"The mark of an immature man is that he would die knobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he would live humbly for one" - Catcher in the Rye -WARNING WRITER SPELLING CHALLENGED! But Sometimes you have to say "what the fuck!"

Monday, August 09, 2004

Creepy Tales of a White Trash Housewife

Thanks to Trashman’s “get your ass back in the kitchen” post, the wheels have been turning in my head. Hrmmmmm. Barefoot and pregos, well that was me at 19, and ah yes, this is when the adventure begins…..

Townie Party Crowd
After graduating high school in a small town, most move away. They go to college, join the service, or otherwise get the hell out of here. I stayed behind, my grades in high school sucked, so I had no choice to attend the local JC. We called the JC, a big high school with ashtrays, which was pretty much what it was. The thing about this junior college was I had a reputation before I even started. See, my Dad was a Dean there before he and my mom divorced and he moved away, and my step dad, well he was a Dean there too. I could not go anywhere without some professor or administrator pointing at me and saying “so and so’s daughter”. Talk about pressure. What is any good standing chick supposed to do with this kind of reputation? Rebel like hell. Which is exactly what I did. I started hanging with the party crowd, attending all the JC parties, smoking cigarettes all over campus, and basically slutting around the place. Now, once you graduate high school, your little social circle dissipates. In high school, I hung with the goth/punk/alternative crowd. After graduation people leave, and you pretty much are stuck with who is left. So, at JC I hung with the party crowd, which consisted of a motley crew assortment of characters; from preps, to mods, to jocks. This is how I met my ex husband. He was a total jock from an opposing high school. Someone I never would have hung around in HS, but once you hit the party crowd age, we became fast, and best friends. Another thing about this party crowd; we were an incestuous bunch. Everyone slept together and dated each other. That is how it worked, you would get drunk at a party and just fuck around. Everyone was passed around the crew, no exceptions.

My hubby Easy E
My ex, lets call him Easy E, was a white trash jock who happened to have black skin. We became fast friends, and he and I dated each other’s friends (dated = slept with) for about a year or so. One night we got really, really drunk when we were hanging out together. Next thing ya know, we were having sex. Wham! Don’t ask me why, but after that we kinda became boyfriend/girlfriend. There was no romance, no courting, just a night of cheap sex and then Whamo, we were a couple. Talk about a mismatch! Plus the fact that we had been with each other’s friends a major recipe for disaster. But alas, we were young, so we decided to move in together. We got a house with some other couples and lived the party lifestyle dream. Pool table in the house, 24/7 parties, rock n roll and sex all night. Those were some wild days. Easy E was working a local construction job, and he was also in the navy reserves. Well, the partying got a little out of control, and Easy E was not able to make his monthly reserve duty due to a serious hangover. He was given 2 choices; a dishonorable discharge, or full time naval duty. He picked the latter. Right around that same time, I stopped having my period. This was odd, because I was taking birth control. Easy E leaves for boot camp training, and I go to the hospital for a blood pregnancy test. Well guess what? Positive…. Positive for pregos. I remember calling him at Treasure Island (when it was still a base) and telling him the news. His response “ I guess we should get married”.

Hey Little Sister…. Shot gun!
Easy E had leave for a couple weeks before they were going to send him to Okinawa for a year. We applied for a marriage license and headed to the courthouse. I wore the nicest dress I had, which happened to be red. Didn’t think of the significance at the time, but looking back I figure it happened for a reason. Damn shot gun wedding and all. So we said our “I do’s “ and new hubby headed to Okinawa, on a one year unaccompanied tour. He promised to send for me soon, though the navy was not gonna foot the bill. For a couple months I lived alone, pregnant with two cats. I didn’t work, I think he supported me, but darn it, I really don’t recall. I do remember him getting my ticket for Okinawa in October, when I was three months pregnant. Packed up my two cats and all my 19 year old belongings and headed overseas. For a life of a navy wife.

