We all remember that Chris Rock bit about O.J. Simpson, while I don't agree with Mr. Rock's opinions on that particular "alleged" murder, I can say that is EXACTLY how I feel about the Clara Harris case. If you are not familiar with Dr. Clara Harris, who murdered her husband, Dr. David Lynn Harris on July 24, 2002, you can Wiki that mess. I'll explain a little, I'm not going to give you all the details as they've been reported, one because they vary from publication to publication but also because there are facts that cannot be repudiated, the woman killed her husband, running over him with her Mercedes at least twice with his teenage daughter in the car. So awful, so tragic and "I'm not saying that she should have killed him" but here is why I understand…
The unabridged version goes a little something like this, the fucking creep was having an affair with his receptionist. He hired this younger brunette (who ain't cute, if you were wondering) to work as the receptionist at his dental practice, he paid her way too much money for the job she did, gave her bonuses he didn't give to the rest of his staff, like his cock and money and maybe some more of his cock. He and Clara had 3 children together, Clara was also a dentist, at some point she got wind of the affair, confronted him, he apologized and promised her up, down and sideways that he had ended the affair. Like most of us women, Clara figured she had done something to drive her husband into the arms of a home wrecking skank so she started working out extra hard, got some plastic surgery, did anything she could think of to look more attractive for this roaming douche. As time went on Clara started to suspect that the affair was not indeed over as she had been promised. Clara hired a private detective and that's when the episode of "Snapped" got really real for me. But first, a random aside about my one degree of separation from the show "Snapped". (I really hope I'm not the only woman who watches this show on Oxygen. When Jim was pissing me off I used to love to click over to a "Snapped" marathon and just leave it running all day and say something sexy like, "you might wanna sleep with one eye open". So, anywho back to my brush with "fame"…one of the episodes covered the case of Melanie Maguire who was an Infertlity nurse at the clinic I used to go to. While I wasn't a patient when she was still working there the Dr. that she had an affair with and wanted to be with so badly that she killed her husband, cut him into pieces, stuffed him in suitcases and threw those suitcases off the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, did still work there, and on numerous occasions Dr. Bradley Miller was up to his elbow in my vagina. I must say, he was actually a really nice Dr. I couldn't help it though when he was all up in my biz-snatch I did stare at him and think "your dick must be something for some broad to take a hacksaw to her husband". I also used to giddily point him out to Jim whenever he walked into the office. But, he was also the Dr. on call when I miscarried twins and he was wonderful. Very comforting and very supportive. But that mess is a blog post for another day. Now back to Clara…
I promise I'm getting to the point that makes me want her to be a free woman. Stay with me. On the day she killed her husband, Clara had received a call from the detective she hired advising her that her husband was, at that very moment, at a hotel with Skankarella and the detective was in the parking lot waiting for him to leave. Understandably pissed off, Clara flew out the door to her Mercedes. In hot pursuit was her teenage step daughter who was also livid and jumped in the car because she too wanted to confront her Dad. Clara and the kid get to the Hotel, walk into the lobby and here comes the creep and Whoreface down the elevator. Clara and the kid confront him. Clara, incensed, goes to smack Bitchbag and here, my friends, is where I would have blacked out…THE CREEP, IN FRONT OF HIS DAUGHTER, PROTECTING HIS PARTY SNATCH, FROM HIS WIFE, (ya know the one who bore three of his children), GRABS CLARA BY THE HAIR AND THE BACK OF HER NECK, THROWS HER TO THE FLOOR OF THE CROWDED HOTEL LOBBY, SMACKS HER FACE INTO THE COLD, HARD, MARBLE FLOOR AND SCREAMS AT HER THAT THEIR MARRIAGE IS OVER!!!
