Speak well of others, that is what I strive to do. I’m afraid, however, this is not one of those instances. Sometimes the truth must be spoken to protect others and also to make people laugh, because this is a sad but true tale and there is a lesson deep within, that maybe I haven’t gleaned just yet. Help me out.
I first met Helmet when I worked as a senior portrait photographer at Prestige Portraits. Prestige is a fancy division of Lifetouch that only does really expensive senior portrait packages. Helmet was also a photographer, and we were hired and trained together though I was paid more because of my experience and my skillful negotiations prior to the hiring contract. That has absolutely nothing to do with the story, I’m just bragging. In the training class there were two guys I had already managed to team with as we were the most alike. A very funny, but quiet, young, latino man that was into the hip hop music scene, Junior, and a more mature black man from Oakland, Robert. We shot together and ate together and made jokes about everyone, because for some reason photographers tend to be comedians. Robert and I were eating lunch in my car one afternoon and he complained about having to drive all the way to Oakland after work to get smoke from his brother. At this time (10-15 years ago), medicinal cannabis was still pretty low key and 99% of the dispensaries didn’t exist. I pulled open my ashtray and gave him a couple green jays I had stashed in case of a traffic jam or road rage emergency. I was just being nice, I didn’t really worry about it, I trusted Robert, I had an endless free or near free supply, (long uninteresting story) DUMB DUMB, DUMB move. Robert was hanging out with another girl in the class, regularly, and her name will forever be Helmet, but at that time it wasn’t. I didn’t know her, but she approached me later that day and pretty much winked at me like a reject and said, “I know something about you.” I wanted to shove Robert’s head in the toilet. I had no idea he was a blabbermouth, and though I didn’t really care about that job, I did care about my reputation and liked my personal business on the down low, never wanting weirdo strangers attempting to wink at me and accidentally opening their mouths to do so. Junior saw my shock and said, “She’s cool, don’t worry.” The girl seemed semi normal at first. She was of average build, medium-length blonde hair, I have no idea what color eyes, and teeth that were a little strange, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Normal white chick, a bit nerdy, but I am a secret nerd, so I have always been a geek magnet. Have you met my husband? Certified dragon master. Helmet showed me her portfolio. It consisted of 8x12 very artistic broken mirror, black and white collages of a very interesting looking sexy, young woman in bondage. Being not only an artist but a gallery curator for emerging artists at the phantom galleries when it was popping 2002-2004, I judged her art to be exceptionally well done; clean, interesting and edgy. I had not yet encountered an idiot savant (thank you for the word, Gayla--I owe you). Junior said she was cool so I was nice to her. I liked her art. During a lunch or break at the studio a few days later she said something that hurt my heart. “I have no friends.” I went all mommy bird on her and (slap me across the face in retrospect), and invited her over to my place because every Friday we gathered, drank, played board games, and partied. A specific friend, an Irish bloke, was single and he liked blondes. He always visited on Friday, and I thought maybe they’d hit it off. That Friday funday crew consisted of me, my friend, and roommate, Gayla, interesting, intelligent, and beautiful, an Irish guy, we called the Hobbit, he was loud, funny, brash and ridiculous, Doink, a crazy person I had met at an art show. She was dark, Mod style, very punk rockish, possibly possessed and reminded me of Emily Rose prior to the exorcism. I thought I could exorcise Doink’s demon (BAD IDEA it’s in another story called Hobbit’s Haunted House). Dan, my charming, obnoxious husband and our neighbor from across the street, Joe, was also there. Joe was a Dallas Cowboys fan and the manager of Carl’s Jr., and happened to be on a first date with Gayla. Helmet showed up. She looked semi normal. She had brushed her hair and had makeup on her face. We were probably already drunk or close when she arrived, and we were sitting and laughing on the back porch; it must have been summertime. Doink, the dark one, looked Helmet up and down and asked her about herself. “I’m a per-tog-grapher.” “And what, per say, does a per-tog-grapher do?” “I take pictures.” “A photographer?” “Yeah, a per-tog-grapher.” Helmet didn’t have a regular vocabulary. By the end of our acquaintance Dan, Gayla and I had compiled a list of words she used and their meanings and we named it the “Do-Funny Dictionary.” Pertographer was her occupation, so she used the word often. If one tried to correct her, she would not acknowledge it. Included in our compilation was “alovia” meaning aloe vera, “curdins” meaning curtains, and “laown guh” for lounge. Sometimes people who read a lot will mispronounce words that are not spoken in everyday conversation. This was not the case. I doubt very much she could read. Sometimes we wondered if she was trying to speak Ebonics. Gayla and Joe were excusing themselves to be alone and Hobbit started freaking out because he didn’t like losing attention. He had a hold of Gayla’s hand and was in a panic. Helmet looked at Gayla and gently told her it was ok to leave. Gayla was relieved and she and Joe left to get to know one another (they’re married now). Somehow the subject was changed to the fact that Helmet was also a rapper. I have nothing against rapping, I actually love it, and for anyone that doesn’t know, Rap is actually an abbreviation for Rhythmic American Poetry. Helmet was not a rapper, and I realized that Doink was just being mean. Asking her to rap in front of Hobbit was just a fun, evil game and it had to stop; the rhymes, the rhythm, everything was horrific. Hobbit was too wasted drunk to notice much so Helmet was saved from utter humiliation, and probably thought she sounded great anyway. I had no idea how delusional she was until much later. I don’t remember really anything else that evening except overhearing my husband talking to Helmet about renting our grannie house space to her. When she left I asked him why he would even consider it and his argument was that a single female with no friends was ideal. He was wrong. Helmet moved in right away. Her mother called me and thanked me multiple times in a strange manner. They both gave me a weird feeling. Something was definitely off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I pushed my doubts to the back of my mind, and assumed my husband could deal with it, it was his grandiose idea. I had a part time gig at the Hobbit’s house in Nevada City and he said I could invite Helmet. We had a ton of flowers to trim and she said she’d love to work and rode up with me. Helmet was dressed as a trash bag bum for work with the Hobbit. I know we were trimming, and no one should wear nice or new clothing for garden work, but this went way beyond that. She looked like she hadn’t washed her face or hair in a week. Her clothes were 3 sizes too big and extremely unflattering. It looked like she was wearing fat grandpa’s clothes she found at the free bin behind the thrift store. Where was the semi normal looking person that I worked with in the studio or the girl that came to my house that Friday? Dead, apparently. “I can’t believe I said I’d hit that, how DRUNK was I?” was Hobbit’s response when he saw Helmet. We nearly cured his alcoholism. I explained that this new appearance was a surprise to me as well, and we both pretended we didn’t notice the hobo in our midst. Hobbit ranted and raved in the background as always, this time about how Gayla was a dirty whore for running off with Joe when he drove all the way down to visit, and I ignored him as usual. When we were through cleaning and on the way home I had to say something. I asked Helmet why she wore the ugly suit. “I didn’t want your friend to rape me. He’s a dog.” Hobbit did have a foul mouth, and even when he called Gayla mean names, I truly believe it was only out of love. He WAS born in the year of the dog, but I don’t hang out with rapists. I have a little more sense than that, and that statement made me want to slap the dumb chick upside her head while I was driving, but I let it go. I was just starting to understand why Helmet’s mother had to over thank me for allowing her to live on my property. She was daft, and now I realized “special.” Of course I told Hobbit, because I loved to see him writhe in pain. We had a special brother/sister torture relationship. He still wanted her to work since she proved valuable and in actuality the less brains the better for this sweatshop position. Helmet told Gayla privately that Hobbit said terrible things about her, while we were working to the whole crew. He personally humiliated Gayla and Helmet had never heard such foul things spoken about another person. Hobbit was truly a terrible person, and she warned Gayla that Hobbit was not her true friend and that she should never speak to him again. Gayla was hurt and wouldn’t take Hobbit’s calls. She couldn’t understand why he would speak so terribly about her behind her back. Friday came, and as always so did Hobbit. We were drinking on the back porch again and everyone was present. Gayla confronted Hobbit “Did you say horrible things about me to the crew at your house? Hobbit looked at me, “I don’t know, did I?” “Nothing out of the ordinary, she’s a dirty whore for running off with Joe, blah, blah, blah.” Gayla suddenly understood. In Helmet’s ignorance, that was a bad thing to say. Helmet didn’t understand the relationship between the two friends, who actually cared a lot for one another, “dirty rotten bastard” and “nasty whore” were their terms of endearment. Helmet’s defense? “I didn’t know.” She didn’t know much. Gayla began paying closer attention to Helmet, but she did explain to her that she and Hobbit had a very different kind of relationship that most people wouldn't understand, a part of it consisted of calling one another horrid names. (To Be Continued) Part II Put your Titties on the Glass Part III Hot Tub and Broken Sculptures, Wash cloth face, Humping Machine Part IV Crashing, Lying and the Disgrace at the Art Show, Does this give you Pleasure? Part V Angry Dance off at the Cabin in the Woods or Burned Mouse Bones Part VII The finale--”Ann, why you want to punch a [special] person,” Thai mom accent or Apologize to my Dog
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I had a big party for my 30th birthday party. We had a lot of parties, and we coined our party crew “club DAG.” We usually went to our friend, Rich’s house and had ragers on his mountain in Oroville (no time limit, live open music jams, camping out on 10 acres), but this time I wanted to do a street party, in town. My friends loaned me a warehouse on Del Paso Boulevard, and Rich and our crew (me, Gayla, Rich and Dan) got to work. We created New York City in 2 days. We built Time Square in one room, and Central Park in another. We built a fully lit-up, bar covered in mirrors in one room and, sold T-shirts with beer, wine and mixed drinks in another room. We built dancing cages and rented a PA system to put on a large stage in the big room for the D.J. It was an invite only party, so it wasn’t really crowded, just our friends attended.
