No Sympathy For A Child Killer

Just a brief update here…


After months of nothing about the death of my ten year old son’s friend’s murder other than this, it has finally been made know that Lancey Ray, this man,

will finally stand trial facing first degree murder charges for the death of his stepson, Malik Ray, from December 23, 2011. It is believed that the ten year old child went into shock and then cardiac arrest after being beaten with a belt and a cutting board.  The brief article can be read here .

Words can never express how this event has infuriated me. The impact on my son can be found here. I do not choose to describe it again. My only wish is that the loss of Malik finds justice.

Butterflies in My Stomach

I have a feeling sleep will not be an option tonight. I am so anxious! The butterflies in my stomach have butterflies. Around 6 this evening I got a text from my husband letting me know that he was waiting to leave Dubai to head to London. His flight in Dubai was delayed but he said he should still make the connecting flight in London to Dallas. I REALLY hope so!! Once he gets to Dallas, he will have just one more connecting flight to get him home to me.


The scavenger hunt is still a go. I’m going to try to video tape it because family and friends want to see the kids’ faces when they see their dad. I will have to see if the camera holds a charge long enough for me to accomplish that. I can always use my phone as back up for pictures and video. I’m just not sure how well all that works…or HOW it works for that matter. I’m still learning.

Unfortunately, I need to go camera shopping. I brought the camera into the battery store to have the battery checked because it didn’t seem to be holding a charge. Of course, the battery needed to be replaced but also found out that the actual port where you plug in the charger is loose and that is also causing the camera not to charge properly. The new battery would run me $40 and the external charger (where you actually place the battery itself inside to charge) would also cost $40. I ended up passing on that because I can get a brand new camera for a couple hundred. It would be stupid to put out $80 for a camera that is over five years old.

Since I’m wired anyway, I am browsing my blog stats. Some of the things people search for on the internet can be disturbing. What’s more disturbing are the things that occasionally lead them here. This particular post has gotten my blog so many hits with people out there in cyberspace searching things like “big ass butt plug” and “red butt plug sex toy”. Someone out there has even searched for “words containing ‘-tastic’”. Apparently, people out there are also very interested in meth and that leads them here as well. I assume it was this post that lures them in.

Also, the universe hates a lot of people because many folks are searching for “the universe hates me” and since the universe hates me most of all, they find themselves here.  My contribution to Time Travel Month also came up in the search results for some.  I'm sure it's because I used the line "This is heavy, Doc." as my title.  “Streaming dad and daughter love” got someone here. I’m not sure WHY or what post reeled them in but I’m sure I don’t want to know what they were really looking for but I can assume they were disappointed.

The topic that seems to bring people here the most lately is this post. People want to know about Lancey Ray’s trial. I know I do. I have searched for information myself and have seen my blog show up in the search results. I’m ready for that man to be buried under the jail.

He’s a monster and his wife should be sentenced right along with him for not only not protecting her child but also participating in the beatings that eventually got so out of hand they took the life of a young boy who my son describes as funny and smart.

I guess I can also share this with anyone who finds themselves here because they are searching for information about Lancey Ray. In my latest search I did find that Lancey Ray is actually the adult son of a school superintendent in Social Circle, Georgia. You can read the article here. I will keep updating as I find more.

One last thing before I go...my daughter has sold 575 boxes of cookies. Just 25 more until she reaches her goal.

Now I am going to end it here. As I said before, don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me for a while. My honey will be home and I plan on being VERY busy.

Fantastic Friday Five #6

It’s Friday again and that means it’s time for another Fantastic Friday Five. The post that contains random whatnots that don’t merit their own individual posts. I’ll just get right to it.

1.) I went the dentist and she bestowed the gift of painkillers on me. Technically, it wasn’t a gift. I TOTALLY earned that shit. I just hope my words make sense to other people besides just me.

2.) My husband will be here on Sunday!!! I am beyond anxious. He is actually leaving there tomorrow and flying into Dubai. He has to stay a night there and then he heads here. It is still a complete surprise for the kids and I am still planning on doing the scavenger hunt with them.