Ok, I need a sec.
whoo…
Do you feel it girls? That churning in your stomach. Is it just me? Cause I'm typing right now and my fucking nose is sweating. I say to you, if a man I spent the last 12 years of my life with, who promised to love and cherish me, threw me to the floor in front of this slut and countless strangers so that I didn't smack the shit out of her…holy duckbills…I wouldn't have needed the car. (btw "duckbills" was an auto correct and I think it's super cute so I left it) People, I would have killed that mother fucker with my bare hands while telling Slut Cake to get a headstart, ya know, just to make it more fun. Seriously, this is what makes me insane about these long affairs and I'm not talking about a one night stand where some chick offers it up and the dude jumps at it, at this point in my life, I honestly don't even care about a one time momentary lapse in judgement. What I would care about is the emotional, long running affairs where one party is pretending to be a good partner, there has been no request for divorce, no discussion about the marriage not working, that person is just leading a selfish double life. I mean let's face it, the Mistress is getting the cleaned up, romantic, clean shaved sac version of YOUR husband. She isn't washing his dirty underwear, she isn't spreading Steroid cream on his Poison Ivy laden balls, she isn't sniffing the ass of his dockers to see if he can get another day's wear out of them, she's not wiping his ass after he has shoulder surgery. That bitch is getting sexy phone calls, gifts, candle lit dinners, head that last an hour and makes her toes curl, not the lazy ass "i'll give her three licks before I get to stick it". It's just gross. Screwing some random chick to get your rocks off is one thing, giving your heart to someone else is another thing entirely.
I feel desperately sad for Clara Harris. I know there are millions of men and women in this world that get served the same shit sandwich by someone who professes to love them. I understand that those same people don't jump in their car and run their spouse over. I understand too, that in time, many of them get over it and lead successful, happy lives. But, for whatever reason, whether biological or psychological, Clara could not. She lost it, she blacked out. This man wasn't a quality human being, I'm just saying…I get it. Had this been one of my girlfriends I would have been there with her. I would have rushed her out of the hotel, stuck her in the back of the detectives car where she would be safe from herself, gone back into the hotel, marched up to her husband and kicked him in the nuts so hard I would have broken a toe. As for his side piece, I wouldn't even look at her. I'd walk away and leave her holding the douche(bag), he'd only end up playing her the same way one day and that would be revenge enough. Karma, my friends, is pretty wonderful that way.
and lots of other things I love to discuss ad nauseum...
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Remembering...(warning no adult content...trust me, it pains me more)
Fifteen years ago today my family lost my brother, Jimmy, 6 days before his 35th birthday. He died of Acute Pancreatitis brought on by undiagnosed diabetes. 15 years is a long time to miss someone. I think about him regularly, sometimes I just sit and replay conversations we'd had in my head so I never forget the sound of his voice. I dream about him, infrequently, but when I do, I'm glad, because in dreams you remember everything, the voice, the mannerisms, it's amazing how much recall your unconscious mind has. It's so important to remember…
I remember my Mom having been up at the hospital the entire day before he passed and being worried that she wouldn't eat, so I went to a local fish store and bought her a big steamed crab, because crabs were her favorite food. When she went to crack it open it's entire insides were black. Grossed out we threw it in the trash. When we went back up to the hospital that night there were new tubes that were snaking through his body sucking out a black liquid and I remember thinking that is a fucking omen and trying to shake the thought. The next day, April 6, 1996, I remember waking up and going to work because after a long night at the hospital, we felt somewhat hopeful, after speaking with a nurse, that he had a strong heart and with the proper medication he would make a full recovery. Later that morning, I remember my parents calling me at work and telling me I needed to come down to the hospital right away. I remember getting there and my father pulling me aside to tell me we had to come to terms with the fact that we were going to lose him, and I just didn't understand how the situation could turn so quickly so I reeled on the Dr. that was standing there and I demanded an explanation and he got defensive with me and said, "what you don't think I'm doing everything I can?". I remember an insane urge to kick the Dr. in the balls and my father telling me he needed me to get a grip. I remember waiting for my brother Anthony to get up to the hospital because my parents didn't want to sign the do-not-resuscitate order until we had all discussed it and I remember as we were waiting for Anthony, hearing "Code Blue in ICU" and me jumping from my seat and running into the ICU where I caught a glimpse of his bed surrounded by doctors, nurses and machines and a huge male nurse wearing a turbin literally throwing me right back through the swinging doors. I remember my Mother screaming for my father to "do something" and my Daddy, who was so smart and capable, looking more helpless than I could ever imagine was possible. I remember Jimmy's friend, Mike, crying so hard he couldn't breathe and my sister, selflessly trying to comfort him. I also remember how quickly Kathleen got from her apartment in Queens to the hospital and her sitting with me at his bedside because I knew when I walked away from his body I would never see him again and it terrified me. I remember the nurse running after me when I swiped a pair of scissors from a nearby desk because she thought I was going to hurt myself but all I wanted was a lock of his hair. I also remember my Aunt & Uncle bringing my Grandmother to the house so we could tell her what happened and the length of time it took her to process what we were telling her. She just sat there looking at us like we had all gone insane.