Doink, a dark and strange punk-rock friend, designed some half-puff ruffle pants, similar to a bloomer, which we all customized with shiny fabrics to our own personal style, that another friend, Marilyn, sewed and made one pair for each of us that wanted to do the “Doink Dance”. Another friend, Cortny, choreographed an original hip hop dance for 5-6 of us to walk out fashion show style, and dance in a coordinated manner as the opener for the party. It went off well except Gayla hit her head on a speaker coming up from some sexy floor move, but no one but her and her throbbing head noticed. I invited Junior and Helmet from Prestige Portraits aka Lifetouch Senior Portraits division, where I worked at the time. Helmet brought her friend, Alissa, who was adorable in bright neon pink tights. I think they had a great time, but Junior had to leave early because most the girls had boyfriends and they were getting drunk and dancing with him, making their men grouchy. Junior bragged to our coworker Robert, the following Monday about the party, that it was like an MTV video with the dancing, fashion show and girls. He also liked my DJ, an awesome, hip Uncle who volunteered, and had people doing the humpy crab into the sky from the top of the metal cage we placed on the stage. I also saw another cousin in the middle of a lady sandwich in that same cage. That is completely irrelevant to the story, but must be noted. Cortny, the dance coordinator, but mostly just a friend, had just done some interior design work for a man she was newly dating, and asked me to come to the revealing party shortly after my birthday bash. She had asked Ginger (our pretty friend) first, but Ginger couldn’t make it, so she asked me (the fun friend). I didn’t feel like going to a party where I only knew one person, so I asked if it was alright if I brought a friend or two. No problem. I invited Helmet and told her to bring Alissa. I met Alissa at my party and she was very sweet. I wanted to get to know her. We went to the party, what did I bring? I grabbed the only thing anyone needs, some really great smoke in one pocket, pre-rolled, and a mixed CD of various hip hop artists in the other. Alissa, Helmet and I rode together. I drove. We arrived in the fancier East part of Sacramento and it was oddly quiet though there were a lot of cars parked in the street which forced us to park about a block away around the corner. I knew something was seriously wrong as soon as I stepped through the doorway. It was very crowded, but all of the boys/men had buttoned-up, pink matching shirts and were also wearing dress slacks with shiny work shoes. Did I miss a memo? Was this a Fortune 500 company meeting, or a party? The males were on one side of the room and the females were on the other side. There was no intermingling, though there must have been 100 people there at least. The girls were quiet, actually the whole place was quiet. No music was playing. Guests murmured among themselves in low tones. “I have to use the restroom.” Are you seriously ditching me already, Alissa? This is a creepy, scary movie, and now I’m stuck with just Helmet? Fine. I went to find food and alcohol with Helmet quietly mousing behind me. I found a food table, Hallelujah. It was stacked. These quiet, strangely separated females knew how to cook. There was a lone man dressed in a striped button up shirt, he was obviously a non conformist. “Eat that!” I ordered in a commanding voice pointing to some hummus that had a beer cap and some other strange items embedding within. He took the challenge, grabbed a big scoop of whatever was floating in there with a giant pita chip and ate it. “Drink that!” He pointed to a half full beer on the table with some odd food items floating around within, and I chugged it without a second thought. Alissa found us and played the eat and drink game for a bit with the striped shirt guy, until we got bored and we went to explore the kitchen because there was a little pile up of pink shirt men and females, and they were almost touching because it was crowded. That was where the alcohol was kept. This place was totally loaded, any drink you wanted to make or beer or wine was fully accessible and looked free for the taking. “Oh, Hello.” Cortny and the man were kind and greeted me and my guests. They provided us with libations and were oddly at peace in this weird place. I guess it was their house and their guests. I asked Alissa her opinion of why the place was so whacked. “It’s a Republican party,” she answered matter-of-factually. “My dad is a Republican, I’d know this crowd anywhere." “Are you a Republican?” I immediately turned and asked the young, good looking man (in a button up pink shirt) standing next to me. “Yes.” He just answered the question just like a regular person. No way, was Alissa right, that was the weirdest solution to the utter madness. I squeezed right into the middle of the crowded kitchen and asked a seemingly nice girl, “Are you a Republican?” “Of course, aren’t you?” was the smiling response from her scary, Stepford daughter face. Damn Alissa and her good sense. I had to get out of there. Helmet just quietly followed me and Alissa outside, as I needed to clear my mind (by turning into Cheech or Chong). We got back in my car and smoked with the windows rolled up, hot-boxing my little tan Nissan like we were back in high school perhaps in a church parking lot. A man who was trying to spy on us because he actually lived in the house where we were parked pretended he was doing productive things in his garage. We were somewhere near the Fab 50’s if you know Sacramento, so these people have money, and he was a stereotypical lookie-loo. “Put your titties on the glass,” I ordered Helmet. “No!” she started feeling a bit paranoid I’m sure, in this awkward environment. I was still a little sore from her accusing my Irish friend of being a rapist because he said, “I’d hit that,” to me in private and I shared it with her [thinking it was a compliment]. She wasn’t hot. I just wanted to mess with her a tiny bit, but her friend, and now one of my favorite people on the planet, Alissa, joined the game. “Just do it! Don’t be such a [p-word expletive]!” Helmet was really tripping out now, because we’re in a smoke filled car and the man is totally eyeballing us. Alissa and I couldn’t stop laughing but we all got out of the car and went back to the party. Yes, it was a bully moment, but Helmet was really starting to press my buttons with her strange behavior, and I worked with her at my regular photography employment, and also with her at my side job (for the accused dog/rapist, no less, who was a very good friend and not a rapist) and she lived in my grannie house. I was up to my ears in Helmet. By the time we returned to the party being nice time was over. It was still the same separated environment, nothing had changed except for us. I asked the man of the house where the stereo was and then popped my hip hop mix into it. Alissa cranked it up with me and we started dancing like psycho hipsters until the dance floor was mobbed with twerking Republican young ladies (before twerking was officially invented). “I love this song!” I heard one yell, as she grabbed her friends and they started getting nasty and low to some heavy bass beats. Pink buttoned up men lined up angrily against the wall with their arms crossed staring me and Alissa down like they wanted to fight. They should have thanked us. Their ladies were getting hot and actually having fun. The bell struck midnight and suddenly the party dissipated like it never happened. This must be a Republican thing because I hang with people that go full board until the sun comes up. Alissa, and I thanked the host, said goodbye to Cortny, who may still not forgive me for this, and left that scene forever. Since Helmet rented out the grannie house behind mine, Alissa could use the side gate and walk right by without saying a thing. After the Republican party Alissa and I became friends, and she and my husband found they shared the same twisted humor, the same taste in art and almost a birthday. Alissa would stop and chat with Dan or me in the back yard on her way to visit Helmet. This was unacceptable to Helmet. Alissa and Dan were in the midst of a conversation outside in the backyard and Helmet came storming out of her house like a jealous husband, crossed her arms and stared Alissa down as she approached them both. Dan said, “Hello,” to Helmet, but she did an angry eyed, smooshed lip, half nod at him and turned back to Alissa. Alissa was in trouble, though she didn’t notice or even seem to care. When Dan explained the odd backyard scenario to me during dinner, I told him how to shut her down. “Tell her to put her titties on the glass.” Yeah, this is how to make friends or how to slowly unfriend someone. Either way, who cares? It’s still funny (to me and Alissa). (To Be Continued) Part III Hot Tub and Broken Sculptures, "Does this give you Pleasure?" Part IV Crashing, Lying, Humping Machine and Disgrace at the Art Show Part V Angry Dance off at the Cabin in the Woods or Burned Mouse Bones Part VII The finale--”Ann, why you want to punch a [special] person,” Thai mom accent or Apologize to my Dog Helmet had a housewarming party once she was settled in. She invited me. I brought Dan. I asked her if it was a special occasion and she said it was her birthday also. I asked her what her favorite baked good was and she responded, “Lemon meringue pie.” I made two from scratch and brought them to her party. She put them both in the refrigerator, and kept them for herself, though I had originally thought one could be served for the guests. There were two guests.
