Spiritual Counseling God Damnit!

My mouth gets the best of me at times. Sometimes real talk is too real. I turn red. Sometimes following by bursting into laughter. Honestly you can’t win all the time. At work a spiritual counselor comes to find me at the nurses station to tell me a woman’s mask to assist her breathing was starting to fall off. If only the poor woman didn’t absolutely need it to live. I replied, “God damnit!”. The spiritual counselor just stared at me in silence. I felt judged. I replied, “Oh shit!”…it was like I had Tourette’s syndrome. She continues to look to me in silence. I reply again, “God damnit, shit….no! Sorry about that.”. I am pretty sure I was bright red by now since my face felt hotter than hades. I am not a super religious person, but I do hold respect for others and their belief systems. She said it wasn’t a problem, and asked if I felt like I needed to be forgiven. I laughed telling her I needed to be forgiven for a LOT more than that. We both smiled.

-K.K. Powell

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She who has no name 

Wife, 1920. 


Reminds me of a doctor I used to work with in a teaching hospital. A resident would put their hand on the patients bed. He would snap at the resident to stand back. If he had a ruler he would have likely snapped it upon the residents wrist. Years later I saw this doctor with his wife outside of the hospital at the airport. Naturally I said hello. His wife smiled sweetly. I extended my hand, she accepted. He said smugly, “This is wife.” 

Was he rude? Was he on the spectrum of autism? Was he socially awkward? Who knows? I was not fulfilled with this answer. I said, my name is Keri… I’m sorry I didn’t quite get your name? She replied… but now the name is lost in my memory. 
This is wife. 

89 year old Japanese Woman

Every so often my face gets hot, so hot that I can feel my face turning hyper color into a giant tomato. It’s a dead give away if I am embarrassed, or if I have a crush on anybody. My dad says it’s cute. I think it’s a fucking curse. But sometimes it gets the best of me, and turns out being pretty funny. Now, I talk to a lot of people day in, and day out. I got that from my mom. We literally talk to anybody we think could be remotely interesting. Variety is the spice of life! So I am having a conversation with an 89 year old Japanese woman, and boy did she get the best of me. Yet I am still single while there are homeless people who smell like hot garbage that have girlfriends and boyfriends. Even Charles Manson has women lined up at his cell door. My friend Anna says I am too picky. Okay fine. Anyhow, yet again, I digress. Here the story goes…

89 year old- Are you married?

Me- No ma’am.

89 year old- Ohhhhhhhhhh

Me- (laughing a little at her reaction)

89 year old- But you so pretty. I don’t get it. So sexxxxxy.

Me- You’re killing me! (laughing, I bury my head into my red hair trying to camouflage the red hot face) Thank you for the compliment. Your flattery is too much!

89 year old- (still perplexed) I have a son, but you are too pretty for him. Oh so pretty! So sexy! I don’t get it?

Me-  I don’t get it either.

Enters son… the 89 year old Japanese woman stops and changes the subject quickly.

 

-K.K. Powell

Mind…Blown….

Five year olds are funny in a sense that they just say whatever is on their minds. Aquarians are kind of funny too in the sense that they do the same. Not saying Aquarians are like five year olds…or are they. They typically march to the beat of their own drums… and so do five year olds.

Okay, okay enough. Now for the funny story of the day.

 

Five year old- Does your dog poop?

Me- Well yea, I mean if you think about it a lot of things poop…right?

Five year old stops for a minute thinking

Five year old- Yeaaaaaaaa

(Pretty sure I just witnessed her mind exploding all the possibilities of all the things in the world that actually poop!)

Me- Have a good one!

Five year old hollering as we walk away- Bye!! Have a nice day!!

It takes a village to raise em right.

-K.K. Powell

The audience.

Three fat sausage fingers slide up and down her shoulder.

His pony tail smooshed to the back of his head…shifted to the right.

He didn’t have time between his nap, and the show.

Too much pot he smoked before the show.

Shewp, shewp, shewp, shewp.

My eyes grow wide.

Fuck…I am stuck next to these two for the next hour and a half.

Schhhhleeeeerp

As the man on the other side sucks his spit through the canyons of his teeth.

The pulled pork threads sit locked and loaded

I want to hear the speaker speak,

I consider asking these annoying people to stop with their annoyances.

Shewp, shewp, shewp, shewp.

Scratch, scratch, scratchity scratch, scratch, scratch.

Scccchhhhleeeeerp.

My upset and overwhelmed brain begins to force my eyeballs out of my head.

I point a my index finger to my left ear to the incessant arm brusher.

For fuck’s sake.

Is the public display of attention THAT important.

Stop that already!

I visualize a mad man lunging toward him.

Grabbing his fingers, and chopping them off one by one.

Wait, is this a nervous tick?

Am I being a dick..?

My tiny index finger is this man’s saving grace.

Sccccchhhhlerrrrrp.

Please?!

Just go get some fucking tooth floss you indigent!!!

Nope, don’t say it.

Don’t be rude.

You drove a long way to hear this man speak…

The speaker speaks.

I fumble in my chair uncomfortably.

His voice rises just enough to muffle twiddledee and twiddledum.

A girl giggles nervously.

Another howls like she used to at a 1980’s arena rock concert.

My name is Ashley…

I’m thiiiiiirteeeen.

As she kisses her nineteen year old boyfriend on the lips.

Slips the tongue.

A french one.

We all know about THAT one.

I snicker.

He speaks, and reads me a tale or two

Then yawn

Lightning strikes from the rugged dark blue and grey clouds above.

His voice carries

as the thunders roll through the purple hills.

Crisis averted for twiddledee and twiddledum.

-K.K. Powell

 

Wild kingdom of Oakland, California

Wild rat scurrying from one bush to the next. My dog salavates, wiggling herself out of her collar moving so fast that she turns to a flash of white lightning. I scream, “oh my god! No! No! No!!!” with an incomprehensible gibberish…the dog is not distracted. Her one thought, “Does it squeak?” Her head buried into the bushes searching frantically. Right, left, left, right. “It’s gotta be close!”… but her luck has flashed right before her compulsive little brown eyes.  Wild cat sized rat is just fast enough, and safe. I laugh so hard at my great American wig out aka scream of fear of plague/rats safety, that I double over in laughter and let out a pigs snort. Attractive man behind me chuckles. Ah shit, save face! My face flushes hot turning red. “You should’ve seen the size of that rat?! It was the size of a fucking cat!” He tells me he would’ve been alarmed too laughing along with me. We part, going our separate ways. I utter to myself, “I’m a total mess.”  Large rats jumping out of bushes are a scary thought. Perhaps less scary if my wild imagination wouldn’t fling me down the rabbit hole occasionally. 

In the night before two cats scream, scratch, hiss, and attempt to end each other’s will to live. It was the talk of the neighbors as I arrive home with the cat sized rat chaser. The dog with pride jumps, and licks snorting away happily at the familiar faces. “Did you hear all that racket last night?”… the owner of my apartments eyes light up. I nod in agreement and state how bad it all sounded. “It was raccoons mating!!! I turned the light on them, and they stopped. Then five hours later they were still there. I wondered if they got stuck?!” Laughter flows, “You’ve got to be kidding me?” His eyebrows raised in amazement goes on to tell me that it’s the god foresaken truth.  Good thing I told the dog to stay close to me that night while she ventured into the dark night to relieve herself. If she tried to get into that action, my heart would’ve likely stopped. 

-K.K. Powell