Police, New Slaves, Pseudo-Grandchildren, and Concerts

A couple weeks ago, I was doing laundry. I had to move our clothes from the washers to the dryers. Someone else's clothes were sitting in the dryer already dry. It appeared that their owner had forgotten about them since they had been dry for at least an hour, so I took them out of the dryer and started switching our clothes from the washers. While I was doing this, George came out of his apartment, walked to the doorway of the laundry room, and stared at me the whole time I was loading the dryers. I wondered at first if it was his clothes that had been in the dryer, but it was mostly bras and women's underwear. George didn't say a word. He just stared at me. I finished switching the clothes, started the dryers, and walked back to my apartment. George watched me the whole way.
Maybe twenty minutes later, there was a knock on our door. It was George. He was agitated. I could tell he wanted me to come to his apartment, but I couldn't understand why. I followed him into his apartment to discover one of his floozies sitting at his table with a cigarette in hand and a bottle of liquor in front of her listening to a radio that looked to be at least as old as I am. I recognized her as the floozy that I most often see visiting George. I gathered as George continued to gesticulate and slobber all over the room that he wanted me to make her leave. When she realized what he wanted and why I was there, she threw a fit and started going off on how all George had to do was ask her to leave and that she was just waiting for her clothes to dry and how George was just upset because she wasn't letting him feel her up. I just told her that if he wanted her to leave, she would have to leave. She tried to tell me that she was waiting for her clothes to dry. I assured her that I knew for a fact that they were dry (I hope you paid attention to the first paragraph). I waited around until she quit cussing and insulting George and grabbed her clothes and left. I then went back to my apartment.
Fifteen minutes later there was another knock on the door. It was George. This time he was bleeding from a bump the size and color of a red grape on his right cheek bone. Of course I asked him if he was alright and what happened and so on and so forth, but all I got out of him was that he needed my help to find his glasses. I started following him back to his apartment and saw that there was a police officer there. The Lieutenant from the Salvation Army happened to be there at this time for a pot-luck with the residents. At this point, I didn't know anything more than that George was bleeding and that the police had been called. The Lieutenant was aware already of George's floozies and told me he had just seen one come in and leave almost immediately just a few minutes before. I asked her what this one looked like, and he described a younger goth looking girl. That didn't sound familiar to me, and it certainly didn't sound like the floozy George had just wanted me to kick out. The Lt. went back to the dinner, and I spent the next twenty minutes trying to interpret George's babble to the police. What we did manage to gather was that a floozy had come, taken thirty dollars from George's wallet, and punched him in the face (knocking off his glasses) before leaving. George insisted he did not know her name. He did keep trying to tell the officers that he knew where her uncle lived. In the end, they had him ride along with them so he could point out the house. After that, I don't know what happened. I do know that a detective showed up the next day to talk to George, but that's the last I heard of it.
Patsy came to my office the other day to tell me that the glass on her oven door had broken. She said she had been using the self-cleaning cycle and when it was finished and she opened the door, the glass cracked. This might be true, or she might have just dropped a pan on the glass and didn't want to tell me. Either way, I just switched the door on her oven with the door on Alice's oven because Alice's oven is broken and is being replaced this coming week.
I have a new slave. Her name is Kayley (I'm just guessing at how to spell that). She's a sophomore in high school (meaning she is my oldest slave so far). She likes to skip school, and that is how she ended up in Restart. In fact, the Restart guy had promised me she'd be her two weeks before she ever actually showed up. She spent those two weeks switching between skipping Restart entirely and trying to trick them into thinking she was coming here.
For the moment, the pressure is off of Anna and me to reproduce. Anna's mother has her grandchild. Her name is Benita. She is four. No, Sarah did not magically birth a four year old. But Sarah is now the acting mother to a four year old. The summation of the long, complicated, and troubling story is that Benita is the niece of Jeff (Sarah's boyfriend). Benita's mother is quite literally crazy. Benita has been raised in homeless shelters in Chicago her whole life. Jeff is attempting to rescue Benita. Benita now lives with Jeff and Sarah, and Anna's mother is completely smitten with the girl. In fact, Benita is spending the night with the in-laws as I write this. She spent last weekend with Anna's parents too. Anna's mother has had a ball buying toys and clothes for her. You really have no idea how excited she is to have Benita around. Benita even calls her Grandma. She calls Hank (the dog) LadyBuns, and she knows me as Sally (we figured two uncle Geoff/Jeffs would be confusing).
Anna's father thought he might have to work last Sunday, so he asked me to fill in in the pulpit. I told the congregation that God gave the Law so that people would sin more.
Anna's birthday was also last Sunday. I let her leave the kitchen for a little bit to celebrate. She thought it was the best gift ever.
Project 86 was in the area twice last week. They were in Franklin last Wednesday and Cincinnati that Friday. The complete line-up was Disciple, Project 86, and Write This Down. I convinced Anna to come with me to the show in Franklin. She actually seemed to kind of enjoy herself, though she left with the impression that Project 86's lead singer is a jerk. Anna went bowling with some friends from work on Friday night, while I was at the Cincinnati show. I told her afterwards that she should have come to the Cincinnati show instead. The sound was much better. The crowd was more enthusiastic, and I think Andrew from Project was having a much better day. But in any case, Anna is now a veteran of a true rock show. She's hardcore. She actually took some really cool pictures during the show. I'll try to get them from her and post them on Facebook soon.
Haikus

Sara (the friend, not the resident, as per request)

Spastic Dutch girls rock
Accountants and oranges
Gangster's paradise

#102 Donna

Homemade cigarettes
Oxygen machine on high
My daughter wears sweats

Band: The Famine
Album: The Architects of Guilt
Genre: Death Metal

A Haiku

You want poems? I'll give you poems. How about a haiku for each resident?

#101-Velma

Police scanner on.
Hiding away from the world.
Don't slip on the ice.

It's Jon's fault

He wanted a poem. I promised him a poem. I felt bad posting an entry without first posting the poem, but alas, I take things like poetry too seriously and haven't been able to actually spit one out. But Jon, I promised you a poem, and you will have a poem ... someday.
What have you missed? Snow. Wind. Ice.
Daisy decided she had to go out three times between 4:30 and 6:30 this morning.
Anna had to open every day this past week. She's amazing.
We managed to keep our power during the ice storm on Tuesday, but much of the area did lose electricity.
One of the kids from church participated in the solo and ensemble contest today. She had Anna accompany her. Anna says that the performance went very well.
I itch somewhere unspeakable.
I'm hungry.
I'm guessing that so far the kids from church have had at least a third of their school days cancelled for snow.
If I were to be truly honest with you, I would say that I can see what makes most pop music popular. Some songs are just catchy. But sometimes there are artists with "hits" that just baffle me. And I'm not talking about obvious ones like Justin Bieber (though it would be a lie to say that the first time I heard one of his songs I thought it was a male singer). What I really don't understand is how anyone anytime anywhere could like Kings of Leon.
Daisy keeps farting.
Katie can't figure out how to lock her patio door, so I've had to show her multiple times.
I like hot wings. Aimee, I have you to thank for that.
When I do post in this blog, I do it while listening to music. I've decided I'll start sharing with you just what it is I'm hearing while I share these bits of my soul.
Band: As They Sleep
Album: Dynasty
Style: technical death metal

Goodnight.