She introduced me to her guests as Anita. She introduced Dan as “the landlord.” Dan shook Shawn and Amanda’s hands and introduced himself by his actual name. He asked if they smoked, and I don’t remember if they did or not, but he offered a bit of whatever green he had on him to be social. Helmet had an 18-pack next to her in a cooler. I wasn’t drinking, but she offered me a beer. I declined because I wasn’t drinking. Dan said he would take one. She said she didn’t have enough beer for him. Helmet refused to give Dan a beer. We stayed for a very short time and when we left Dan was disgusted. “I wasn’t going to drink all of her beer, and leave her empty. I was planning on getting more for everyone.” I knew he was, that’s why he had friends. Normal people shared their beverages at parties they hosted, and when the cooler emptied it was refilled. I should have took the one she offered to me and then handed it to our landlord, but I was moderately entertained by her peculiar behavior. Helmet got her name because “She should be wearing a Helmet all the time,” said Hobbit, my Irish friend formerly referred to as the dog/rapist by Helmet in Parts I and II of this same story. My husband was working in New Orleans after a couple hurricanes tore through, for the rebuild, and was gone for 2 months of my 3rd trimester of pregnancy. I was mad at him because I couldn’t get dog food at Costco, or drive well with the giant belly. He suggested I ask Helmet to drive me and lift the food. I sucked it up and asked her for help as she lived in the grannie house behind us and Costco was right around the corner. It was a terrifying drive. Helmet sped up for stop signs but power braked and peeled out taking off. We lived in the ghetto, it was scary enough to drive in control, but she seemed wasted and probably was. I survived barely, and in my next conversation with Hobbit I said I wouldn’t be getting in her car again without a helmet. In his Irish brogue he cawed, the famous line, that she should permanently wear a helmet and Helmet became her unofficial name. Helmet had moved in too soon, we had just met her, and she worked with me at two jobs, one of which required a 1 hour commute, and to save money and the environment we car pooled. She also lived in the grannie house on my property, I could not get away from her. There was no washer and dryer access in the back house and my unsuspecting husband was kind (dumb) enough to give her a key to our house so she could use ours. It began with my square Pyrex glass pan. I tore the kitchen apart looking for it. I yelled at Dan for hiding it from me. I bake, which means I am a total control freak. Cooking is fun, baking is precise. A lot of people can cook, but few can bake (well). Helmet walked in, without knocking--hello, we could have been doing “it” on the counter, always knock. She heard me yelling at Dan and slowly started doing her laundry. I apologized for freaking out and explained I couldn’t find my 8x8 baking pan. “The glass one?” I learned from Sesame Street when I was 3 years old that borrowing without asking is stealing. “Oh, I used it in my microwave to make brownies.” I had to tell her to go and get it for me, which she did as quickly as a sloth crosses the street, and it still had burned brownies all over it. I was lucky enough to be able to scrub and wash it. Later Dan confirmed that it WAS weird that she took it without asking, that I had to ask for it back and I got to clean it as a bonus. Dan was and is continually fixing up the property, and both houses. Moving a shelf aside to do some work on the grannie house Dan accidentally broke some of Helmet’s unfired clay sculpture pieces. It was a small shelf that had about 5-10 little figurines that, as a former gallery curator, were worth about as much as she paid for the clay before she sculpted it. Being an artist, I can understand that a person can add sentimental value or be delusional about the value of their work. Dan knew he needed to compensate her for her broken treasures. I gave a huge overpriced estimate of $200, just to be safe and though Dan felt terrible about the tragic accident he told her and apologized in addition to paying her for the broken things. She took it well. Little did we know until much later that Helmet began telling people that my husband went crazy and smashed her artwork on purpose. He felt terrible in actuality and already paid her 10x what anyone would pay for unfired, unfinished, poorly made, hand builds. We had already realized the girl was a “do-funny,” Dan’s grandma’s word for not all right in the head. The photography studio moved me into sales as a punishment because the director told me to pick lint off the floor on my break. I was shooting 60+ seniors a day, more than double what the other photographers were doing and on my breaks I sat down. I told her I wouldn’t be picking lint off the floor in between my sessions. The next day I was transferred into sales. Sales was dreamy, especially when I was selling my own work. I got bonus commission, it was weak, but pretty much $3-$4 per package sold and I sat on my butt the entire day and schmoozed people. Helmet walked by sweating in between photography sessions and saw me with my feet up on a table drinking fancy water reserved for the guests. I should have told her to pick up some lint. She was mad and very jealous. She asked the director if she could move into sales, thank goodness, no, I finally got a break from her, or so I thought. We were both sitting in my hot tub later in the evening and she was drinking heavily. Helmet told me about a boy she had a huge crush on, but when he revealed that he liked her too, he also shared that he had a 2-inch penis, and needed to get that off his chest, before dating anyone. I’m a genius, so I told her to have him stick it in her bum, because that would make 2 inches seem like 20. Helmet was quiet, I’m guessing she was contemplating, but she said, no, that she already declined his offer to date because of his “problem.” I told her there were a million ways to make the same thing pop, and she could remedy any lack of girth or width or depth with fun toys, and possibly experiment with other forms of exciting play but obviously she had made up her mind. Helmet then shared that a boy that she was actually dating for over a year finally had sex with her, but he had to go into the bathroom first with the lights out, and she had to wait for him to call her into the bathroom when he was ready. When he did finally call her in he was sitting naked with a boner on the toilet and a wet washcloth over his entire face including his eyes. I couldn’t help but laugh. She said when she tried to take to washcloth off, he wouldn’t let her, but “It was great.” I explained to her that her new boyfriend was gay, but she didn’t care because he was good looking. I’m actually still friends with him and he is good looking (and out now). For some reason, probably because I liked Helmet’s friend, Alissa, I invited them to an all girl’s camping trip at the ocean in Fort Bragg. A lot of girls gathered annually for merriment and wild girly shenanigans. Alissa wanted to drive and I rode along in the back of her car and fell asleep with my butt in the air on top of a cooler. I broke wind on Alissa and Helmet the whole time I was sleeping. They said it smelled like garlic. Alissa decided to sleep in a park-and-ride on the way there, because I woke up in a weird park like environment very early in the morning, probably 5 AM and searched out a restroom. Tiny bunnies, I’m totally serious, these bunnies could fit in your hand, were chasing me, but they weren’t trying to kill me, they were just following me everywhere. I was totally in love with them. This has nothing to do with Helmet, but I love these bunnies and needed to share. I could lean down and they would go right to my hand but wouldn’t let me touch them. When we got to Fort Bragg we were the first ones there. I always slept in the main house with Jackie in our fancy bedroom with the pink wallpaper, but I told Alissa and Helmet to scope out a spot in the barn. They were happy to, and very excited to be a part of the event and made their camp. The barn is converted into a home with two bedrooms and a bathroom and a great room and kitchen. This was the 6th annual Cootertown vacation. The year before we (anywhere from 12-25 females) all gave ourselves Cooter names based on a TV show our host watched. A man named Crazy Cooter was saying something profound but we just laughed and started calling our host “Crazy Cooter,” and then started creating our own Cooter names. It caught on. All the girls showed up at newly minted Cootertown (anywhere there is an all girl party) and everything was lovely until we went to the ocean the next day. A few girls took some mushrooms and I think Helmet may have participated. I didn’t and wasn’t paying too much attention when some of the girls starting pulling sorority style rank BS about how many times a person had attended the annual trip. Two or three girls were mad because the newbies, Alissa and Helmet, had taken the good bed in the barn next to the bathroom and they had 3 people in a much smaller room. They announced that “Queen people” or whatever bully word they called themselves, the people that had been to all events, had priority on space and they returned to the barn and forced Alissa and Helmet to switch rooms. They also ate all of Alissa’s raspberries. Instead of welcoming the new cooters, they were lined up for a spanking. A few other new people were brought by other friends, I think there were 4 or 5 first timers that year. Only one has returned since this lame incident. Helmet was on mushrooms and not happy. I finally saw and realized what was going on, and told her and all the other girls they did not have to participate and that walking away and telling them all to eat shit was fine. I had their backs. Helmet and two other girls went into the house. Alissa stuck her butt in the air meaning ”Spank away, you coot bags,” and she is the one that keeps returning. I did ream the mean girls individually for this terribly unwelcoming behavior, and nothing like this has happened since. I am going to turn this into a Helmet moment somehow, and she may have jinxed the girls trip, because it left a very bad taste in my mouth and burned Alissa’s bum. I felt bad for Helmet and I tried to give her another chance. The flower cutting job started again with me on the hill. She was comfortable now, as this was her second season, and there was a crew of 5 including me and excluding the Hobbit. He just ranted and raved and jumped up and down enjoying a live audience and hearing himself speak. His house, his rules, his product. I had quit the photography sales position and was happily working elsewhere, so the Helmet exposure was lessened in general. This season there happened to be a wee person in our midst. She said, “I’m actually a midget, as the cut off to be a little person is 4’8” and I’m 4’7½” Her nickname immediately became the Midget. I was working with the Hobbit, the Midget and Helmet and a married normal couple. The Midget was a sexy thing, she was perfectly proportionate and though her body was akin to a 12 year old, she was thin and a fully grown woman about 25 years old and she flirted mercilessly with the Hobbit. I warned him, we were friends, do not do this midget until we’re done working as it would cause all sorts of issues with the working dynamic. He, being a man is dumb and ruled by his penis, so he didn’t listen to me, but I don’t think he had slept with her yet at this point of the story. Helmet was very jealous of the attention Midget was getting from the Hobbit, even though she thought he was a dog/rapist. Out of nowhere Helmet starts a conversation with all the workers sitting quietly around us, “You know how you told me to just put it in my butt?” NO. I forgot the offhanded thing I had said in the hot tub, but I remembered now, that you brought it up in such a subtle way. “Well, I don’t think that will work for me. I use a lot of toys and I have to masturbate in a very special way.” The faces of the people around us at this point are hard to explain. Drop dead WTF is this person saying, this is not normal conversation starting. I realize now in retrospect she may have been vying for sexual attention or thinking this was somehow a sexy thing to speak about because Hobbit and Midget were talking dirty to one another, but in a much more tasteful manner. “I made a machine.” Midget was not a Helmet fan, as Helmet was very openly disapproving of Midget’s sexcapade stories earlier, that were entertaining and normal. Helmet may have even insinuated the Midget was loose or a ho in some way, though she was single and free, no judgement here, hump away. The Midget’s smirk was slightly evil as she goaded Helmet, “You made a masturbation machine?” Now one thing I can say about Helmet in the time I knew her, she actually was pretty decent at construction, she used a lot of tools and had good rope. Ew. So yes, she did explain she built her machine out of the necessity to get brutally bonked while having her hair pulled at the same time. She would tie her hair into the machine and viola, sexy time is happening. I kind of blocked out the rest of the conversation until I went home and had to share with my roommate, Gayla. I may have even commented that I wanted a hair pulling sex machine, and Gayla said, “You have one. His name is Dan.” Oh, yeah, I do. Gayla is my smart friend. I also told Helmet later that I would bet on the Midget if there was a Helmet vs. Midget wrestling match because although Midget was much smaller, she had a mean streak and was very witty. Helmet was not pleased. This part of the story begins in a cabin in the woods. If you are following the Helmet story, and have read parts I, II, and III, you will understand that Helmet, is a very strange person and I could not and would not make this crazy crap up. The Hobbit sold his haunted house at the end of Cascade Shores (a long, true and completely different story) and moved even further into the wilderness into a camping resort for boy scouts attempting to survive on a mountain in the middle of nowhere. This private property log cabin in the middle of hundreds of miles of National forest was completely off the grid. It was powered by solar batteries, and though expensive entirely awesome if you are a hermit and hate the human race in general.
