My Birthday in the Hood.

Psssssst.

Hey. Hey you.
Thank you for generously donating to the Send Kendal to Online Literary Star School fund.
I made roll call!
I waved some kizzash in the aiyer (like I simply did not care, though I did) and Ms. Gore did declayer, "you're in."
Sah-weeet!

And now...remedial English skillz, yo, LA has gotten all stuck in my grillz
like a superfly stuck under the hood.

I am so sorry. It is Two in the Morning.
The baby is asleep.
The babydaddy is asleep.
The babydaddy's mama and daddy are asleep.
The cats (minus my favorite one) are even not peeing on towels, not biting or licking the baby or my feet, and not singing the blues by the door, they are, indeed, asleep.


This is MY time.
Me, Myself, and Sleep Deprived I time.

I had a wonderful birthday.
Kenneth made a chocolate cake with mixed berry filling and blackberries placed like soccer players on a snowy field of frosting.
We ate spaghetti for dinner.
We had bubble tea and witnessed an LA moment, wherein one tall, lean, tan, rushity rush rush lady parked, rolled windows down, got out, went in, came back, checked locks, looked around, went back in, Edie fussed, the lady came back, looked in car windows, and explained, "Oh, I heard a baby crying, and I thought it was mine!" before returning to the doorway of the shop to stand in line. We shared aforementioned LA moment with another couple of customers sitting at a table across from us in the parking lot sunbrella alcove. "Did she just say..." Sure 'nuf, an infant seat reclined away from us in the backseat of her car. I thought it might be fun to pretend to kidnap the baby, just to teach her a lesson, but then I had my hands full with my very own baby already.
We went swimming at the YMCA, where they let us swim for free because Edith Emily is just the cutest little thing! She is also the most enthusiastic swimmer I've ever seen, but then again, it's in her genes. It's in all our genes, get it? Because you gotta be a good swimmer just to get here? Really, we weren't going to have her in the pool, we were going to take turns holding her and playing in the water, but she was so into it. It's basically a GIGANTIC bathtub full of salty tasting (?) water and people. Water and people are Edie's two favorite things besides breasts and plastic bags. So we dipped her in a few times and she howled with glee, and splashed, and waved, and charmed everybody out of the pool. Actually the session was over.
On the way home we were so jazzed about life that we risked ours to satisfy a sudden craving for soft serve ice cream. The only place to get the fix was at Foster's Freeze.....in the ghetto.
"Oh boy let's go there!"
So we did. Quickly, and with locked car doors. They had no drive thru window, so we held the baby close and ran, hunched over to avoid possible crossfire from gang warfare, and made it to the front counter. The signs advertising various sundry delights were overwhelming in their sun-faded commotion of flavors. Peach Parfait! Banana Twirl! Whipped cream cup! We both opted for simplicity, for safety's sake. One small chocolate shake and one medium chocolate-dipped twist cone that immediately commenced avalanching before I could savor it properly. "Cup, please," and a styrofoam cup and plastic spoon were shoved promptly through the small window, the only window not protected by iron bars. We hustled back to the car and the doors were powerlocked before I could shut mine behind me.

"That girl who made your shake."
"Yeah?"
"You think she was a Blood or a Crip?"
"Just eat your ice cream."

By the way.
It was a great birthday.
Thank you for contributing to my writerly aspirations by reading this here blog.