3.) I have a shoe addiction. I may need an intervention. These are my recent purchases. At least, I have stellar taste, right?

   

   

4.) I am completely frustrated that I am unable to find any updated news on Lancey Ray, the man that beat my son’s friend Malik to death back in December. His preliminary hearing was supposed to be Wednesday. I figured the media would have had something to say but there has been nothing. My son asked about it yesterday. More on this particular topic soon.

5.) The kids and I made a book run at Goodwill. The boy ended up finding the first three books to the series, 39 Clues, and the girl child managed to find a few Babysitter’s Club Little Sister books. As for me, I let me fingers do the walking and was lucky enough to find a copy of The Exorcist. I can’t wait to be engulfed in that book.

Well, that about sums it up. I’ve tried to keep it short this week. My brain is all over the place with the return of my honey approaching quickly.

One quick Girl Scout update: My daughter has sold 512 boxes so far. She is closing in on her goal of 600. Sales go on until the 24th so I am confident she will reach it especially since she has two Wal-Mart cookie booths scheduled. Whooty-whoot!

‘Til next time…

Did Somebody Have A Bad Day At Work?

While we spent the holidays in New Orleans, I received a phone call from the homeroom mother from my son’s class. At the time, my mother-in-law, my kids, and I were at Chuck E. Cheese’s having a grand old time stuffing our faces with pizza as the kids blitzed around the place shoving tokens into games for tickets that they hoped would get them a prize off the top shelf. That’s right. They wanted top shelf shit!


The first time the home room mother called I didn’t even hear the phone ring. The second time I sent it to voicemail. I figured I could get back to her later since this was the last time the kids were seeing their Mimi before we left to head back to Oklahoma. Shortly after, I received a text message. It said:

“I just wanted to let you all know about the death of one of our kids’ classmate. Malik was beaten to death by his stepfather last week. He was in Ms. Taylor’s class. I just wanted to give everyone a heads up before school starts.”

This was not the text I was expecting to read. Not at all! I’m not real sure what I was expecting but I assure you this was not it. I was unable to contain my shock and I exclaimed, “Oh my god!” Of course, then those sitting near me wanted to know what was wrong. So I, being one of those people that lack the gift of tact, share the text with the table including my children. Unfortunately, I would have shared this with them even at Disney World on the Tea Cups because, hey, that’s life. I’m not good at sugar coating things.

For the next hour, my kids go about their business playing ski ball and token launchers. Everything seems to be normal.


Later when we arrived back at Paw-Paw’s house, things got real. Part of me hoped that the homeroom mother was confused and was just going on a false rumor but upon going to the KSWO website I found more reality than I was able to swallow. What I discovered was sad and it built up a sense of hatred for this man, Lancey D. Ray, pictured here,.

My son came into the room and we talked about it. I can only imagine how hard it was for his young mind to process this. The thought process in charge of making the connections between his friend and his parents and the fact that the kid was beaten to death by one or both of them must have been confusing and terrifying. Those were the people that were supposed to protect that boy, not end him.

My son went on to tell me about a time Malik came to school with bruises on his face. He had told my son and their other friends that over the weekend his family was play fighting. Another time, my son said he came to school missing a fingernail and he said he had smashed his finger in the door.

Now understand something, reader, we were in New Orleans. The last time we were there was in April 2010 for Maw-Maw’s funeral. Now we are back in her house eight months later finding out that someone else has died. As awful as this sounds, at least Maw-Maw died of cancer. It was something that made for many conversations with my children in an effort to better prepare them for when the time came that she passed away. When it came to Malik, there was no way in hell I could have prepared my child for that. NONE! Hell, it completely blindsided me. A couple of weeks earlier my son was picking out a gift for his friend and now just like that he was snuffed out like a lit candle.