The property was 11 acres, and consisted of a beautiful two-bedroom log cabin with a nice sized loft, fully functioning bathroom and decent sized kitchen with a lovely, large sitting room. It was furnished well, with warm blankets, expensive leather furniture, and beautiful original artwork. The front porch was a rustic covered hand-built deck, with an endless view of pine tree covered mountains. This was a picturesque cabin in the woods. Some sweet old man made it with love and he lived out the rest of his life there on the mountain with his hardy wife. When the couple passed away, they had no offspring, so the beautiful cabin on the mountain in the middle of what is now National Forest was sold to a church group. The church group that resided in the Bay Area built another cabin a stone's toss away that was just one large community room with a giant closet area, a small bathroom and a loft. It was sparse, mainly used for a lot of young children or unimportant people to sleep on the floor or cots. Both of these cabins had wood burning stoves which was very necessary, and won’t be as important in this part of the story, but very significant for later episodes of the Helmet saga. The church group also build a large bonfire area or marshmallow toasting area, complete with bleacher type seating and a decent sized stage for whatever church groups do in the woods, charades? It was semi sloppily made compared to the old man’s lovely construction base, and on his stepped rock stairway and crafted rock retaining walls. The scene is set, and we are working, cutting flowers in the deep woods of Northern California, usually laden yearly with deep, heavy snowfall, starting at the beginning of November. Imagine “The Shining,” if you will. Because of the heightened elevation and lack of sunlight due to mass amounts of trees and hillsides, in addition to the Hobbit being paranoid and an old school Humboldt taught farmer his crop was always later than most; it was not unusual to see see a little snow before our two-three week “work” cation was complete. It wasn’t snowing yet, as we were starting out in the later part of October. We did have to park on the dirt road at the top of mountain and be 4x4 driven in by the Hobbit down the rabbit hole in his beat up, old, flipped twice Toyota. He was a terrible driver. The crew the year of 2005 consisted of me, Helmet, and Gayla and Alissa on the weekends. Hobbit’s secret girlfriend, we knew they were together but he never admitted it, was there as well, she was a great friend of mine, we’ll call her Bek. The extra toothbrush in the bathroom and lady shampoo was the giveaway. Helmet camped out in the cabin and Hobbit and his lady slept in the house. I drove up daily, it was a long drive, but Gay kept me company and we didn’t mind the commute. We worked 5 days a week, 12 hours most days including the drive. I was sad because I was missing Alissa, when she worked on the weekends. Returning after the first weekend Gay and I felt refreshed and ready to work again waiting at the top of the hill for Hobbit to pick us up and take us down the deer trail aka pitted, steep, dangerous road to his house. He bragged nonstop about Helmet’s work ethic, either to rally us or just because he was ignorant. In his exaggerated Irish brogue, “She works 17 hours a day straight, no breaks, no days off! She did as much as you two combined over the weekend.” Whatever. I take whatever Hobbit says and divide it by two tons of BS. He always had an ulterior motive, maybe he was attempting to make us competitive, but Gay and I knew our worth and his game. We had much experience, and no worries about our cleaning competence. Helmet’s work was sloppy. She was a dude. Hobbit wasn’t lying about the 17 hour days. The trimming machine, his new name for her, was looking like she not only needed a break, but some sleep as well. We didn’t comment, and she obviously forsook the shower we realized after the smell greeted us. “How’s Alissa?” I asked to make small talk, and because I actually cared. Alissa was and is rad. I don’t remember what Helmet said exactly but somehow the subject came up that Alissa was driving out of her way daily to Helmet’s house (the grannie house on my property) after working all day to feed Helmet’s fish while Helmet was on the hill working for the Hobbit. So far it had been a week and a half. We lived across town from Alissa, and I think she might have been working 2 jobs then. “You’re giving her some product or pay, right?” “No, she likes feeding my fish. It gives her pleasure.” “I doubt it gives her pleasure to drive an extra 30 minutes out of her way every day to feed your fish.” We got paid by weight, so Helmet was making a killing, plus she was on paid vacation from the photography studio (where I met her, and used to work). She was using her vacation and sick pay in addition to getting paid by Hobbit. She just shrugged, because she didn’t understand my point to begin with. Gay and I shared a sideways~weirdo~glance but dropped it. A few days later Alissa got a day off from her regular work and came up the hill to work with us before flying out of town for her Grandpa’s funeral. Helmet was mad because she was going to have to go home and feed her own fish. “Why don’t you call Dan and ask him to feed your fish? He already has a key.” Helmet lived in our grannie house, literally in the backyard. Dan, my husband, loved fish, he wouldn’t mind feeding the little guys, and no drive. Brilliant. Helmet could keep plugging away impressing the Hobbit with her dedication to his farm. “I don’t want him to go in my house. There’s dirty dildos laying everywhere, and my porn is out.” So it’s okay that Alissa has to step over and view all the dirty dildos (Alissa told me later she accidentally sat on one) to feed the fish? How awkward did this conversation suddenly become? I changed the subject. “Alissa, does it give you pleasure to feed Helmet’s fish?” I was dying of curiosity now that I knew the house was decorated with used sex toys and Helmet’s porn, only Alissa knows the nasty details of that collection. “No, it does not give me pleasure.” Alissa’s face was beet red, and she just kept dutifully working and was probably thinking of more important things. “Your grandpa was a jerk.” Did Helmet just insult Alissa’s dead grandpa? How could Helmet even know him? He lived in Minnesota. Alissa was headed there in a day or two. Alissa didn’t say anything but was noticeably annoyed. This may have been the beginning of the end of that friendship, which slowly started to unravel; but that is Alissa’s story, not mine. Completing our hill labor was wonderful. Everyone went back to work at their regular jobs and all seemed well and good. My husband, Dan, freaked out soon after and asked me if I had seen anyone hit his work van. He worked for Stanley Tools, it was a brand new F350, and all the other workers wanted the new ride but Dan got it because he was an extremely hard worker, a super badass video installation technician, in addition to being very careful driver. There was a giant dent on the side of Dan’s new work van. I tried to remember if I saw anything suspicious, but no, when I came home from work the day before (I worked as a receptionist at a medicinal dispensary) I had only seen Helmet washing the back of her truck. I thought it was weird because she had just washed her truck a couple days prior to that, but knowing her well enough by this point that the less contact the better, I just did a quick greeting and bypassed any substantial interaction. Maybe she liked a really clean vehicle, though her house was a pigsty. Dan asked Helmet if she saw anyone hit his van. She did not. Dan spent hours of unpaid overtime going over the video in the parking garage where he parked the vehicle at Stanley trying to find out how the vehicle was smashed. After reviewing the footage for over a week, wasting at least 12 hours and finding nothing, Dan was really worried. He had to report the hit and run to his employer, and he was afraid of major repercussions. My neighbor, Ron, an old hippie guy, that had been living in the house for many years and knew us very well approached me, we were both just coming home from work at the same time. Our houses are close, he just caught me, “Did you guys get all that nasty business worked out with Dan’s van?” “No, Dan’s going crazy, he’s afraid he’s going to get fired. We don’t know what happened” “You mean she didn’t tell you?” “Tell me what?” Helmet had pulled out her vehicle, drunk as a person could possibly be, and backed into the side of Dan’s van at a good speed. She pulled forward and backed into it again. Then she pulled forward and backed into it a third time, each time just as hard or harder than the last. Maybe if she went fast enough she could go through the impediment. Ron ran out of his house hearing the commotion (Dan and I were out in my vehicle) and Ron had to get in her truck and back the vehicle out for her, and when he did, she jumped in and took off. He was worried because she was obviously very intoxicated. Understandably I was angry. I thanked Ron, who was shocked that Helmet never confessed, and I recalled seeing Helmet washing the back of her truck the next day, the day after the accident. She was washing white paint off her bumper. I went into the house and called Helmet and told her to come to my house immediately, which was a hop skip and a jump away (literally). She entered and I held my cool, but explained to her that I knew the circumstances of the accident and needed her insurance information ASAP. She begrudgingly gave the information to me right before Dan came home. When Dan walked through the door the phone rang. It was Helmet’s mom. I let Dan answer the phone. Helmet’s mother said she hit Dan’s van and would take care of the damage. He was thrown. He had no idea Helmet’s mom hit his van. She didn’t. She was trying to cover for her do-funny daughter. Helmet’s mom asked if he would be willing to lie to his employer, say it was a hit and run and make them pay for it. We declined her kind offer, and discussed the true happenstance when she was no longer on the line. Dan was livid. Helmet called and was angry because we were going to cause her insurance to go up if we reported the actual truth. Helmet's opinion was no longer any interest to us, and I had to talk Dan down as he wanted to immediately evict her. I knew there had to be some laws in regards to that, so we just sucked it up and moved on with our next step. Dan doesn’t take it lightly when a person lies to your face about something important like your job, especially when you are worried about getting fired and you have a mortgage, an 8-year-old son and your wife is newly pregnant. Dan and Helmet were no longer on very good terms. In closing, Helmet's fish died. She didn't want to drive and lose valuable time at the Hobbit's and wouldn't ask Dan to do it because of her porn/dildo situation--though he would have done it for free, and maybe just gagged or vomited in the process. Helmet blamed Alissa or her grandpa and just buried them in our back yard. To be Continued Part V -- Helmet vs. Gayla disrespect at the Art show and some one almost gets punched in the front yard (right where she hit Dan’s van, go figure) Part VI -- Killing Mickey, Angry Dance, Don’t tempt me, 2 steps Part VII -- Hot Tub, Ripping off the Hobbit, Ripping off my family (I warned them, their bad) Side note: Lying to my future friends 10 years later I was painting madly in a beautiful art studio downtown in Sacramento's Lavender Heights. It was a happy time, a lot of people were out and about buying art and just having fun especially on Second Saturday. Dan and I renovated my studio with new paint, great lighting and bamboo floors. I not only painted there, but did indoor studio photography for my favorite clientele. The studio was on 21st and K, an artists community type space, and it was extremely motivating to be in the midst of all that energy. Em was a year or two old, and I finally had the time and space to make work that I was proud of.
