home, not just one.

I asked him why he cared?

The Blustery Brit replied that he didn’t care but he just couldn’t figure it out. It just confused him.

He further stated that he hadn’t been on a bus in 50 years.

Well ladies and gentlemen you have your gold standard. The mark has been set.

While my memory is a little foggy of what I said to him (I was drinking after all), he said something about “Not getting into nonsense” and huffed out of the bar.

As a black woman you tend to get used to people making erroneous judgments about you based on appearance and gender.

But this has to be a first.

I’ve never had someone give me the what for’s due to the fact I’m an active public transportation rider.

Usually I shun the CTA, now I’m proud to have it as my badge of honor with this jerk off.

But now comes the interesting part.

I mentioned this little episode to other friends in the hospitality industry.

The gossip is that the Blustery is a bit of a flim flam artist, a con man, a charlatan.

My little spies tell me that their law enforcement friends tell them that Blustery had to quickly pack several times (and in several countries might I add) to make a quick get away from several “business deals gone wrong.”

That was their nice way of saying he had to leave because he was about to be picked up by the law from scamming people out of their money.

Well go figure.

Come to think of it, I had never seen him before last winter and he did appear out of nowhere.

Then of course this could all be malicious gossip. Who knows?

But it does have the sheen of truth to it, no?

Those who try to belittle someone are usually hiding a secret or two of their own.

Sights Seen

I saw a hearse that was a hybrid between a normal Cadillac and an El Camino with a ragtop.

It was super fly. All it needed was some spinners.

I was crossing the street today near the intersection of 63rd and Langley when I spotted the vehicle outside of a church.

I wanted to do a closer inspection but didn’t know if anyone was inside and didn’t want to be questioned about why I’m giving a hearse the once over.

From the front it looked like a normal Caddy---wide, black, shinny. It even had Illinois plates indicating that the vehicle was owned and used by a funeral home; but that profile screamed El Camino---or at the very least Subaru Brat.

A hearse with a ragtop and a cut-a-way profile---I dare you to find something that unique on the north side.

Stupid

I’m all about being proactive.

Nipping a problem in the bud before it becomes a problem is usually a good thing.

Keeping that philosophy in mind, I decided to get a jump on the potential mortgage debacle by posting an internet ad for a roommate.

I knew that the chances of me getting a roommate right away were remote---south side rentals are challenging at best---so I placed the ad early.

While I’ve gotten a couple of nibbles, the interesting part is that I think that every last response has been from a scammer.

The first respondent asked me for my exact address of my home---and in the first e-mail no less.

While that didn’t immediately set off any red flags, I did think that he was moving awful quickly. Kind of like the guy on the first date that starts picking out baby names and planning your life together.

Just a little creepy.

I forgot what I sent back in my e-mail to him but I’m sure it included me asking him something about himself and his thoughts on an ideal living situation.

His ad was vague and had a lot of pictures of him bare chested with his tattoos.

I was already feeling that this wasn’t exactly going to be a match.

He replied by asking again for my exact home address and included his personal e-mail address and his phone number.

No replies to my queries about him. He didn’t answer any of my questions.

That’s when I knew he was full of crap.

My ad also has pictures of my bathroom, the back porch and the front exterior of the building.

I don’t know if he was trying to case my place so he could rob me or if he was trying to set me up for the old Nigerian 419 scam. Either way I wasn’t having any of that foolishness.

I promptly deleted his e-mails.

About a week later another individual who also offered too much information right away set the alarms off in my head.

Pushy people who are involved in “getting to know you” situations are never good.

Luckily the roommate service that I’ve posted on is aggressively monitoring and deleting accounts that are suspicious.

But even if they weren’t I have my own roommate vetting process that is a little less detailed than a formal FBI background check.

Do these morons think I’m stupid? That I’d just let any jackass in my home?

The Note

Our door troubles are seemingly resolved---at least for the time being.

After yet another mysterious latch problem and a discussion with a fellow board member who also lives in my building, I posted a note in the foyer.

In short the note said to stop screwing with the latch. It’s a security issue AND if you get caught, you’ll be financially liable for destruction of association property.

To the best of my knowledge, the latch drama has been reduced to zero.

Our lovely door has been in perfect working order ever since.

Apparently secure doors---not tall fences---make good neighbors.

The Door

Someone is being an asshole.

Someone is being an asshole and pissing me off.

For the past two months, the lock on our front entrance has either been disabled or not working properly.

As a result the door won’t latch and is left unlocked for days at a time. Oh yeah, you heard me correctly---days at a time.

