Category Archives: People I Meet

Au Revoir Apartments…Smell Ya Later

My lease is up at my apartments, and I’m planning a more economic friendly move to another apartment with a roomate. It’s tough for single gals and I for one would sure like financial stability as well as the company. This move is bittersweet, while I often complain on Facebook about my apartments, I’m still going to miss what I’ve called home for a few years. I’m also going to miss my neighbors, no, not in the way you think. I don’t think I’ve talked extensively to any of them but I’ve observed them from afar on a level of certain creepiness. So, who will I miss?

The Denim Clad Bludgeoner

Perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions here, but the guy who lives across from me is in the business of death, sudden violent death to transients and hookers. He leaves early in the morning while the dew is still on the grass, because he travels to commit his heinous acts. Dressed in a demin shirt, demin shorts (jorts) and brown boots topped off with a khaki hat he leaves, taking a long wooden walking staff (ready for spontaneous murder). He gets into his inconspicuous white jeep and gives me a friendly nod as he drives away. He’s gone for several days. I know this because when our apartment management leaves memos stuffed in our doors his will remain in place for 3 to 4 days. Meaning, it would have to be removed if he came into his apartment. However he’s home when they do inspection and he leaves notes for them not to spray his apartment with insecticide. I don’t believe this is a worry about chemicals, no sir, it’s because he has clippings about the place celebrating his crimes. Duh. All killers do this. Which is really outdated and not very green. One could easily just save a zip file on their PC labeled “My Insatiable Lust for Blood”. I also believe this because he left his blinds open and I peeked through, there were newspapers everywhere (no I’m not weird!). He doesn’t want pest control to walk around spraying that watered down Mello Yello they call insecticide and discover the missing teens from Branson MS met their fate at the hands of a blue jean loving assassin. He’s nice enough but his eyes sing a song of murder to me, “I want to dismember you, fa la la la la la”.

Tankerbell’s Mommy

I don’t know this lady’s name either but I know her godforsaken dog’s name; Tinkerbell but pronounced “Tankerbell”. This lady is at the very least 400 hundred pounds and she  yells at her chihuahua while walking around barefoot all day. Seriously it’s like president Taft walking around in a house dress. She’s always saying, “Tankerbell, hush up quit barkin’ git in tha house!” These apartments are pretty small and she lives with her significant other, another woman, and some kids but there’s a like several and I can’t discern which one’s actually live there or just like show up. Nonetheless that’s a lot of people for one place and at night their shades are open…yes I look in and there are sheets the partition the living room. It’s like a Hooverville in there. There’s another dog too but it never gets yelled at because Tankerbell is the one that never shuts up. This dog has like a hernia or hemorrhoids because it’s butthole looks like it was pulled out, kind of like a Sonic straw. I can say right now I don’t envy that dog.


Tankerbell! where are you?

The Office Depot Adonis

This guy I often see getting into his yellow Mustang going to do whatever beautiful people go do all day. I’ll assume float on clouds. He works at Office Depot which I discovered by happenstance and not by being a stalker (this time). I went to make prints of my artwork and he was there, we talked about apartments and how much they suck, and well what do you know! He’s int he building next to me. I figured out that he was actually the well muscled hulk of lustful thoughts that jumps rope and jogs around the complex. He drips sweat that could bring flowers back to life.  He’s the guy I for serious, almost wrecked into a dumpster watching warm-up with some high knees. Did you know movies do not edit beautiful people in slow motion? Beautiful people effect the time space continuum and their movements actually slow down so the world has some semblance of order while they are around. I fumbled over words like an idiot, and forgot what I was talking about mid-sentence. Yeah, THAT beautiful. Now I can’t just walk into Office Depot without feeling like an awkward school girl or stalker-like. I would like to look into his window.