I created a series of abstract paintings and wanted to show them somewhere outside of my studio, in a sexier environment with low lights and a more diversified audience. A close friend and fellow artist had a beautiful showing at the Momo Lounge above Harlow’s so I met with the owner and arranged a show there myself. I had enough new pieces to fill two giant rooms, but there was an extra room and a hall that needed coverage. I didn’t want to pull any of my old work out, as it didn’t look anything like the new work, it was more figurative, and I was doing shiny abstracts so instead of letting the owner put other artists there I told her I had another artist in mind to show with and we set a date. My friend, Gayla, had a lot of abstract work she had been creating during the same time, but her pieces were small. When we examined the space and hung her work together we realized she had sold too many pieces to cover both the room and the hall. She filled the room beautifully, but covering the long hallway between our two exhibits was going to be a problem. Gayla and I agreed Helmet had 5 lovely, well framed, erotic, mirror collages ready for show. We both admired her work, it was professional and clean, and interesting. Alissa was her model in this series, and she was an Amazon goddess, tied up and twisted, 6 foot, tall and beautiful. The pieces would be a great addition to break up the monotony of our pure abstract rooms. Helmet agreed to show with us and we made expensive high grade flyers and the Momo Lounge assisted with the distribution and promotion. We were all really excited. I had a few hundred extra flyers and dropped some off with Gayla and some with Helmet to give to their friends and promote the show. They were exquisite glossy cardstock with one image of each of the artists on both sides and the postcards were large, 6x9. I designed them, they were perfect. I dropped Helmet’s postcards off in person, she lived in my grannie house. She had company over at the time, her friend, Shawn and his girlfriend, Amanda. Shawn and Amanda were very cool, I liked both of them. I even shot their wedding, 10 years later at Raley Field, but no matter, at this time I was just getting to know them. Shawn was a talented wordsmith and rapper, and his brother was a trained, successful fine artist, so he was familiar with the arts in general. “Wow, I really like this piece.” Shawn pointed to one of Gayla’s abstract pieces, one that was very powerful, rolling hills of red, orange and yellow. I remember his rap album cover was abstracted fire, so he must have really liked those colors. “Her work is not that great.” was Helmet’s reply. We all just ignored her negativity, because art is subjective. Helmet was entitled to her opinion. Gayla was self taught. Her father was also a self taught painter, and drummer, doing both for over 50 years. His work is fantastic. Gayla’s mother was a food artist and cake decorator. Gayla had a natural inclination for color manipulation and she understood design. Her art at that time was a fun hobby. She did attend school for interior design, a few years later, but she thinks the formal education ruined her playfulness. None of that mattered, because Shawn liked the piece. “You should buy it,” I am forever a curator. “Gayla sells her work dirt cheap. Offer her a hundred bucks and it’s yours, no matter what the price on the wall says [$200].” Shawn nodded and put the flyer away. He said he was definitely looking forward to the show. The show went wonderfully. I talked a rich man from Texas that just come to California to purchase a vineyard out of buying one of my pieces. He literally had his credit card in his hand and said, “$1500, that’s all?” and I told him to go home and think on it, because as easy as it was to sell other people’s art, I hated selling mine. They’re my babies. Texas was too far, what if he was a weirdo? I sold the same piece to someone near Auburn for half the price 3 years later so I could visit it if I needed to. I know, I’m pathetic. Gayla’s show was interesting as well. She had pool tables in her room, so there was a lot of action happening. Her son and boyfriend, now husband, were very proud of her. They sat on a bench smiling and watching her schmooze the crowd. Gayla wasn’t emotionally attached to her pieces, she enjoyed the process of making them. Someone purchased “Dragonskin,” a beautiful multicolored abstract with a technique she created by layering and ripping off the top darkened layer to expose underparts of vibrant color. Shawn and Amanda came with Helmet. Shawn went right to the piece he liked from the flyer. “I love this one,” “Don’t look at that shit, the colors are ugly. Let me show you my work,” Gayla’s boyfriend and son were sitting on a bench directly under the painting. They were appalled. When Gayla asked what was the matter with them, they didn’t want to tell her and ruin the good vibe, but they had to tell her later. There was an after party following the show at a friend’s home downtown. I invited Helmet, Alissa, Shawn and Amanda and took off to continue merry making. I had already left but a woman was inquiring about the collages. She was enamored by Helmet's work, but Helmet wasn’t able to close the deal. Alissa joked with Helmet offhandedly, saying maybe she wanted a little “Sumpin’ sumpin." Helmet took off in a rage, angry at Alissa. Helmet left with the after party address. She didn’t share the information. If she was not happy, everyone would suffer. I was disappointed I didn’t see their crew at the party, I really wanted to hang out with them, everyone except for Helmet. Gayla wasn’t happy with Helmet. She came to visit me shortly after the show and was chatting with Dan’s cousin, J.R., in the driveway who had recently moved in with us and was planning to mow the front yard. I went to get gas for the lawnmower, and as I was pulling out, Helmet was pulling in. Gayla’s mom, Marsha, who was there also, didn’t look happy to see Helmet. Gayla had her arms crossed and I watched her face darken. I thought about staying just in case things got ugly, we all knew about the Helmet Gayla burn by that time, but I’m not really a fan of drama or fighting (surprised?) so I just continued to go around the corner to the gas station. I knew Gayla could take Helmet, even though Helmet was pretty manly. J.R. was famous for running away when Dan got jumped by 3 dudes in the hood, when they were children, but Marsha could take them all. Marsha had bitten the nipple off of her brother-in-law when he grabbed her and had beaten another man’s ass for attempting to grab her grandson. I knew Gay was covered. The first thing I saw when I returned was J.R.’s evil grin. I knew he had witnessed something juicy. Gay told me Helmet had addressed her in a friendly matter but that Gayla had ignored her; it was better to say nothing than what she actually wanted to say. Helmet accused Gayla of being rude, and Gayla explained to her that she was angered by Helmet’s unprofessional behavior at the art showing. “If you can’t handle criticism, don’t try to be an artist,” was Helmet’s rebuttal. Gayla explained to Helmet that there is a huge difference between a criticism between artists in privacy and to a potential customer in the middle of an exhibit, in front of Gayla’s friends and family. Helmet didn’t see the difference, and left in a hurry. Though Gay said she wanted to punch Helmet, she didn’t see the need for violence, to the dismay of both J.R. and Marsha. Gayla and Helmet were no longer on good terms, Dan despised Helmet since the hit-and-run BS she did on his work van (Helmet saga part IV) but she still lived on my property in the back house and I just tried to ignore her. One evening I was sad and drinking WAY TOO MUCH wine in the hot tub, which was located between my house and the grannie house. I was crying and confiding in my friend, Jackie, about a rude offhand comment Dan had made about my after baby body. He won’t remember, he was also drinking when he said it a week before, and I was extremely overly sensitive and it may have been true. Three bottles of wine down and a couple beers in at this point, Jackie and I were happily interrupted by Helmet and Alissa returning from wherever to hang out at Helmet’s. They came to chat at the hot tub where Jackie and I were stuck and very drunk. We invited them in, but they just stood talking to us, being normal. I had already drank the beer in my hand, it was an empty bottle and it went under the water a few times and filled a bit with hot tub water. Helmet said something silly, and I sprayed a little of the water on her. It wasn’t nice, but in my defense, I was actually imagining I was playing the original version of the Sims video game, when they splash water on people in the hot tub. Either the person gets a minus over their head or a plus depending on their personality. Alissa got a plus, plus, plus because she started laughing and hung out for almost a half hour. We visited and blabbed for a long time. Thank goodness I was done crying and the sensitive me had slipped deep back into my psyche. It was a beautiful summer night in Sacramento, a little water was nothing. Helmet acted like I had splashed hydrochloric acid on her face, and she ran screaming into her house. She didn’t come out again that evening. A few days later I was accused by Helmet’s mother of throwing a beer at her. I was so drunk, that I felt terrible that I did that. What was my crazy ass thinking? I immediately went to apologize in person but she wasn’t home. I knew something was off, because my fuzzy memory recalled just splashing water at her from the beer bottle, so I called Jackie, but she was not a good witness. Jackie said, “Screw her, she deserves it.” Apparently Jackie had knocked on Helmet’s door a week or two earlier to say hello and to give Helmet a present but Helmet answered the door sweaty and angry; said she was busy and basically told Jackie to kick rocks. She may have been using her machine (Helmet saga part III). When Helmet returned I asked her to forgive my rude behavior. I let her berate me for throwing a beer at her and let it go, but I had a funny feeling there was some hidden truth. I remembered pretending to play the Sims in my inebriated state. When I saw Alissa next she confirmed that I did not throw a beer, any beer, and that I had merely splashed both Alissa and Helmet with water in a playful way. I got both of them a tiny bit wet. She said Helmet had over reacted and was ridiculous, telling everyone at her work (a photography studio where I worked for a very brief time) that I had thrown a beer at her, full bottle and hit her with it for no good reason. Wow, I’m mean. By this point I was wishing I had. The next time I saw Helmet I asked why she had led me to believe I had thrown a beer at her when I had merely splashed her with water, and she didn’t know. She didn’t know much, but when she moved out shortly after no one was sad. I wish I could say this was the end of the Helmet stories but there are more. The best and worst is yet to come. To be continued, because I’m trying to keep these short, but it’s near impossible, there’s so much stuck in my brain, I need to exorcise this bad boy. Part VI -- Pinche Puta, Frying Mickey Mouse, Angry Dance in the Woods Part VII -- 2 Steps, The Great Helmet Heist x 2 This tale begins in my backyard at a baby shower for my fat pregnant self. I was about 9 months along. My family doesn’t exclude men or differentiate between a regular party and a baby shower, so just image a gathering of friends and family, drinking, eating and celebrating with a pregnant host and possibly pregnant buddies or new babies running around.