Okinawa Blues
I arrive in Okinawa ready for my new life, my hubby had a car for us and an apartment off base. You could not get housing on base if you were unaccompanied. No one under chief was allowed accompanied tours in Okinawa. My hubby picks me up in our new car, a Z28, I’m thinking “great… I’m pregnant and I have to get in and out of this hotrod?… real nice”. But what the fuck, we had a car. Our apartment was about 5 minutes away from Futenma marine base where he was stationed. It was a complex with about 10 units, 3 of those were co-workers who also had wives. I remember tripping out because the windows were marbled and there were bars on them. This wasn’t due to crime, there was virtually none in Okinawa. This was due to the Monsoons. I also remember the mat like floors and the teeny, tiny bathtub. At least the toilet was western style, many toilets in Japan are these holes in the ground where you squat, me I wasn’t used to that, so I was thankful our apartment had a “western” one.

Young Navy Wives
I quickly made friends with the other navy wives who lived in our complex. One was a southern belle from Arkansas, the other was a pregnant Puerto Rican from New York. We exchanged recipes, sex stories, complaints, and all the other musings of new and very young housewives. All of us were under 21. I tried real hard to learn how to cook. Every night I would make a new recipe and have it hot and ready for my husband when he walked in the door. Most of the time they turned out to be disasters. Some of them were okay. My favorite recipes came from the Arkansas housewife. She taught me how to cook potato salad, casserole, meat loaf. She was awesome, and also not pregnant.

The Focker!
Another thing, in Okinawa the drinking age is whatever, so this was the first time my husband was able to legally party. Now this is the age of Bobby Brown and NWA, so he was living up the player life. He was also 20 years old, definitely too young to be married. So, I spent many nights home alone, and pregnant, while he ventured out to the local clubs. Being the young, hormone ridden grrrl that I was, this was not okay with me. I remember locking his ass out, and him banging on the door drunk, begging me to let him in. The fighting also started getting worse. My Puerto Rican housewife friend told me that the next time he became abusive, I should scratch his face up and embarrass him at work. Well, heeding the advice of my housewife friend, I did the deed. The next time he tried to get physical with me, I reached up to his face with my claws extended, and clawed the shit out of him. There were many a nights of fighting, this very typical in young navy families. One night really stands out in my mind. I was home alone with my cats and reading Stephan King’s the Stand. This was all I did when I was pregnant, read books. It was that or watch FenTV (military channel) and MASH over, and over. Husband didn’t come home, I had attempted to make meatloaf in the crockpot. Hell, it came out more like stew… lol. After hours of waiting, I realized he wasn’t coming home after work, he was out. So I deadbolted the door and went to bed. After reading Stephan King, I was always scared of ghosts. About 3:00 in the morning I hear this loud pounding and cursing. “Bitch let me in”. Real nice way to come home eh? I do the reasonable thing, and ignore his ass for a while. The pounding gets louder as well as the cursing. When it gets to the point where I cant ignore it any longer I let his drunk ass in. He starts to get belligerent and violent, so I run to the bedroom and lock the door. Drunk ass can’t let well enough alone. He starts pounding on the bedroom door screaming all sorts of drunk names at me. I just ignore him. Then I hear this loud pounding, the idiot starts chopping at the door with something. He is yelling “I’m gonna kill you bitch”. My mind flashes to the Shinning and Jack Nicholson’s “here’s Johnny”. I curl up in the fetal position and start to cry, cry for my mom. This is actually the weirdest part, since my mom was never there for me and kicked me out of the house as a teenager. Idiot husband breaks down the door with a golf club. Total psycho style. Luckily, by the grace of God, he sees me all pregnant and in a ball and decides to leave me alone. That moment never left my heart. I knew then, I needed to get out. But being young and pregnant with no skills, I didn’t have much a choice.

San Diego Navy Housing
After my son was born, we moved to San Diego and eventually got navy housing. Here I made a whole new batch of housewife friends. We spent days together takings our babies to the park, gossiping, talking trash about our men, and doing other young mother things. I was miserable. My husband was a drunk abusive ass. I sucked at being a housewife. My cooking was terrible, and I hated cleaning. Especially I hated cleaning up after a drunk who used to drink malt liquor out of a paper sack. That image is still disgusting to me. There were so many miserable nights in navy housing I could write an entire book. Every night you would hear fighting, screaming, and domestic violence. It was par for the course. Navy Patrol would not even respond half the time.