Gandalf the Grey

There’s an elderly lady who leaves her apartment several times a day to go to the mailbox or kind of stand on the sidewalk and stare contemplatively into the horizon. Firstly, I want to know what kind of US Postal Service does she think she has to go to the mailbox more than once? Secondly, I think she goes outside to steal the joyful noise of the nearby songbirds. She has her name because she wears a grey sweat suit ALWAYS and has matching grey hair. Thus, Gandalf the Grey, plus when you get that old you have magic powers. Maybe her mobility has far exceeded her cognitive ability and she is slipping slowly into the world of dementia. A small part of me fills with fantastical terror when I wave and say “Hi” but she only glares at me with contempt. I can’t say what her apartment looks like because it’s on the second floor and that presents a challenge of sorts. I’m going to say full of razors and Halloween candy. Her plan only foiled by the fact that old people hand out that caramel candy kids hate and never eat.


I'm going back upstairs to wait for the third mail delivery today.

Facking Cool Guy

The northern guy who has several bad tattoes including the black panther of shame and the tribal arm band. He “DJ’s” um, nowhere. He cuts the sleeves of his shirts because all fellas know this creates an optical illusion of muscle. He hits on EVERY woman at the pool maybe even some dudes with bitch tits. He wears sandals and has gross feet.

Hot For Teacher

This woman is the 80’s and honestly I love her. She has the leathery brown tan skin, bleach blonde hair, neon clothes made of mesh net, sunglasses ALWAYS, and a convertible. She can always be found at the pool when its open baking herself in the sun slathered in baby oil, seriously, listening to Poison on her boombox.

I however will not be missed by anyone because I’m that weird fucking girl who looks through windows, stares at everyone, and can’t drive very well in the parking lot. Changes…


Excuse Me, I Just Arted

Hello WordPress citizens and illegal aliens! I made mention of my art show in prior comments, but never in my actual blog. Some of you may be surprised to even know I’m involved in the arts. That’s because you never pay attention to me in this one-sided relationship, where has the magic gone? Aren’t you attracted to me anymore? I feel so unappreciated. What’s happened to us? You use me.

Seriously, Friday night was a big deal in the life of Sheena. I had a 10 piece art show with other local artists who, I got to say had mad talent. I felt that initial panic when I started hanging my work next to these folks. I felt like I wasn’t up to par, you know like Chloe Kardashian or the balding Bee Gee. I for one would be envious of such lustrous, beautiful hair belonging to the other two Bee Gee members. I imagine the amniotic fluid of celebrity babies achieved their crown of glorious locks or some kind of Satanic practice.

This is the hair sonnets were written about.

The evening went perfect. I was immersed in a collection of people who share the same passion I do for art. Not the patronizing, “Oh, nice…okay so did you see the monkey on You Tube that drinks it’s own pee?” I haven’t looked yet, but I’m sure this is available on there, monkeys are dumb. I mean so you’re the smartest animal next to humans…that’s still pretty dumb. I love being the dominant species, and drinking Red Bull instead of urine. Well, same difference really…

Oh yeah, the art show. There was live music and performances, wine and sangria…cookies. I mean, could it go bad? Well sadly, my camera has pictures of my complete display and as luck would have it I cannot find my cord so I may load the pics. Well, I have managed to come up with a couple of pics:

This is the piece I sold!

The above is a take on Loteria Cards. It’s a traditional Mexican card game of chance like Bingo (so it’s a geriatric favorite there too?). I fell in lust with the art on them and made some pop art out of them. I would like to personally thank my rug from Big Lots for the color scheme!

The following were entered in my art show as well!

“Garden View” I imagine that Frida Khalo looked out of her window to this every morning…

“Anatomical Heart” well…duh…this is why you never throw away canvas ya’ll just paint that shit black and start over- making lemonaide out of lemons!

“Sugar Skulls” Rob Zombie’s “Living Dead Girl” always comes to mind…I can’t help it!

Hopefully, I can get the pictures loaded up and share them soon. How lame of me. Also, I am working on an Esty page and a website for my art so please, stay tuned, don’t change that dial.

Third glass of wine and a sale…yeah I’m feeling great!