It was a really nice shindig, the early June weather was perfect, not too hot and our good looking friends were lounging around in sun dresses and shorts sipping designer beer. The backyard was covered in grass, and guests were comfortably chatting outdoors in lounge chairs in the afternoon shade of our giant mulberry trees. Helmet was living in the grannie house; I’m going backward a bit in this tale, about a year and half before the artshow snafu because I had excluded a significant character trait that can explain where the relationship between me and Helmet started to get rocky. My husband went to the store for barbeque goods or beer, I can’t remember exactly why he left, but he walked out the side gate. It didn’t automatically lock and could be pushed open. Helmet, being a “per-tographer” her word, not mine, had a camera and was chasing children, because they’re cuter than adults and this is not uncommon. I have a tendency to try to get that perfect shot when I have a camera and there’s a cute kid near me. There’s some magic sparkle you can occasionally capture. Helmet chased my cousin’s daughter, Kady, around the corner away from the party attempting to photograph her. Kady thought it was a fun game, she was almost 18 months old. I overheard someone tell my cousin, but she said, “It’s ok, she’s with [Helmet’s real name]." About 5-10 minutes later my husband came back to the party with the store bought goods and he was carrying Kady. His face was twisted, he was really concerned that he found Kady alone in our driveway near the street. Our street is dangerous. Dan was hit as a child on that same stretch of road. People use our street as a cut through to the highway so there is a lot of unnecessary traffic. Kady was ok, so there was no need to freak out but the whole situation seemed really idiotic. I can’t count how many children I have yelled at, disciplined, rewarded and spoiled because all parents need help. It does take a village to raise a child. We support one another because being a parent is hard. No one can watch their child 24/7 so a little assistance is always appreciated. There were questions suddenly raised on the mental aptitude of Helmet, who had chased Kady to the gate and then walked away leaving her there unsupervised. Helmet, of all people, knew that gate didn’t lock and could be pushed open. She lived there; that was her daily route. “Your cousin is a bad mom.” You have to be kidding me. This was after the party; everyone had left. “She wasn’t even watching her child.” No, my cousin had assumed the moron with the camera chasing her child around the corner trying to get that perfect kid photo would be looking out for her, not to mention my cousin’s entire family and about 30 friends were there. We automatically watch loose children. It’s a thing. I wanted to punch Helmet, I will not lie. There is a code of all moms that requires we do not judge one another. No one raises their child the same way, and there is NEVER a right or wrong. People are people, we are human, we make mistakes, but that is life. Where one mother lacks something another usually can assist to fill that space. If not, that is the lesson that needs to be learned. How dare that reject judge my cousin for something SHE did. Helmet was the idiot who ran the child around the corner to the gate. I was done listening to Helmet’s moron mouth babble. I walked away from the situation before I said or did something I would regret. I have a mean mouth sometimes, and I can’t say I’ve never punched anyone in the face. I have popped a few people, most of them deserved it (who’s judging now?) Pregnant or not, I was still me. I made a beautiful abstract painting and named it “If you don’t like Sawittre (my cousin), I don’t like you.” I don’t think that I made it about Helmet, but maybe I did because it coincides with the timing. Sawittre actually paid good money for that piece and I still like her. This little incident happened before Helmet crashed into Dan’s work van then lied about it and before she humiliated Gayla in front of her family at the art show but after she stuck her nose in the Hobbit and Gayla’s personal relationship. This may have been the first time I almost punched Helmet, but definitely not the last time. After the delivery of my child, and some much needed space from Helmet, I was forced out of financial necessity to work with her at the Hobbit’s cabin again. This is a season after the art show, and after the car smash, and after her fish had been buried so our relationship was a bit strained. She and Alissa had a falling out, I think they were no longer speaking. Hobbit didn’t care, as long as his farming got done so he instructed Gayla “Not to make faces at Helmet,” and we had to cut his flowers in a community room, the cabin next to his on the mountain in the middle of nowhere. This time only Gayla, me, JR, who is my husband’s cousin, and Helmet were working together. I will explain how the Hobbit got his name. He dwelled on an empty mountain most months half of the year, camping out while farming and living in a yurt. He had long, unbrushed hair, wore holy jeans with no underwear (I’m only stating the obvious because the holes were up high, luckily no balls were ever spotted), and he often went without shoes. He had hairy, dirty toes and was short in stature. Calling him a Hobbit was an understated comparison. He didn’t mind, we called him that to his face. With his Irish brogue and funny, drunken leprechaun ways it was fitting. Once I tricked him into singing “Magically delicious!” and doing a jig. He was really drunk, and he fit right in with my mish-mash, art party crew. Hobbit had changed a lot by this time, the Helmet years. He used to buy us lunch when we were working, and he would hang out with us all day and chit chat while we clipped. Those were the years before Helmet started working. In the past we even drove to Seattle together to celebrate the end of the season, and we’d all go to San Francisco to bar hop or shop on the off season. Gayla and I were his personal stylists, he needed assistance with his wardrobe and home furnishings to show how cool he was to his Irish buddies and the holey jeans and camping shirts wouldn’t fly back home. They apparently dress very well to hit the clubs in Europe. We played and made merry as friends will often do, but since Helmet started coming up the hill Hobbit began acting very strangely. After 3 years of great friendship Hobbit didn’t want to be anywhere near the working crew. We didn’t really notice it at first, he was loud and obnoxious anyway, not to mention paranoid and hermitish but the silence did seem curious. JR was new to working with us, but I brought him because I wanted to get the job done as fast as possible and he was living with Dan and me, going through hard times and he was unemployed. Hobbit was usually overly paranoid about new people, but he liked JR and he was family. JR and Gayla bonded over the art show argument in my front yard so they became evil BFF twins at the cabin, camping out in the loft while Helmet slept in the midst of our trim dust downstairs in the main room during the Monday-Friday work week. My daughter who was 5-months-old, was staying with and being cared for by my mother in Nevada County, so I went home to my mom’s every night to snuggle the baby and supply her with boob milk. It was a seasonal position that paid well, and I needed all the cash or product I could flip to be a stay and work from home artist/photographer mom. The job usually lasted 2-3 weeks. We all went home on the weekends, except Helmet, who now had no more fish to feed and no friends, having lost Alissa’s companionship. After a week of working on the hill it was time to take a weekend break and head home to the valley. JR and Gayla were eager to tell me their new Helmet problem. She refused to bathe. It had been 5 days. As I mentioned earlier in this story Hobbit had become somewhat indifferent to us, he was not really our friend anymore, he transformed into an angry, weird boss person who was avoiding us and limiting his regular contact. Gayla and I noticed it, but JR said it was probably because Helmet stunk up the cabin “...like onions and ketchup.” Gayla and JR didn’t let Hobbit’s detachment stop them from going to his fancy, nice cabin to shower in the evenings, the job was a filthy one, and even I showered there every night after work before going to my mother’s, she wasn’t privy to exactly what florist I was working for, or what kind of flowers I cut. JR asked if Helmet had bathed yet when we were being taxied down the rabbit hole by the Hobbit the following Monday. Hobbit assumed she had, because he left every day to do his farming but didn’t note her bathing schedule. He was hoping she would use his facilities while he was gone. Our small side cabin had only a toilet, no usable shower, and even the toilet had to be flushed by a water bucket (no. 1 only), because the pipes had frozen a few years prior. We entered the cabin and were greeted by the aroma of armpits and stank ass. She had not taken a shower yet, and we were on day 8. JR wasn’t messing around, and immediately told her to bathe. He probably did not speak with a kind tone, after working with her for 5 days and he was living next to her. She was residing in our grannie home which JR probably wanted to stay in, so there was no love lost between the two. JR was sarcastic and witty and Helmet was, well, the opposite of that. Helmet said she didn’t like going in Hobbit’s house because he didn’t like people in his house. So what? We were trapped on a mountain working for him, he can suck it up while we pooped or showered. No one wants to smell another persons 8-day no shower, working every day 17 hours + odor. Was she pooping in the woods? Helmet refused to go into the Hobbit’s house while he was there, but we knew he’d be taking off soon to start his work, so we silently prayed he would leave sooner than later and held our breaths in the stankosphere. JR brought a movie, which was pretty new at that time; it was Dane Cook’s stand up comedy. Dane Cook mentioned a female having a stinky cooter, that smelled like it was washed with an even stinkier coot and we all laughed. Helmet did not think it was funny. She picked up her chair, slammed it down angrily, and turned it around so her back was to us and the television set. She put her headphones on. Helmet had clipper burn out, it was obvious. This happens if a person works in the trimming environment (similar to a sweatshop) without taking necessary breaks. Her brain broke. In the middle of another conversation that JR, Gayla and I were having Helmet suddenly joined in. We thought she was listening to headphones and we were safe but no, we were not that lucky. For some reason we were making jokes about meat curtains and the porn industry in general when Helmet thought it necessary to chime in about a personal sexual experience. I will also add now that JR is a DJ and had been privately recording some of our conversations without anyone’s knowledge for who knows what reason. I got a copy of this day’s recording after he edited it and it was appropriately named “Clipper Burnout.” “I don’t like getting my salad tossed.” Dude, never, never join a conversation like that because people will stop talking and stare at you with oddly puckered mouths, bug eyes and raised eyebrows. We all turned and looked at Helmet just like that. She had placed her chair back to the original position, she faced us. She continued speaking because we were stunned silent, not just because she was talking about someone tossing her salad, but because she was talking about it when she had not bathed in 8 days. “A guy tossed my salad once, and he ended up in the hospital with e coli poisoning.” Now, I know this isn’t nice, but it was an honest reaction. Gayla and I literally fell out of our chairs laughing until we almost peed our pants. I’m not sure if we were pointing, but we didn’t have to. I unfortunately have a recorded CD of this very conversation, but JR must have had the recorder in his sleeping bag, because it’s muffled and all I can really hear is me and Gayla dying for a very long time. No one could speak or respond to this, but we were saved because finally Hobbit flew up the hill in his beat up 4x4 to finish his farming. JR told Helmet if she didn’t go take a shower he was going to do something ungentlemanly. Since we’re still in the cabin setting I will now introduce Mickey, the cute little mouse, who first made an appearance in the bathroom when someone was peeing, I think it was JR who yelled and reported the first sighting, and after that it was not uncommon to see Mickey’s little head poke out of a hole when we urinated. It was a welcome visit, as our company was limited, and we were on 11 acres of Hobbit’s private property which was in the middle of hundreds or thousands of acres of National Forest in the high sierra region. “I’m going to trap him,” Hobbit said when he got wind of our cabin’s new mascot. Hobbit would have trapped him in a humane way, he’s a vegetarian by choice because he, “loves animals.” Hobbit lived off potatoes and beer. “No! Don’t trap him. A mouse is one of my totem animals.” cried Helmet when we were leaving to return home after the second work week. We returned Monday to a very different scene. -- TO BE CONTINUED -- It get’s really weird Gayla, JR and I took a much needed weekend break from the cabin in the woods on the mountain. We had one more week to work, and we would be free from Helmet’s stench and strange behavior forever or until the next season. We all had PTSD from this experience; and we had bonded; but not in the loving way, in the necessity for survival way.