Jimmy wasn't only a brother to me but for as long as I could remember he was truly my best friend and my hero. We had a running joke in my family, every single time my parents would go on vacation or for an extended trip to our condo in Florida they would end up getting a call from Jimmy that began the same way, "Ok, so don't freak out, she's fine but…" and then he would launch into what ever type of accident I got myself into that required my siblings to take me to the hospital, whether I was launching myself off the back of the couch until I sprained an ankle or crazy glueing my eye shut. I remember when I was a little girl and my Mom went back to work my Dad would bring me to the shop and I would pull a stool up to whatever car my brother was working on and I would just sit and talk to him all day. I remember when I was in Jr High and he would get home late from work on a Saturday night and I'd be up watching Saturday Night Live he would come and watch with me. I remember when I was in college at Albany State about 3.5 hrs from home I would call him when my car wouldn't start and he would drive up to Albany after work to fix my car wherever it had crapped out, a friends driveway, the college campus, in front of my ghetto apartment. He never complained, often driving right back home when he knew the car would be fine and would get me to school the next day. I remember the night I glued my eye shut, I was sitting on my parents bed fixing one of my long fake nails and I squirted glue into my eye and immediately went to rub it and glued the lids together, while my sister was downstairs in a state of panic, calling poison control, I called Jimmy, he was holding one of his Triumph Car Club meetings at his shop in Bayshore. One of his friends answered the phone and was trying to make small talk figuring out which sister he was talking to, "is this the big sister or the little sister?" To which I replied, "put Jimmy on the fucking phone" , I then heard the guy say, "um, it's your little sister" as he thrust the phone into my brothers hand. Jimmy said, "what's up?", I said, "Crazy glued my eye shut", Jimmy asked, "are you home alone?", I replied, "no Diane is downstairs freaking out", He laughed and said, "I'll be right there". 20 minutes later I was in his car on the way to Huntington Hospital, meanwhile it's usually a 35 minute drive from Bayshore to Huntington. I remember how cool he thought it was that the Dr. had these special magnifying glasses to see the small amount of damage I had done to my cornea and my brother had to put them on so he could check it out. He then promptly fell asleep in a chair and the nurses let me lay in the hospital bed long after they were done patching me up so I could let him get a little bit of rest before he had to drive me home.