This was organized by In Galleries Art if you happen to live in Nastyville, TN perhaps there’s some art you can peep? I mean what else are ya’ll gonna do? Don’t say country music karaoke! What are you a tourist? Check them out the art scene here is dope.


UPDATE: The camera cord crisis has been solved, it was under my Archie Bunker armchair all along (thanks Salvation Army you know I love your furniture). Here are some pictures of the rest of my art show:

He is Sofa King Cool Part 3

Last installment of falling in love upon first lustful glance. This gentleman was what one would call a “regular” at the karaoke bar, or I would rather call a “Ssssuper-stahhhh!” On most nights he can be found, entertaining the crowd, wooing them with rock anthems and piano ballads, lurking table to table so everyone present can say, “Oh fuck it’s that guy, he’s coming over say this seat is saved, fucking do it, put your purse there! fuck!”

After a couple of hours of avoiding eye contact, sitting at the very edge of the booth, and looking suddenly in the midst of intense conversation involving topical debate: transcendentalism and it’s relevancy today…perhaps. I suddenly found him increasingly more alluring.

This is close, I suppose Google did it's best?

As he fisted the air to “Du Haust” with a brutal vigor only a Viking lord could have while setting their vessels to sea, off to fight an vicious battle. I watched droplets of sweat bead , roll, and splatter about him no doubt salty, and smelling of capped, covered, and smothered hash browns. His hair the most fantastic. Shaved completely on the sides, short in front, long in back. The most modern upgrade to a mullet I have yet to see. It was well redneck emo chic? Metromullet? Mullet 2.0?

I eye fucked him all the way across the room as he stood along crowds of people who he pretended to know, while they did the opposite. He finally lurked his way to our table. He expounded upon Billy Joel and his undeniable status as the musical elite. I think he was looking at me when he said, “I’m here every Friday!” No wink necessary, I’m picking up what you’re putting down!

I type Viking Warrior and Sexy Santa Ryan Phillipe pops up WTF?

He got up to sing. His large bellied figure silhouetted by a variety of colorful light. It was as if he was a carnival of sexy dreams. He started to sing and my body came to life, as if his soul was singing to mine. He was no doubt singing a very ancient piece handed down from generations of warriors and regal figures. I didn’t recognize the tune, it had to be from his divine ancestry or perhaps it was some Randy Travis, It kinda sounded like him too….None the less his performance was breathtaking. I was left spellbound.

I want to satisfy carnal desires with this mythic beast. I want to see his performance every friday for not just my life, but eternity. Us, We, Him, Me, Together….Eternity…(whisper eternity). Thanks for reading, as always.

Side note here: I just got to my messages and I saw some really cool award nominations but synchronicity had several come in at one time…woah…nelly…so I am going to work on making mention of said awards and acknowledgement too, I’m not forgetting so much as I have been busy busy busy!

He is Sofa King Cool Part Two

If you chose to read my previous post about falling in love and lust, here is part two. If you didn’t read it and chose rather to pursue other interests please, pause your porn (I know, I know I want to see Dustin Diamond give a dirty sanchez to some chick too…chillax) and check it out; He is Sofa King Cool Part One. 
Alright so, the second time I fell in love at a karaoke bar was with a man who had all the smooth composure of Joe Camel and was probably just as hip as well as relevant to youth. I was already inside, no doubt talking about girl shit. You know like, “Oh my God, I think I’m getting fat. I cried seven times today. I am craving chocolate!” Right? That’s all girls talk about men, duh.

He waltzes in with the grace of a fat man light on his feet and a great ballroom dancer. He had a cowboy vibe about him. Probably because he had a cowboy hat. He looked like he just left Sexy Time Ranch after a long day of acting out cowboy cliche’s. He started out his day shooting a crazed “Injun” trying to scalp him. Then he walked around with spurs on his boots so everyone would suddenly get quiet as he ominously approached the saloon. Finally, he turns a simple card game into a shoot out.

