Yo!

So last night, I accompanied my mom to Titusville's idea of a fancy country club, Lacita. There, the Mayor and most of the city officials were gathered to honor citizens in the community for their work on various committees, outreach and works in the community, of which my mom was one of those individuals recognized for her continual efforts and works with the local Housing Authority. (Go Mom!)

But that's not the story, oh no. We're seated at banquet table number 8 with other community do gooders (also from the Housing Authority) and various other groups represented are seated likewise at other tables. Our table all introduces themselves and we engage in small banter, idle chi-chat while we all work our way through a meal served 3 course style. The food...bland, over cooked/undercooked. The salad, was dumped out of one of those "ready to go bags" it appeared...and can romaine lettuce be stale? Oi. Main course...One very small portion of chicken really, really burnt (passed off as blackened) and though my palette isn't as sophisticated as some, I imagine the chef used and infusion of sodium...and...sodium as his seasoning (water please). This salt lick was sitting next to green and yellow squash slices that saw no hint of seasoning (thank god)...literally...just steamed...arranged nicely, but all the flavor of cardboard...and fancy mashed potatoes (also VERY small portion) that had been squirted out of a pastry bag, cooked in an oven until the raised edges were slightly brown, for fancy effect, and evidently sat, pre-cooked, off to the side until they were plopped on the plates for service. Well, at least they tasted like they had been sitting. Dessert saw the pastry bag used again as what I suspect was some type of cheesecake filling was squirted into a miniature pie shell, arranged in the middle of a small plate, with thick canned cherry filling sparingly (but fancily!) placed across the top. I can taste canned from miles away...bleck.

But no one complained (I did, in my mind). We all smiled at one another, made those "ohhhhhhh" faces as the food was put before us...reveling in our fannccciinesss. I felt bad for my mom and friends, who while being honored by the city, were being treated to a sub-par meal by any measure...but hey...it was her and her friends night, and they weren't going to let some shitty food ruin it. So I kept my yap shut about the food and instead did what I do best...entertained the table in a non-political, neutral nyuck-nyuck fashion, which pleased my mom to no end (no seriously, she was proud I was so funny, but stayed sooooo verbose...and fancy! *burp*)...and this evidently impressed the shit out of everyone else as well...because, ya know...crippled people are usually always so introverted and lacking in the art of engagement. I even got the (expected), "Man, you're one intelligent, funny S.O.B!" That coming from the husband of another honoree at the table. Twenty-five years in the Coast Guard, retired, on the crass side...my kinda peeps! I usually hate the compliments, because while genuinely given, they're done more in a, "Holy shit the retard knows what a Sonata is!", kinda way. Which heaps extra credit where it's not due, with regards to what is otherwise just normal shit.

Like if I do karaoke. I can carry a tune, but nothing fantastic...but since I'm all gimpified, it gets morphed into, "My God! Did you hear that cripple sing...he can sing! That's amazing!" But, I've learned this can carry the benefit of the puppy affect, which in turn can make gullible types become overly and unnecessarily enamored with me...and it scores me some bj's, handy's, and bronco rides...until they finally, down the road, figure out I'm just someone who's normal, who happens to also be gimpy...and whatever imaginary mythos they attributed to me fades, based on reality...and the amazing puppy dog isn't so amazing anymore. Stay naive society, stay naive...I do enjoy the head!

Where was I, oh right. Soooooooo, someone from the Port Authority gets up and does about a 5 or so minute spiel about how Canaveral is BOOMING...and Titusville is a part of the boom. Low-key, fancy, but excited clapping let's him know we like this! No whistles, booooo. After a bunch of other introductions of Titusvilles seemingly endless roster of city council members, they get to the good stuff, what I'm there for...to see my mom recognized for her work in the community (she really busts her ass, not for honors *I'm* excited for her about, but because she genuinely enjoys it. It makes her feel good). They call her up, polite fancy clapping in tow, she walks down what looks like a wedding line of city council members shaking each of their hands as they mutter, "Thank you...good job...you're an asset to the community"...ANNNNDDDDD...they give her a gift certificate to Sub-Way for a FREE 6 inch Sub...NOT...foot long...but six inch. What in the ever living fuck!!!??? MY mom, to her vastly more mature and non-notoriety seeking self, could have given a shit less about the raffle prize acknowledgement, she just loves helping...always has...and appreciated just being recognized for that help/work. Me? I was like, "Fuck'in a six in sub? Fuck'in really? I sit hear holding my shit, so my mom doesn't have to feel trapped by me, so she can continue to do what makes her happy, while I lie my ass off about being *fine*...and you muther fuckers can't even pony up a cheap-ass wood burning plaque, done by someone with Parkinson's?" I went to my happy place, took myself out of the equation (which I had no business injecting myself into anyway) and just clapped and hollered for her. She was thrillled. She's a genuine person. I still have a shit-ton of work to do, oi.

I bet you didn't know that all of this was setting the stage, for what I REALLY wanted to tell you, did ya?...muahahahaha. Soooooooooooo, mom gets back to the table, everyone congratulates her, I give her a really horrible version of a hug (hey, I'm crippled, fuck you) and ANOTHER speaker (city manager I think) get's up...I assume to draw this fancy shin-dig to a close. Noooooooooooo...he's got a few words and slides he'd like to share...sum bitch! So as this draws on and I imagine the speaker being Ben Stein and all I can hear is "Beuller? Beuller? Beuller?" there's a pause...he's fumbling with the wireless for the slide...in that moment...in that moment of subdued, bored, quiet pause the cosmos all comes together. In that 2 or 3 seconds of silence, from the other side of the room, a cell phone goes off. The Ring tone? "YO NIGGA! YO NIGGA!" I shit you not! Oh, did I tell you Joe, my buddy for the evening, the retired Coast Guard guy and his wife...are black? Ohhhhhh yes. I think I could literally hear the the buttholes of everyone in the fancy banquet room clinching simultaneously *fwoop!* Holy Mary Mother of Jesus! My eyes first darted to see where this was emanating from...yup...some 15 or 16 year old white bread and I assume, wanna be gannnggsttaaa...who by all appearances didn't seem to be the least bit phased...or if he was...he put on that good "fuck you" gangsta lean and wasn't gonna be bothered by all the jaw drops...KEEP IT REAL TITUSVILLE, YO! His mother, or at least I assume his mother, who was sitting next to him was god damn horrified. I cannot, with any level of adequate depiction, describe the look on her face. She had looked directly into Medusa's god damn eyes and was frozen in horror, her jaw was hanging agape and...and I really can't do it justice.

Next, which was inevitable, my eyes darted back towards Joe, Mr. Coast Guard. His eyes met mine and the muther fuckers got a smirk on his face...a genuine smirk. Not the lying smile I'm sure he's done a gazillion times in the past, to let some caucasian feel at ease for some race related misstep or ignorance...but a for real, "awwwwwww yea" smirk that seemed to say, "while I do not endorse this message, I wholeheartedly approve of the unnerving shock and embarrassment it has caused to the other caucasians in the room." He looked at his wife and they both bent over slightly and started giggling, quietly. He looked back up at me and gave me the, "Come on dude. Please join me and my wife in this moment of complete cluster fuck, by giggling at stupidity with us." Ya know what...I did! My Mom? Mortified...as if it had been a phone at our table, my phone. Joe tried to ease her down a bit...but I think her asshole was in her neck and even an "it's alright, come join us" from Joe wasn't going to push that sphincter back down.

Good times, good times...