Remembering is important not only to keep someone alive and in your consciousness but the memories also help you make choices on how to react in the future. His passing taught me a few very important things: 1.) people grieve on their own time, in their own way and it's never right to judge how someone should behave or when they should "get over it". It's probably the worst thing you could say about someone that is grieving, that they should "get over it". It makes me insane. 2.) when someone passes and you are searching for something to say to their loved ones, it's perfectly Ok to only say, "I'm so sorry", stuff about "better places" and "looking down on you" and all that shit doesn't work for everyone, trust me, I don't believe in a hereafter, he lives on in my heart only and that is enough for me. Bringing God into it is not a comfort for someone who does not subscribe to your ideology. 3.) people who don't take the time to think before they open their mouths make dumb comments that live on in perpetuity. Lemme explain, at Christmas time in 1996 my Mom was at work and her and some co-workers were sitting around the lunch room table, the subject of Christmas plans came up and my mother was asked how her family would be celebrating. She responded that we weren't ready to celebrate that year. When prompted for an explanation by a new girl, in her early 20's, one of my moms fellow co-workers gently explained that Grace has lost her son in April and the family was still grieving , to this the dumbshit replied, "Oh you guys are so lucky you don't have to buy any presents." Now, I wasn't even in that room and I will remember that comment for the rest of my life. Fuckin asshole. On what planet is that an appropriate thing to say to someone who has lost a child? 4.) when you love someone that has lost someone dear to them, the time you are most needed is weeks later when all the excitement is over, when other people stop calling them to see how everything is, when the cards and the trays of food stop coming, when everyone else has gone back to their own lives that's when you are needed most. Cause that's usually when the anger comes. You realize the rest of the world is still spinning while your world has crashed to a halt. Those "stages of grief" are no joke. The anger was the toughest one for me, I was mad at the world for a good while, so mad that some idiot shrink wanted to put me on Lithium. Lithium ain't no joke. I declined the Lithium and found a new shrink that sat on the floor of his office with me and repotted Bonzai trees. Crunchy bastard, haha, but he helped…
If you made it to the end, I apologize that this wasn't a funny post. I suppose not all streams of consciousness are humorous, even when you're as warped as me. I'll make it up to you next time, I promise. :)
I remember my Mom having been up at the hospital the entire day before he passed and being worried that she wouldn't eat, so I went to a local fish store and bought her a big steamed crab, because crabs were her favorite food. When she went to crack it open it's entire insides were black. Grossed out we threw it in the trash. When we went back up to the hospital that night there were new tubes that were snaking through his body sucking out a black liquid and I remember thinking that is a fucking omen and trying to shake the thought. The next day, April 6, 1996, I remember waking up and going to work because after a long night at the hospital, we felt somewhat hopeful, after speaking with a nurse, that he had a strong heart and with the proper medication he would make a full recovery. Later that morning, I remember my parents calling me at work and telling me I needed to come down to the hospital right away. I remember getting there and my father pulling me aside to tell me we had to come to terms with the fact that we were going to lose him, and I just didn't understand how the situation could turn so quickly so I reeled on the Dr. that was standing there and I demanded an explanation and he got defensive with me and said, "what you don't think I'm doing everything I can?". I remember an insane urge to kick the Dr. in the balls and my father telling me he needed me to get a grip. I remember waiting for my brother Anthony to get up to the hospital because my parents didn't want to sign the do-not-resuscitate order until we had all discussed it and I remember as we were waiting for Anthony, hearing "Code Blue in ICU" and me jumping from my seat and running into the ICU where I caught a glimpse of his bed surrounded by doctors, nurses and machines and a huge male nurse wearing a turbin literally throwing me right back through the swinging doors. I remember my Mother screaming for my father to "do something" and my Daddy, who was so smart and capable, looking more helpless than I could ever imagine was possible. I remember Jimmy's friend, Mike, crying so hard he couldn't breathe and my sister, selflessly trying to comfort him. I also remember how quickly Kathleen got from her apartment in Queens to the hospital and her sitting with me at his bedside because I knew when I walked away from his body I would never see him again and it terrified me. I remember the nurse running after me when I swiped a pair of scissors from a nearby desk because she thought I was going to hurt myself but all I wanted was a lock of his hair. I also remember my Aunt & Uncle bringing my Grandmother to the house so we could tell her what happened and the length of time it took her to process what we were telling her. She just sat there looking at us like we had all gone insane.