He has a posse. It seems he is friends with an MMA fighter. I will go ahead and make that hasty assumption because of his tight Affliction shirt and FTW body. They take the table next to my friends and I. I attempted to hide my desire by making fun of the “Sheriff” and his friend who was dubbed and his bodyguard “Leland”.

No sooner than the Sheriff arrived, there happened to be “trouble”. The next table over, I hear heated arguing. It seems like the group that was only moments ago doing shots were sanctioned into factions of who doesn’t want to fuck with who. I personally don’t know who I didn’t want to fuck with because both were so assuring no one wanted to fuck with either person. I tend to remain neutral on this subject.

Well, it seemed like the incident would go from boring to super uneventful without immediate intervention. The blonde chick really brought it when she started to point her finger, I mean now you are thinking about entering the danger zone right? Everyone knows that while you are warning the other party about what you are going to do…it’s only because you want to provide ample advisory prior to actually doing something, wouldn’t you agree? I thought so too. Tornadoes have sirens you know.

Well, luckily the Sheriff walked over to make sure the guy with the fuzzy adolescent like mustache wouldn’t “trouble the little lady”. Who is still warning   “Mr. Misstache” that she was just NOT to be fucked with. The Sheriff posted up, hands in belt loops, ready to take action. He sipped on his PBR with tactical calculation. His presence being first in the display of correctional application. Leland his bodyguard/road-dog was right hand side.

Misstache takes one look at the Sheriff and he realizes he’s got an alpha male standing by. He apologizes to the blonde girl who shan’t be fucked with. He told the Sheriff he didn’t want any trouble. The Sheriff was satisfied with this and returned to his table, so he could hate gay marriage, crush on George W., and support the second amendment for a while.

It's like this picture is a still image taken within my brain's fantasies.

Of course, by now, I am in love. I want him to herd cattle out west while I drink opium laced cough syrup and make baby after baby. I was feeling the vibes that resonated from his flattened Wrangler clad buttocks. He was putting them out or perhaps that was bison chili. I didn’t work up the courage to speak to him, it was much too intimidating. I wanted his penis on my Tombstone. He left suddenly, I’m guessing some horse thieves were reported to be lurking about outside. I really missed my opportunity to talk to the Sheriff. I probably missed out on true love. I know for sure I missed out on some good ass steak and the lynching of men who buy their salsa from New York City.

Stay tuned for part three or regret it.

He is Sofa King Cool Part One

When I sing, people of various gender and ethnic groups gather, but no ugly ones. Sorry, those are karaoke rules.

I love karaoke. I love anyone’s rendition of Journey. If they add the air guitar it’s like putting butter on a fresh biscuit. It’s that level of incredible. Here recently I have increased my attendance to a long loved pastime. This is the point where I answer, yes, I sing. I rock the fucking house down with my masterful choreographed movements that are set on “Swayze” and I at least sing better than any Kids Bop album. Seriously, I hate those kids, all of them.

I have fallen in love three times now. I have divided this into three parts for each love because, lets face it, if it’s too wordy you are going to get distracted with cat videos on You Tube.  I will share with you what is inside my heart to tell you, anonymous audience that I don’t know. Seriously, one of you is a robot, perpetrating as human. I know it.

That's the hot sister-wife. Truth.

The first time I fell in love at a karaoke bar was with the owner. I like to call him “Big Baller The Shot Caller” or to make it short, Baller. Okay, imagine now the single most important looking man you have ever seen, who dresses hip despite his age and has the presence of a rock star. I am sure mentally you doodle up the guy from Sister Wives right? Yeah, that’s pretty close. He had a nifty button down with iron crosses, skulls and shit. He made sure I knew he ran the joint, he was the big fucking cheese around that place. He also told me he was an actor and I could easily identify him in a Rascal Flatts video (he tried to walk at first, but they begged him to return offering more pay, like a boss). I know his acting was so phenomenal that anyone would spot him in the background like “Hey look at that dapper mother lover doing a fist pump in sync with the song!” No one does it better, no one.