Now I love Woodlawn, but there is a reason why we have locks on our doors.

As a security conscious type of broad this hasn’t been sitting too well with me.

All it takes is a woman with cold feet or some other nefarious individual and next thing you know we are in the middle of a “situation.”

And when I say “situation” I mean break in or other types of drama.

Now I don’t know about what’s happening in your lives, but I have plenty of shit to tend to all of my own, I don’t need additional drama.

How do I know that someone is intentionally vandalizing the lock?

The locksmith paid us a visit on Monday and put brand new hardware on our door. We even got a nice new handle on the inside that says “pull.”

Tuesday everything was fine.

Tuesday night at 11:00 PM when I came in, everything was fine.

Wednesday morning the lock wasn’t latching again.

Apparently we have gremlins as one of their legion came and unscrewed the lock hardware.

Now either someone has a key to our crib and is fucking with us or someone wants to make entrance to our building accessible to God knows who for whatever reason.

I have very strong suspicious on who’s doing this but I’ll have to let that sleeping dog lie until I can get the proof.

Not only is this unsafe for everyone who lives in the building but it’s costing the association a fortune in locksmith and handyman bills.

Someone has a funky beat down coming.

Boo! The Scary Renters

Some scary new developments have been happening around the association lately.

The first has to do with my new neighbors downstairs.

Apparently playing loud music in the early morning hours, “smoking” until my unit smells like an “ashtray” and propping the door open for visitors is how things were done in their last place of residence.

I cannot stress how much we don’t roll like that over here.

But such is the life when you have rentals in your association.

Yeah, yeah---I know not all renters are bad. Blah, blah, blah and cry me a river.

And I have to agree---not all renters are bad.

But I will say, you tend to be a tad on the persnickety side when you realize that a thoughtless act such as leaving the door opens could ruin everyone’s day. Hell, it could even lead to a possible home invasion.

I suspect that my new neighbors don’t have their phone line hooked into the intercom system yet or don’t have a land line.

They will either have to get off their asses to let their guests in or work with their landlord to get the front door intercom situation resolved.

‘Cause I ain’t trying to look up and see one of those Jenkins Boys standing over me as I sleep.

Speaking of being watched…

Another one of my neighbors reports feeling an other worldly presence in the unit that she rents.

Reportedly, she believes that a spirit resides with her.

The more interesting part of the story is that her baby is woken up by the presence and has allegedly reached out to be picked up as if someone is standing by his crib, yet no one is there.

When the nice renter neighbor---we’ll call her Boho----asked our other neighbor (and her good friend) if she had any similar experiences, she replied yes.

Yowsa!

Apparently our spirit visitor has sat on the bed while my other neighbor sleeps.

Now I know all of this sounds far fetched but I don’t disbelieve anything both ladies have to say. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt that a building as old as ours didn’t have a few visitors who are not of this world.

Now I’m no expert but all of the supernatural stories I’ve been seeing on TV the past few weeks say that spirits tend to stay with a location and not with a person.

The stories also went onto say that usually they stay on the earthly plane because an attachment is preventing them from peacefully passing into the next world.

That attachment could be to a person that may need their help or a distraught relative. A pursuit of justice or plain old unfinished business---some of us just aren’t ready to leave this life and move on into the next.

Boy howdy if those walls could talk, I’m sure they’d have some stories to tell.

The odd thing is that when the actual owner lived in the unit, she never experienced any encounters of the supernatural.

I honestly think that some of us are more attuned to the spirit world than the rest of us dunderheads. I believe my neighbor, Boho, is such a person.

I will tell you this: On occasions, I get a little goose in my side when I’m washing dishes or standing in the bathroom.

This doesn’t strike me as odd as I believe that my dearly departed mother was to blame for the shenanigans.

While she hasn’t been walking with us for almost seven years, I know she has to watch over me as I wander about through life’s journeys.

How do I know this?

‘Cause I have the knack of getting out of some fucked up situations that I have no business getting out of.

If I started telling you the stories, you’d call me a liar.

But I won’t quibble with you gentle readers. It enough that I believe---you certainly don’t have to.

Nonetheless, my mother always knew that I hated---and I mean hated---to be goosed.

So if that’s her doing it I tell her that I still don’t like it and to stop.

Nothing’s changed.

Now if the theory holds true and spirits stay with a place and not a person, why would she give me a goose in my “new” place?

While I’ve been living on the south side for close to five years, my mother wasn’t alive when I bought this place in 2001. In fact, it was coming up on the second anniversary of her death.

So is mama stalking me or is someone else mixed up in the fray?