Drama – The Potty Mouth Granny

Realization Is a Hard Pill to Swallow

It was a year in October that I was diagnosed with epilepsy and since then, I’ve worked two jobs. Both jobs I’ve walked away from because the medication I take to control the seizures makes me so tired and discombobulated that I’m useless. The medication I’m taking is levetiracetam and the side effects are loss of strength and energy, sleepiness amongst several others.

I’m always sleepy now and have taken more naps now than the three times I was pregnant. I’m clumsy as hell and feel generally lethargic most of the time. Which is not good in the field that I’m in which is clerical/administrative. To be in that line of work, one must be detailed oriented, attentive, and on point at all times because one little mistake can be costly. But it’s hard to be attentive when you are taking medication that makes you nod out like a dope friend.

There are some who will say that I should try another medication but when it comes to seizure medications, it’s not that simple. My neurologist would have to wean me off the levi shit and then put me on another medication that will also come with several side effects and that is too much. What few brain cells I have left will not be experimented on.

So today I finally came to the realization that working a traditional job will not be an option for me anymore and that realization makes me feel so sad and useless. I fought the welfare system to obtain a bachelors degree that would make me more desirable in the job field and now 15 years later at the age of 51, a medication has rendered me useless.

I know I can work from home but I like getting out and about, going to lunch, watching people, meeting new people, having social interactions with people. I’m only 51 and this is supposed to be my life now? This is some straight bullshit.

Some little girls wanted to grow up and be a housewife. I wanted to grow up and work in a fancy office and earn my own money. To not be dependent on anyone. I’ve applied for disability and was turned down but eventually I will get it but damn. All I wanted was my own economic autonomy but my body is not cooperating. And I’m pissed, sad, and numb.

The Legend of Sweetie Mae Brown – The Meanest Bitch in Town

In spite of her name, Sweetie Mae Brown was the meanest woman in Sugar Shack, Mississippi. She was big as a linebacker. She once picked Scooter Davis, who was six feet tall and two hundred pounds, up by the back of his neck like a mother cat would do to one of her kittens, and tossed him off her porch. She had beaten up on her last three husbands and was currently scouting for number four. The men in town lived in fear that she would put her roving eye upon them. The women in town gave her a wide berth because she had accused them of wanting her husbands when she had them.

Yeah, Sweetie Mae was a mean ass bitch. Mothers would use her name as a threat to keep wayward children in line. The religious would do the cross when she walked passed them. She lived in a raggedly shack on Dead End Lane. It didn’t matter how hard the sun was shining in town, there was no light on Dead End Lane. Spooky looking trees seemed to reach out and grab at you if you had the misfortune to walk pass surrounded her house. No one wanted to tangle with old Sweet Mae.

Every night, she would leave her shack and go to one the local juke joints and get her drink on. Her favorite drink was Jack Daniel’s, no chaser. After slugging down a few rounds, drunk and ignorant, she would proceed to harass anyone who took her fancy. One night it was poor Charlie Jones, whose only crime was to politely decline her request for a dance. Before Charlie knew what hit him, she had him trussed up like a hog for the slaughtering. Tossing him over her back, she threw him into the garbage can in the back of the joint. Everyone stared and then started drinking. Nobody in his or her right mind tangled with Sweetie Mae when she was drunk. They had come to think of Sweetie Mae as the nightly entertainment. Yes, this how Sweetie Mae rolled. She terrorized the citizens of Sugar Shack like this on a regular basis until the night she meet her match.

It was a typical night at Papa Charlie’s Bar & Grill, her favorite joint and Sweetie had just downed a pint of Jack Daniel’s when a stranger walked in. She was a pretty, petite thing with big brown eyes and a confident attitude so she immediately took everyone’s attention when she walked in and sat down. Especially Sweetie Mae. She hated women like her, with her womanly ways and little body. How dared that bitch come in her spot and take the spotlight! With Sweetie’s eye on her, the young lady sat down. A gentleman asked her if she wanted to dance. Since he was a cutie, she said yes, and to the small cramped dance floor they went. Sweetie Mae’s eyes got big. That bitch was dancing with Cletus Taylor, her future husband! Of course, Cletus had no clue about this, but that didn’t matter. She had marked him as her own and for that, that bitch was ‘bout to get beat down!