The reeking odor of freshly burned hair greeted us as we walked into the cabin. “What the F is that smell?!” I didn’t say F, I said the real F. It was a small cabin, a one room studio space with poor ventilation and we just drove over an hour into the heart of pine and country to smell something more rancid than Helmet’s 8 day unwashed body odor. It was also really cold, near freezing, so a fire in the wood burning stove was a necessity, and opening all the windows and doors would be almost as bad as putrid burned skin and fur. Helmet sat in her little chair with a smirk and continued cutting. “It’s the mouse, I threw him in the fire.” “You burned your totem animal?” “He was eating my food.” If she would have let Hobbit trap the mouse he would have walked down to the creek about a quarter of mile down the hill and freed it. I know the Hobbit. He is a total softy for animals. I’m not against killing mice in general, my cats do all the time. Mice are troublesome and poop on things, but why would she put the body in the fire? It blew my mind. She could have easily walked outside and threw the mouse anywhere on the 11+ acres Hobbit called home. She didn’t mind the smell, she probably liked it and was obviously very pleased with herself. One point Helmet, direct hit. By week three anyone who’s ever done this type of work knows this is crazy time. Clipper burnout is a real thing, and people lose their minds, even people that don’t have brains. I don’t know if it was the same day she burned Mickey Mouse, but it was sometime that week that Helmet completely whacked out. Helmet was still mad about the Dane Cook movie that we had watched the week before, and when we put in a new movie she turned angrily around in her chair and put in her headphones. Good, no one wanted to hear her butt licking, machine humping, Midget hating stories anyway. As we watched the movie and chatted amongst ourselves while cleaning, Helmet threw down her tray and yelled, “I’ve had it! I’m going to dance it off!” She said this angrily, as if we had somehow provoked her to this breaking point. Helmet stomped outside up the stone stairs to the large stage halfway up the hill that the church group, and prior owners had built for their meetings. It was a great wooden stage, made for ceremonial awards or the like. We had a perfect view from the cabin. “Did she say she was going to dance it off?” JR and I could not get our stupid phone video recorders to work without dying because we were so far in the woods with no service, our batteries pooped out immediately, and this is one of those times you REALLY NEED your phone, but ours failed us. Hobbit was gone, but I prayed he would come home to share the vision we witnessed. It seemed unfair that only the three of us should rubberneck the spectacle of Helmet having an angry break-dance party on the stage by herself. Picture Elaine from Seinfeld crossed with seizures and throw in some sort of “drop it like it’s hot” moves and there you have it. She was jerking spasmodically and twisting and turning with random floor moves thrown in with zero coordination and 100% WTF. None of us could hear the music she was dancing to, and that made it more strange if that is even possible. It was 10 minutes of the most bizarre show I have ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the “Hot Rod” running dance off in the woods scene, but this was really happening, and the comedy was lost in the awkward reality. Helmet came back down the hill and felt better. She probably hadn’t taken a break in the last 3 weeks of working and just lost her freaking mind. No biggie. We didn’t say anything to her, what could we say? Good moves? They weren’t. She really got us good, two points for Helmet. My brain is still boggled. I was leaving poor Gayla and JR with the weirdo for the evening as I did every weekday to cuddle my daughter at my mom’s and I teased Gayla as I left, “Don’t steal my big ones,” Helmet was suddenly very defensive and screamed something inaudible as I shut the door behind me. She couldn’t have been speaking to me in that tone, I assured myself as I jumped in my beat up piece of crap, taxi ride up the rabbit hole. We all knew she was acting really strange the last week on the hill but I didn’t think she would be that brave. Hobbit asked if Helmet said something, but we both knew it couldn’t have been important, and we left. Helmet followed us up the hill to get a ride back down with the Hobbit. It was going to rain or snow and her truck did not have 4 wheel drive which was necessary in those conditions. When I got out of Hobbit’s truck at the top of the hill on the dirt road in the middle of nowhere, National Forest and started walking toward my car Helmet got out of her truck and yelled at me, “You are lucky you are my friend or you wouldn’t even be here!” Hobbit’s face twisted in horror as he grabbed her and pushed her into his passenger seat, and drove away as fast as he could, looking back terrified I might chase them like the liquid metal "Terminator 3" chick. When her mouth popped off, the calculations I made from my fist to her face was “two-steps.” Two giant steps and she would have been drinking her teeth. I was stalled by the gall and slightly shocked that she had no idea that I come from a long line of crazy, bipolar violent lunatics. Normally I do not fight unless provoked but I have shaken a girls’ head like a ragdoll while simultaneously punching her boyfriend in the face hard. I have broken noses, fattened lips, and knocked teeth out and that's just junior high. In the county where I grew up we didn’t use knives or guns, we fought. Hobbit’s quick thinking saved her, and stunned I began to swell with rage. I drove to my mother’s house in a fury, and hurried to a landline phone to call my husband, Dan (no service mountains). “I almost punched that do-funny, moron idiot down the hill, I’m still shaking.” “Ann, why you want to punch a lee-tarded person?” My mother’s thick Thai accent interrupted me because she was eavesdropping on my conversation. She was right. I suddenly saw the light, and laughed. Why did I? It wouldn’t help. How many times had punching someone ever fixed them? Maybe a couple of times, but knocking her out wouldn’t help Helmet, my mom nailed it. The next morning I arrived on the top of the hill with a box of Starbucks coffee and junk food donut type treats for everyone, even nit-witted Helmet, because I had come to terms that the dip wad couldn’t be helped. Hobbit kissed my butt the whole way down the rabbit hole, “I thought you were going to punch her, I ripped her a new one all the way down the hill. She has no idea how crazy you are. I told her Anita punches people.” I reminded Hobbit that I had recommended he replace Helmet because she was unbearable to work with, using the fried mouse bones, odor and psycho dance off as evidence for my argument. I had spoken to him in private the year before suggesting he replace her with the midget, who was far more compatible with our crew, but he had already burned or humped that bridge. He constantly cut people off and ended friendships because he enjoyed his “The Shining” atmosphere on the mountain. He thought it was wonderful that Helmet had no brain, had no friends, never took breaks and also worked 12-17 hours days. Her work looked like dog crap, just my honest opinion. Hobbit knew me. We had been through some pretty horrid times (break ups, lost children, drug addiction) and we were good friends then. He was like a brother that I enjoyed torturing, but since Helmet arrived on the scene, our connection had started slowly unraveling. Hobbit was less friendly, moody and dark on most days. I just couldn’t wait until we were finished. When the job was complete Gayla decided to have a party to celebrate. It was a costume party, and Halloween. Somehow Helmet got wind of the gathering, and we didn’t see any harm in her coming, as it was a party, and I had forgiven her stupid mouth, remembering my mother's wise words. Helmet had moved into an apartment and was no longer living in my grannie house. I didn't know where she relocated, nor did I care. Helmet fashioned a Luchador costume and mask. It was a doozy. She called herself “Pinche Puta,” which could have been cool if it actually fit her body. It didn’t. Her belt was handmade, and it read, “No. 1 Pinche Puta.” The evil team that didn’t like Helmet, mainly Dan and Gayla, told her they were going to call her, “Helmet,” because of her outfit. She was pleased, as she always wanted a nickname. We had been calling her Helmet for over a year, but they were happy to finally say it out loud, as there had been a few slips. “I’m going to kick her ass and take that belt,” my sweet, drunk cousin, Sawittre threatened, because she honestly liked the style of it and wanted a trophy or party prize. Sawittre had recently been introduced to MMA and used to hang out with Urijah Faber (this was when he was reigning champion), because our uncle was his trainer, a Muay Thai master. Helmet looked frightened. It could have happened. It didn’t. I’m not sure if I’m happy or sad about that. Hobbit and I have since parted ways, and I don’t miss that creepy cabin. He did write me later and apologized for his strange behavior, but did not say why he began acting so strangely. Hobbit also mentioned that Helmet had ripped him off for equivalent to $30,000 worth of product. She must have been acting insane that day when I joked with Gayla about taking my big ones because Helmet WAS stealing. I had warned Hobbit not to trust her. Through the grapevine I heard she had heisted the same amount from another person I knew. 30 lbs. I had also warned that person about her character prior to her crime and actually declined a good paying position with him specifically because I refused to work with Helmet or anyone that associated with her. I was done. I had washed my hands of that stink. The moral of this story? You should always listen to me, because I’m smart. HA HA HA, I actually have no idea what the moral is besides be more careful about choosing the people you spend time with. Helmet is officially out of my head. THE END P.S. Helmet update: 10 years had passed I was working as a manager of a Thai restaurant in Auburn. I hired a part-time, really awesome, hardworking server who was also employed at