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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