That night, my son came into the room I slept in and he was crying. He said he missed Maw-Maw and he missed Malik. He crawled up next to me and I gave him a hug. Then he says, “Mom. What if I go to school on Monday and Malik is there?” I wasn’t exactly sure if he meant really there or as a ghost so I asked him to explain. He says, “What if it isn’t true and he isn’t dead?” So I told him I hoped it was all a lie too but I explained to him that I did read about it on the local news site. He asked to see it. I pulled it up for him.

After he read it, he cried a little and asked me why Malik’s dad did that to him. I told him I didn’t know for sure. What was I supposed to say to him? I have no idea what would possess someone to beat a child to death, to lose control like that. After awhile, I walked my son back to his room and tucked him back into bed.

After we made it back to Oklahoma, I read more about the horrible crime on KSWO. I found that Ray was accused of beating Malik with a leather belt and a cutting board that day because he wouldn’t eat his lunch. What’s worse was when it was released that the mother, the boy’s own flesh and blood, had also broken a piece of wood over his backside that same day.


At first, I must admit, I assumed mom, Denise, was a victim too. However, I do not think it excused her for allowing her child to be beat. First off, the step father was a soldier in the army which means he was gone frequently between deployments and trips to the field. She had the chance to escape that house with her children. Yes, there were two other younger children in that home, 5 and 6, which are now in protective custody. Thank goodness!

It also concerns me that no one at the school was aware of this. I mean, my son and his friends...10 year olds, noticed bruises. Why didn’t an adult?

The school board did put a counseling crisis team into place for the children and teachers at the school. On the Sunday before my kids returned to school, I encouraged my son to seek counsel. I told him it might help him get some closure to talk to someone other than me and his own head.

Later, he told me that he disclosed all the information about the bruises and the missing fingernail to the counselor. He said that the counselor’s told him that they would have to turn the information over to the police. The counselor met with me to let me know that there was a small possibility that my boy would be asked to give a statement and possibly testify in court with my permission.

It is really alarming what happened to Malik. I never had the pleasure of meeting him. Even though he lived around the corner, he was never allowed to play when my son went to call on him. My son said Malik was a good student and one of the top readers in the class.


My son’s last memory of his friend was the last day of school before winter break when Malik said, “Happy birthday!” and handed over a bag of popcorn he didn’t want. “It’s not my birthday.”, my son says. Then he says Malik said to him, “Well, take it in case I don’t see you for your birthday.” Later, my son would ask me if I thought maybe Malik knew he wasn’t coming back.

The poor kid has been having his sleep disturbed by dreams. He says sometimes he sees Malik in his room. Sometimes he says he dreams of him. He’s woken up a few times very upset and I have had to sit with him on the sofa trying to comfort his heart with soothing words and a listening ear. It’s not fun and hope fate gives me a break in loss for a while so that our family, especially my boy, can heal. The year 2010 was very sad for us with my husband’s grandmother passing away but it was even more difficult for my son with the passing of his friend. Hopefully, 2011 will be less trying.

The following is poem I have shared with my son. I found it after Maw-Maw died and it help to ease some of the pain in my heart. Being agnostic, I don’t necessarily believe in heaven or hell. I do believe that energy is constant and whatever is inside of us, I guess in a sense it’s your soul, it becomes one with everything else. As for the organic part of you, it too becomes part of everything else as in ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Are we clear? Yeah. I didn’t think so. Anyway…here’s the poem.

His Journey’s Just Begun
Author Unknown

Don’t think of him as gone away
His journey’s just begun
Life holds so many facets
This existence is only one
Just think of him as resting
From the pain and tears
In a place of warmth and comfort
Where there are no days or years
Think of how he must be wishing
That we could know today
How nothing but our sadness
Can truly pass away
And think of him as living
In the hearts of all of us
For nothing loved is ever lost
And he was loved so much.

RIP Malik Ray.
Your friend misses you.

Hopefully, I'll be able to do a brief update in March when Lancey D. Ray goes to trial and I hope that Denise Ray doesn't get out of going to trial as well.  We'll have to wait and see.