They were getting their juke on something serious when Sweetie Mae came up behind the girl, grabbing her by the arm. “Look ho, this is my man and no one fucks with Sweetie Mae Brown’s man!” she snarled down at the girl. There was complete silence in the bar. Cletus didn’t say a word. He didn’t want to be trussed up like poor Charlie. To everyone’s amazement, petite drew herself up and snapped back, “He told me he didn’t have no woman, and I know a man-looking bitch like you is not his woman!”The crowd watched in silent, thrilled amazement. Petite had game! Sweetie Mae’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t believe this little sawed off broad was talking crazy to her, Sweetie Mae Brown, the meanest bitch in town. With a quick move of her hand, she slapped the girl, knocking her against the bar.

With only survival on her mind, the girl grabbed the nearest bar stool and started to beat the shit out of Sweetie like she stole her last pair of panties. Old Sweetie was laid out on the floor, with drool running out her mouth. Making her way to the entrance, the girl ran out and jumped in her car, speeding off into the night, never understanding the magnitude of what happened. The patrons of the bar cheered like crazy. Sweetie Mae had finally gotten her ass kicked! Sweetie Mae slowly got up from the floor, tears of humiliation running down her face. Oh the shame of it all! Her ass kicked by a girl who was five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet! She would never live it down! She slinked from the bar, with her head hanging down, never to be seen by the citizens of Sugar Shack again.

Ghetto Nation 2019

Ghetto – A section of a city to which an entire ethnic or economically depressed group is is restricted; as by poverty or social pressure.

Life for Blacks who reside in the inner-city has never been easy but in the years since crack cocaine hit, things have most definitely taken a turn for the worst. A new breed of Black womanhood and manhood has arisen and they behave rather badly. It has become absolutely normal to be ignorant and ghetto and more scarily, this behavior is celebrated with glee.

Take a stroll in any inner-city neighborhood and on any given afternoon, you will see groups of able-bodied young men lounging carelessly on street corners, smoking marijuana boldly on street corners bragging about their bitches, whores and baby mommas. And although these young men show clear shiftless tendencies, throngs of ride or die chicks, sometimes with several children in tow surround them, taking loudly while dressed in pajama bottoms and dingy white wife-beaters complete with the proverbial head scarf.

These words are not stereotypes but actual truth. Too many times, Blacks complain about their dirty laundry being aired publicly instead of fixing the problem and it is time to discuss an issue that is plaguing us as a people: the acceptance of ignorance. Although racism is, has been, and will always be a part of American society, social behaviors once deemed deviant are embraced and accepted by some Blacks.

Urban terrorists have hijacked urban communities throughout America, but calling the police is considered “snitching” and murderers walk around unafraid and unrepentant. Mothers hide the guns of their gang-banging sons and little children are left at home unattended with an empty refrigerator while their parents party in the streets. There are so many examples of this behavior that I could go and on but that would be redundant. However, one thing rings true, regardless if some folks do not want to face it: gutter, hood-related anti-social behavior is running amok in some Black communities.

Where did it all go so terribly wrong? The decline of the inner-city Black family can be traced to the crack cocaine era. Black families throughout America were decimated due to drug abuse and drug dealing and the children became collateral damages. An entire generation of Black children have grown up seeing their parents either use or sell drugs and it has destroyed their psyche.

For these young adults, the only thing worth living for is the mass consumption of expensive designer clothing, alcohol, drugs and sexual escapades with multiple partners. They have no goals or ambitions but to live for the day. An education is scorned as being nothing more than a worthless piece of paper and disputes are settled by gunfire, regardless of who is around.

The blame for this generation of inner-city hoodrats can be laid at the feet of Black Generation X, my generation. Blacks born between 1965 and 1976 were the first recipients of the gains that the Civil Rights Movement had battled for and we squandered it by getting caught up in the “Greed is Good” era of the Eighties. We ran the streets instead of taking care of our children, shoving the responsibility of childrearing on our weary, overworked parents. We were more concerned about outer appearances, spending money on shiny things instead of saving money for better educational opportunities and now our children still lag behind every ethnic group when it comes to reading, writing, and arithmetic. Instead of being parents to our children, we became their friends, smoking blunts with them and allowing their boyfriends and girlfriends overnight privileges, creating the next generation of confused, angry children.

We planted the seeds for mass destruction and now we have a garden full of weeds. It saddens me to write this but it is my opinion that little can be done to correct this hood-related behavior. These days, you cannot tell anyone anything bad about their children because it might cause a physical confrontation. The US government could put trillions of dollars into every inner-city in America but this ghetto mentality will still exist because being absolutely nothing is accepted. An entire generation of Black young adults have accepted their caste in society as the lowest of the low, trapped by the narrow confines of their minds and neighborhoods.