He had the confidence of a  once awkward, unpopular teen celebrity coming home to high school reunion. I felt this guy was really going to be famous and just a shade under sixty-five. I mean, a Rascal Flats video, fuck the world ya’ll. I am sure he was sincere in telling me what a lovely lady I am, just stunning. I believe there is no possible way he thought my youth made me dumb enough to sleep with a celebrity guy wearing not enough Hugo Boss being that he might have even injected the stuff too.

This doesn't end in a circle jerk...wait yes, yes it does.

I’m guessing the Baller wouldn’t have time to call me back because he’s too busy signing autographs?Duh, of course.  I felt I might be too needy for this man, I mean he’s so busy making cheddar, and banging groupies. I know I couldn’t resist myself when I ran into an extra from Salute Your Shorts…or well, the guy who almost was on the show, same difference, I am feeling like a Heidi Fleiss hooker and I know that I know, all of you women are jealous right now.

I want to also take  a moment to thank my dear friend who reveled in my obvious discomfort and I made “save me” eyes to no avail. I really thought I was going to have to say the, “Oh boy I ate wings earlier and I gotta shit!” line. It repulses men to think women poop. To conjure such imagery it matters not how slutty your dress is, the dude is turned off. Well, unless he likes poop but the odds are in your favor ladies. Tune in for my next installment of love and bad Cee Lo Green covers.

A Butthole In Time

Yesterday, I got into my car and noticed that all of my radio stations that I had programmed were no longer in place. I flipped through static filled nonsense and then noticed the date on my console said it was January 1, 2012. Now this can only indicate two things. My car is a time machine albeit a lame one that only goes back two and half weeks in time or some mischievous elves slipped into my car. I know elves are not real, I leave shoe making materials out every night and wake to no shoes. I want my fucking shoes to buckle, audible sigh.

Well, then that means I have a time travel device at my disposal. I am not sure what I want to do with said abilities. Should I travel to the premier of  “My American Cousin” and save Honest Abe moments before his stove-pipe hat is blown into oblivion? By the way, I have studied pictures of Abe from this time and cannot find anyone else who sported this kind of hat. Why was Lincoln the only guy to rock it? It’s like Flava-Flav and the clock necklace or Snooki’s bump.  Some trends never catch on I suppose.

I wonder if I would go back to younger me and say “Don’t play pirates on the downed basketball goal, you’ll slice your arm open and your mother will freak out.” Maybe ” Hey don’t put red dye on bleached hair the resulting orange ( I mean it ORANGE) will have sent home from school and you’ll have to cut your horribly damaged hair off .” Perhaps “Don’t agree to a rusty trombone until you understand the daunting specifics.” Okay, so the first two were perhaps imagined but you get the point.

I am preparing for the trip, I know for sure what I want to do; bring my cell phone and travel back in time to when I saw a guy at Wal-Mart working in the deli, dumping fish on ice…with a wooden peg leg. I mean it he really had a wooden peg leg (yarrr!). I like to imagine he just came from a long voyage in which he caught all of the fish he was dumping on the ice. You know, after he has hidden his booty. When I saw this guy there was not such a thing as a cell phone with a camera. Regrettably I have no proof until now. Prepare my friends for the best Facebook upload ever, from ten years ago…to future Facebook…from future me in the past. Fuck yeah, I’m flexin’ .

This Crap Happened at Starbucks

The other day I went into Starbucks to, of course, get some coffee.  There was a lady in the line ahead of me, she might be the dumbest rude person I have seen in a long time. This is an illustration of what took place.

This lady is kind of, well, stupid. She was perplexed at first and then angry (probably like what happens when chimps are forced to wear people clothes). What’s worse is she looks to me for back up.  I obviously decided bakery goods were much more important than debating the misleading nature of the menu board. This lady clearly is the reason deodorant sticks have to tell you not use it on your eyes.