An update can be found here.

Some Nigerian Isn't Getting Paid Today!

Two words: Mail Fraud

I’ve heard the horror stories. I’ve seen the Judge Judy episodes. (That bitch is hardcore, by the way.) It’s one of those things you think, “That will never happen to me.”

Yesterday, I skipped happily to my mail box. The birds were singing in the trees. All the while, I was humming Lisa’s favorite tune…”Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows”.






Upon opening up my mailbox and pulling out the ridiculous pile of bills that keeps my mailman working, I saw a Flat Rate Express envelope addresses to me from a return address I did not recognize. I brought it inside, set it on the coffee table, and stared at it contemplating anthrax and pipe bombs. Eventually, I opened it and dumped it’s content onto the table. All that fell out were two money orders, both for the amount of $829.99. If I were a cartoon character, my eyes would have bulged out of my head with dollar signs on them.

What? I like money.





Right away, I poked my head into the envelope. Surely there must be some explanation inside but there was nothing. Then it dawned on me. I should check my Avon emails.

About a month or so ago, I received and email from Avon saying a potential customer was requesting I contact them. I sent a very generic email to a person named “Pat Smith”. The response I got back was way too good to be true.

This Pat Smith person wanted to order Avon products…like $400 worth of Avon products. However, Pat did not live in America. She supposedly resided in the UK. She wanted me to order the products and then she would send me a money order it. Then she says she would set up to have the items picked up from me from a shipping company and then mailed to her.

I’m no fool. It sounded like a crock of shit to me from the beginning. I basically told her to send me a money order and I would let her know when the money orders cleared. I didn’t think anything would come of it.

But yesterday…lo and behold…SPECIAL DELIVERY!!

I had not had any email correspondence with Pat Smith (or sometimes Patricia Smith) for over a month. So, imagine my surprise when two money orders for nearly quadruple the amount of the actual Avon order showed up in my mailbox.

At first I was confused. I really did not connect the two together. Later, I checked my email and there were two from this Pat Smith. Both had very interesting instructions. “Pat Smith” wanted me to cash the money orders at my bank and take the money for the Avon products out of it. Then she wanted me to proceed to Western Union where I would be sending the remaining money to a Tamara Oliveira in Paloma Beach, Florida. Supposedly, this Tamara person was P. Smith’s trustee who would handle all of the shipping etc. The email said I would need Tamara’s address in order to send the wire the money.

I decided to call the post office to see what route I should take with these money orders. Obviously, I wasn’t going to be cashing them. Don’t get me wrong, though, for a split second the thought crossed my mind. I was instructed to take it in to my local post office and turn it over so that it could be handed in to the FBI for further investigation.

Later that night, I googled the address for Tamara Oliveira. It did not exist. Oooo…big shocker!! The return address and the payee listed on the money orders were not Pat (or Patricia) Smith either. It was someone named Bogden Circec. The package came from The Halifax Company in Cupertino, California. I searched it by name and by address. Nothing! I wasn’t surprised.

I, then, googled “fake postal money orders” and found an 800 number on the USPS website where you could actually verify the authenticity of postal money orders by entering the serial number, postal code, and amount all listed on the money orders themselves. It did not shake me in the least to find out neither of them were found in the database. I breathed a sigh of relief to know that I was smart enough not to cash them.

I found out that these particular scams are frequently called "Nigerian Scams" because that is where they are believed to have originated.  I also read stories of some of these victims who were not as bright as me.  Toot!  Toot!  Do you hear me tooting my own horn??

Another thing I found out was that many of the arrests that the FBI makes in connection to these fraudulent money orders are the people that actually cash them. Again, how relieved do you think I was that mama didn’t raise no fool?!?!

Today, I got up and headed to my local post office. I not only turned in the two counterfeit money orders but also the packaging it was received in and all of the email correspondence so far. The man who actually deals with fraud was not there and wouldn’t be until Monday morning. The postmaster on staff took the paperwork from me along with my telephone number and told me that the fraud guy would be in touch with me soon. I bet the fraud guy looks like Newman from the show, Seinfeld.