Jimmy wasn't only a brother to me but for as long as I could remember he was truly my best friend and my hero. We had a running joke in my family, every single time my parents would go on vacation or for an extended trip to our condo in Florida they would end up getting a call from Jimmy that began the same way, "Ok, so don't freak out, she's fine but…" and then he would launch into what ever type of accident I got myself into that required my siblings to take me to the hospital, whether I was launching myself off the back of the couch until I sprained an ankle or crazy glueing my eye shut. I remember when I was a little girl and my Mom went back to work my Dad would bring me to the shop and I would pull a stool up to whatever car my brother was working on and I would just sit and talk to him all day. I remember when I was in Jr High and he would get home late from work on a Saturday night and I'd be up watching Saturday Night Live he would come and watch with me. I remember when I was in college at Albany State about 3.5 hrs from home I would call him when my car wouldn't start and he would drive up to Albany after work to fix my car wherever it had crapped out, a friends driveway, the college campus, in front of my ghetto apartment. He never complained, often driving right back home when he knew the car would be fine and would get me to school the next day. I remember the night I glued my eye shut, I was sitting on my parents bed fixing one of my long fake nails and I squirted glue into my eye and immediately went to rub it and glued the lids together, while my sister was downstairs in a state of panic, calling poison control, I called Jimmy, he was holding one of his Triumph Car Club meetings at his shop in Bayshore. One of his friends answered the phone and was trying to make small talk figuring out which sister he was talking to, "is this the big sister or the little sister?" To which I replied, "put Jimmy on the fucking phone" , I then heard the guy say, "um, it's your little sister" as he thrust the phone into my brothers hand. Jimmy said, "what's up?", I said, "Crazy glued my eye shut", Jimmy asked, "are you home alone?", I replied, "no Diane is downstairs freaking out", He laughed and said, "I'll be right there". 20 minutes later I was in his car on the way to Huntington Hospital, meanwhile it's usually a 35 minute drive from Bayshore to Huntington. I remember how cool he thought it was that the Dr. had these special magnifying glasses to see the small amount of damage I had done to my cornea and my brother had to put them on so he could check it out. He then promptly fell asleep in a chair and the nurses let me lay in the hospital bed long after they were done patching me up so I could let him get a little bit of rest before he had to drive me home.
Remembering is important not only to keep someone alive and in your consciousness but the memories also help you make choices on how to react in the future. His passing taught me a few very important things: 1.) people grieve on their own time, in their own way and it's never right to judge how someone should behave or when they should "get over it". It's probably the worst thing you could say about someone that is grieving, that they should "get over it". It makes me insane. 2.) when someone passes and you are searching for something to say to their loved ones, it's perfectly Ok to only say, "I'm so sorry", stuff about "better places" and "looking down on you" and all that shit doesn't work for everyone, trust me, I don't believe in a hereafter, he lives on in my heart only and that is enough for me. Bringing God into it is not a comfort for someone who does not subscribe to your ideology. 3.) people who don't take the time to think before they open their mouths make dumb comments that live on in perpetuity. Lemme explain, at Christmas time in 1996 my Mom was at work and her and some co-workers were sitting around the lunch room table, the subject of Christmas plans came up and my mother was asked how her family would be celebrating. She responded that we weren't ready to celebrate that year. When prompted for an explanation by a new girl, in her early 20's, one of my moms fellow co-workers gently explained that Grace has lost her son in April and the family was still grieving , to this the dumbshit replied, "Oh you guys are so lucky you don't have to buy any presents." Now, I wasn't even in that room and I will remember that comment for the rest of my life. Fuckin asshole. On what planet is that an appropriate thing to say to someone who has lost a child? 4.) when you love someone that has lost someone dear to them, the time you are most needed is weeks later when all the excitement is over, when other people stop calling them to see how everything is, when the cards and the trays of food stop coming, when everyone else has gone back to their own lives that's when you are needed most. Cause that's usually when the anger comes. You realize the rest of the world is still spinning while your world has crashed to a halt. Those "stages of grief" are no joke. The anger was the toughest one for me, I was mad at the world for a good while, so mad that some idiot shrink wanted to put me on Lithium. Lithium ain't no joke. I declined the Lithium and found a new shrink that sat on the floor of his office with me and repotted Bonzai trees. Crunchy bastard, haha, but he helped…
If you made it to the end, I apologize that this wasn't a funny post. I suppose not all streams of consciousness are humorous, even when you're as warped as me. I'll make it up to you next time, I promise. :)
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