Fuck This Shit!
After trying to be a good wife, my heart turned to stone. I didn’t want to cook for him anymore and I became a vegetarian. I didn’t want to have sex with him either. The ass was still leaving me at home and chasing women. Stupid fool used our calling card to court chicks, not thinking the numbers would show up on the phone bill. I busted his ass, but I didn’t care much, because I had my heart set on getting out. I didn’t want to be there anymore. That is when I started attending junior college. With the eye of the tiger enthusiasm I enrolled and studied my ass off. I made Deans list year after year. The school counselors started telling me I was smart and UC material. Being a trashy navy wife, I never thought I would amount to anything, now here, I had a chance. I applied for every scholarship I could get my hands on, and I got most of them too. Then when I had enough credits, I applied to UCLA and UC Berkeley. I was accepted at both, and I kissed the ground the day I got my letters. Berkeley was also awarding me a leadership scholarship, and I found out that I could get student family housing there. My prayers had been answered… I was finally free.

Free at Last!
Like the movie, the Color Purple, I packed up my things and my kid in my car, and headed north. I pointed my two finger at my ex (just like Whoopie did to Danny Glover in the Color Purple) and I said “everything you have done to me will come back to you!” and then…. I drove away. I never looked back…. Kept driving til I started my new life as a single mother. It was the end of my attempt to be a housewife.
Ahhhh Liberation!

Even though I left his ass, this was still my theme song. In fact, it still kinda is.

At first I was afraid I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side
But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong
And I grew strong and I learned how to get along
And now your back, from outta space
I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face
I should have changed that stupid lock I should have made you leave your key
If I’d have known for just one second you’d be back to bother me
Go on now go walk out the door
Just turn around now cuz your not welcome anymore
Weren’t you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye
Did ya think I’d crumble
Did ya think I’d crumble did ya think I’d lay down and die
Oh no not i, I will survive
Oh as long as I know how to love I know ill stay alive
Ive got all my life to live I’ve got all my love to give
Ill survive I will survie hey hey
(music)
It took all the strength I had not to fall apart
And tried so hard to mend the pieces of my broken heart
And I spent oh so many nights just feeling sorry for myself
I used to cry, but now I hold my head up high
And you see me..somebody new,
Im not that chained up little person still in love with you
And so you felt like dropping in and just expect me to be free
But now I’m saving all my loving for someone whos loving me
Go on now go walk out the door
Just turn around now cuz your not welcome anymore
Werent you the one who tried to break me with goodbye
Did ya think I’d crumble did ya think I’d lay down and die
Oh no not I i will survive
Oh as long as I know how to love I know ill stay alive
Ive got all my life to live I’ve got all my love to give
Ill survive..i will survive ohh go on now go
Walk out the door just turn around now cuz your not welcome anymore
....continuing chorus......

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3 comments:

Dozer said...

Damn good job.

Dozer said...

Thanks for the link, I will do the same for you.

Anonymous said...

Creepy Tales:
I think, perhaps, this is a maybe you had to be there episode. But E pounding on the door prompted me to recall my two elderly neighbor drunks.

Roger and Nancy's house is close to mine. I live in Iowa and it was a cold December evening. Marcia and I heard this angry yelling and pounding, - "you fuckin bitch; god damn open this door; you will pay for this; open the godamn door!" Lots of loud swearing and banging.

I figured it was just another drunken fight. 15 minutes went by and I couldn't help myself and I put on a coat, stepped outdoor to evesdrop.

By now his attitude had changed. "Please open the door; it is cold; I don't have any shoes; please open the door, I don't have any pants.Come on, honey open the door"

Obviously, she had locked him out the back door somehow in his drunkeness with no warm clothes.

I just went to bed, giggling at the dramatic change in Roger's attitude. He was alive the next day.

Thanks for the memories, as they say.

george
Iowa

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