So, I guess now I sit back and wait. I haven’t responded to any of the emails from Pat Smith since I received the money orders and I have no intention to do so until I hear from whoever is going to handle the fraud case. Like I said before, I never in a million years thought I would be caught up in anything like this. I’m just glad I used my brain and didn’t run off to deposit anything in my bank. Let me pat myself on the back now.

UPDATE:  Seriously, Mr. Nigeria called me!!  See part two to this twisted tale.

These Are The People In My Neighborhood

These are the people in my neighborhood. These are the people that I meet when I’m walking down the street…they’re people that I meet each day!  Lucky me!

Ever since we left Texas my husband and I swore that we would avoid our neighbors other then the typical wave and head nod from time to time. Trust me things are simpler that way. We both recognize that I possess some sort of CRAZY magnet where every loony within a 10 to 20 mile radius gravitates towards me only to spew their psycho drama into my lap. I'm serious!  They follow me like a horde of zombies.  Our roomy, Buddy, does not quite understand the detrimental ramifications that a mere short conversation can have on ones future.

A good place to start would probably be the beginning, right?

When we moved to Oklahoma back in March, my next door neighbor introduced herself to me. For the sake of anonymity, we will call this neighbor “Holly”. Holly told me that she had a few dogs and a few roommates. It wasn’t hard to tell that many adults lived in the house. It always seemed like a used car lot out there.

The longer we lived in our house, the more other neighbors around us would slowly divulge bits and pieces of information to us about our immediate neighbors. We were told that Holly at one time lived in the house with her husband and two children. After the divorce, the husband moved back to where ever it is he was from and the children went with him. Now I know it isn’t unheard of but it is always unusual to me when a father gets full custody of the children. Most judges, unless there is a specific reason, usually award custody to the mother. I don’t believe it to be necessarily fair. I’m just stating my take on things.

Months pass. My husband and I would discuss the comings and goings that took place from the home. One time in particular, a lady pulled up and went inside. I heard a little voice say, “Hi.” When I glanced over to the direction of the greeting, I saw a little girl no older than four in the front passenger seat with the window rolled down just steady waving to me. A few minutes later, mom came back out, hopped in the car and drove off. This seemed to be a common occurrence over there. Seemed like a “drive-thru” to me.

Within the past few weeks, I noticed that I hadn’t heard the dogs in awhile and then it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen anyone around the house either. One night while Buddy and I were having a cigarette in the backyard we heard people talking on the other side of the fence. Buddy, being the sort of friendly goob that he is, went to the fence `a la Wilson from the show Home Improvement and struck up a conversation with a fellow we will call “Chance”. Apparently, Chance is the maintenance man for the house. He told Buddy that Holly and friends basically just packed up their shit and left. They seriously must have done it in the middle of the night. It’s not like I ever saw a moving van.

After Wilson, err-- I mean Buddy, ended his fence chat we go back inside and he proceeds to tell me about Chance’s rotting teeth which only added to my suspicion of the house next door being a sort of drug haven.

A few days later, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! There’s a man at the door thrusting a badge in my face asking questions about some guy named “Holt” that apparently lived next door. I had never met this Holt person and I wasn’t about to offer up my speculation to a special agent for the simple fact that it was just that…ONLY speculation. That evening I told Buddy about my visitor and he jumped on the first chance he got to have another fence convo with Mr. Rotten Teeth.

Another few days later and I saw a moving van in front of the house with new faces and Chance. Once again, Buddy chitty-chatted with the new neighbors, a man named “Ray” and a woman named “Tina”. Later he reveals to me that they too have a serious tooth decay problem.

Today I met Tina for myself and a friend of hers. I must say the tooth issue both ladies seemed to suffer from was entirely noticeable from a distance. It’s both sad and horrible all at the same time. It was very distracting in that it’s hard not to take glances at thier rotting teeth as they speak.