Lifetouch… with Helmet. Napa only worked at the restaurant on Sundays. The second Sunday she came in and described a 2 hour drive with Helmet to a mobile photography job. "I hate her." Helmet apparently talked crap about me and Dan the whole way there and back. “I just met you and I already like you better than her.” “Did she tell you I threw beer on her?” “Yes!” It was water, and just a splash. “Did she tell you Dan smashed all her ceramics on purpose?” “Yes!” He paid her for them and it was an accident. “She also said you were cheating on your old boyfriend when you got together with Dan.” Whoa, back the conversation up. WHAT?! One time in 7th grade I kissed another boy when I had a boyfriend, but I told my boyfriend and broke up with him the next day. I had a really big crush on the boy I had kissed, but I felt awful about the whole situation. THAT is my only cheating story. My ex boyfriend chose meth and loose 18-year-olds over me, an old, boring 25 year old, about to graduate college with a $45,000 school loan. I never cheated. He said, “We need a break,” a day after he had taken 3 girls out clubbing and a day before he boned one of them. I was heart-broken and devastated. I literally fell apart after the break up of our 6-year relationship and also what I considered my first love. I watched my ex party and forsake everything we had built together. We had 2 houses, 2 cars, 2 dogs, 2 cats and 10 acres. I left with a bike. All I took was that bike. I did eventually get all the animals when they became troublesome to his lifestyle, a few weeks later. Napa threw me back with this terrible lie, about my cheating ways, and I did not expect a slap in the face from Helmet. At that very moment my ex’s little sister, who I have remained close with to this day walked into the restaurant. “Did I ever cheat on your brother?” I asked her to defend my honor in front of Napa. “No, but you should have.” I thank the powers above for that strange happenstance. I have no idea what happened to Helmet or the Hobbit. I could follow up with a "Where are they now?" but I wont. Jackie, my great friend, wanted to celebrate my return to the nightlife after baby down time, and paid for a very expensive VIP booth and dance night for ten girls at the newest, expensive downtown club, the Park. Somehow Helmet made it on her list, Jackie was kind, and had a soft spot for the do funny, or someone better couldn’t make it, but Helmet came. I don’t really remember much about that evening, we had a great time, and I ignored Helmet as much as I could.
Helmet interrupted a deep conversation with two really great friends, Courtney, who had traveled from San Francisco and I didn’t get to see much, and Gayla, my favorite side kick, to brag about her dancing moves. She said a random stranger was gushing about how great Helmet’s moves were, and how she loved how Helmet danced. None of us cared and we smiled politely and continued our conversation. I think Helmet got the hint because she left to go impress more people on the dance floor. Someone in our party, told me later that Helmet danced like a psycho having an offbeat convulsion. I remembered Helmet’s rendition of her boogie and also her acquisition of a fan base and made a mental note to pay more attention to her “moves” in the future. Courtney decided to have a Midsummer Night’s Dream party at her parents house in Rio Linda. Courtney had just finished chef school and lived in San Francisco, but she missed her hometown buddies and wanted to celebrate in style. Gayla and her dad, Rich, created an amazing set for her. Rich worked as the hospitality host for Bill Graham Presents for 30 years prior to his retirement and he knew how to professionally design an event. He made Gayla and her step mom sew hundreds of pillows for the Grateful Dead’s opium den and this Midsummer’s party would be no different. He required a giant, flowing, colorful Moroccan tent to house a hookah lounge (or “laown-guh,” see the do-funny dictionary). He wouldn’t stop until the set was awe inspiring and everyone in attendance was blown away. We had a running joke about needing helicopters to transport our materials. Since our budget was usually in the $200 range, we had to be more imaginative. Rich put together his giant pop up tent that required ten people to set up. It was big enough for the entire party to dance in, and it had nice colorful sheer fabrics flowing around in fairytale romance style. There were multiple resting areas, and giant pillows stacked within to create a wonderfully low lit, gorgeous VIP area. It was a great party. At the end of the evening Dan and I were lying together in the pillow lounge being lazy and chatting. Helmet was supposed to give us a ride home because we had been drinking and she had offered to before the party, probably just so she could attend. In another pillow pile we overheard our friend, Elias, ask Helmet about her recent whereabouts with his nephew. Elias was dating Courtney, and was from the Bay Area, but his family lived locally. Helmet and Desmond had disappeared for an hour or two and had pretty much spent the entire evening together. Desmond was a bit of a player, and had several baby mommas. He was a notorious sex maniac. Dan and I heard Elias’s question and we immediately stopped talking and eavesdropped on their conversation. Helmet freaked out. “Cut it!” she made a scissors motion in the air in front of her face, cutting the space in front of her nose and staring Elias down angrily. Elias was not intimidated by Helmet’s sudden defensive behavior. “I just wanted to know what you guys were doing, because he’s married, and has children.” Elias was starting to get irritated and we could easily see Helmet was extremely agitated. Dan and I enjoyed the drama immensely. Elias had a very funny demeanor in general. He was a very old fashioned young Mexican man who had hilarious expressive energy and dressed like a fashion model. He was dead pan serious, and asked Helmet again what she and his nephew were doing. Helmet acted like a cornered animal. “I said cut it! Cut it!” She repeated this phrase multiple times making the scissors motion in the air, getting closer and closer to Elias. He had been sitting comfortably and she was standing, in front of him jumping around. Dan and I could no longer hold ourselves quietly in the corner. We scream laughed until we cried watching the same question and answer game on repeat with no conclusion. It happened a few more times, Elias repeating the question and Helmet responding “Cut it!” making scissors in the air until she ran to her truck and took off flying away in the midsummer’s night. “What the Hell was that about?” Elias was grieved by the whole situation. “I just asked her what she was doing with my nephew because I was genuinely concerned.” Dan and I wiped laughing tears away and had to call a cab. A cab takes two hours to arrive when you call at 3AM in Rio Linda, but it was worth losing our ride to have a new slogan, with the accompanying air scissors move, now famous in our inner circle, “Cut it.” I created my website out of pure ire because FB blocked my updates and everything else I posted on my business art page. As an artist in the real world, especially in the US, if you are not bonking old balls on a river boat and pretending to like it you're basically stuck having alternative jobs (teaching etc) in order to pay real bills. Think about how much a regular teacher makes and minus 3/4ths of that. I'm a part-time art teacher, when they "need" me. I can't give my pretend money to FB if I need to go to concerts and have food for camping. My lack of funding led me to start this free website. Once I threw some art and photography online I decided to follow my real dream, the scary one, which always included writing. I had some old work hidden in the depths of external hard drives which are due to crash at any time, but I was bored with the things I had written before yesterday and decided to take a chance. I wrote Helmet straight out of my bum. Helmet blew up. Once I started writing it, she just grew and grew, like a giant constipated bowel releasing a giant turd. I expected it to be a one time blog, but after 4 or 5 pages I had barely scratched the surface. I had to write 30 pages and break it up into seven and a half parts to release the build up I didn't even know existed. People I hadn't spoken with in years sent me videos encouraging me to contact the people who wrote "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia." I was pressured to publish by another friend, worried this great comedy could be stolen and marketed by the universe. Another friend, a great artist (I love his work) posted a perfect sketch cartoon of one of the blogs. My heart soared. I wouldn't mind making Helmet into a graphic novel, but it would take a ton of time. I told my friend who wants me to crank out some quickie pilot that I would prefer if Judd Apatow would just adopt it, because the penis drawing scene in "Superbad" is my childhood in a nutshell. I would also love to get Taika Waititi's digits, in New Zealand, and lure him with my stellar ideas. His "Eagle vs. Shark" movie is my current favorite comedy and absolutely perfect in every way. Those are the only people in the industry who I could imagine producing or directing my ugly baby. I'm sure me and my friends could do something, to lay out the blueprint so I'll have to write some screenplay scenes. If you know any actors that work for free and have nothing better to do, they can contact me and we can laugh and eat organic apples in between takes on our less then stellar video for future amateur editing. Gayla and I spoke about it and we have our cast ready when the real money starts rolling in. Yeah, we're ready when you are, Hollywood. Until then we'll have a good time making a play in my backyard. I wonder if the new owner of Hobbit's haunted house will let us film there. I also wonder how Hobbit would feel if I crashed his house and filmed there. I haven't spoken to him in many years, but that might be a funny thing just to have on tape. "We're going to use your house and I'll pay you when the movie that shows you being Helmet's hero comes out." No problem there. |
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July 2023
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