Who the hell would want to put this shit in their bodies?!?!

Honestly, after first meeting Chance I wanted to believe maybe he just had dental issues but what is the likeliness of that many people at the same residence needing to see a dentist that bad?? I understand that other issues cause tooth decay but I cannot shake the thought of meth and/or crack users from my mind or the fact that I believe they are residing next to me. It scares me to think that all the coming and going could be the result of drug deals and what’s worse is the fear that if they are “cooking” next door it makes things even worse and extremely dangerous and deadly.



Worse still is the new family has a little girl. She must be about three and is just as cute as cute can be. I feel sad and afraid for her.

I have a bad, bad habit of jumping to conclusions. Just ask my husband. I really want to give these people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe…just maybe, they are recovering junkies and/or just bad dental hygiene habits. I hope so. I really do but trust me I will not be going out of my way to befriend them so that I can find out. Believe that!  

 

Please Return My Sanity

First of all, I am baaaaack!!  Did you miss me?  You know what I miss?  I miss my mother trucking sanity.  I believe I left somewhere in Texas.  If I ever get the bright idea to catch a bus to travel anywhere especially with my children, somebody smack me and make me read this blog!  Honestly, for the most part my kids were pretty well behaved…it was variety of grown-ups along the way that made the trip so interesting.  I have so many things to tell you guys!!

My husband has been in Huntsville, Alabama for about a month now and we have all been missing him.  At some point we decided it was official.  The kids and I were going to visit him.  Plane tickets were atrocious!  For me and both the kids, I’d end up dishing out nearly $2400.  Not feasible for short notice!  I managed to get bus fare for all of us for about 1/3 the cost of the plane price.  You know the saying “You get what you pay for”?  That statement speaks volumes when talking about this trip.  I’m convinced I was traveling with the bottom of the barrel of the world’s population.  Since I like to people watch, it was very interesting and terrifying all at the same time.

After looking over the different schedules, I realized that I would have to hang out in the Birmingham, Alabama bus terminal for nearly 7 hours if I took the bus all the way into Huntsville.  The thought of sitting in a bus terminal for 7 hours with my children after having been on a bus with them for 19 hours was just too much for me to bear.  When I found out that Huntsville and Birmingham where only about an hour and a half apart, I decided to just take the bus to Birmingham and drive to Huntsville since I was already planning on renting a car.

We got on the bus around 2:30 pm to depart Oklahoma.  For the most part, this first bus was uneventful with the exception of a pissed off baby.  The next stop was Wichita Falls, Texas.  We switched buses here.  We had to wait a little while for the next bus to get there so in the mean time the kids entertained themselves with Goldfishes. 

The bus we got on in Wichita Falls was extremely packed.  My daughter sat with a lady and I sat in the seat across from her with some man who had a bad case of B.O.  The boy child sat about two rows behind me with a younger guy in his early twenties.  We rode this bus all the way to Dallas. 

There was this group of young guys probably in their early to mid twenties sitting a few rows up from us dressed as if they were getting ready to audition to play someone like Lil’ Wayne in an upcoming made for TV movie.  They spent at least an hour talking about all the different way to smoke pot and get high.  It was very educational to say the least.  One of them would say something like “Have you ever got high using a gas mask?”  The others will all say they had and then another would chime in about he did that but he would rather smoke while driving the Bat Mobile covered in peanut butter with a badger in his boxers.  It was sort of like a male chest beating contest.  I half expected them to whip out their penises and ask to borrow a tape measure.

As I mentioned before, we all had to share a seat with a stranger.  I felt sorry for the dude my son was sitting with.  Over everyone else on the bus I could hear my son talking about Call of Duty this and Madden that and wrestling…oh my god…the wrestling.  The guy just looked like he wanted him to shut up so he could take a nap.  My daughter felt the need to touch everything…the light switches, the air vents, the recliner, etc, etc, etc.  Not to mention the fact that each and every bus bathroom was thoroughly inspected by both children and complained about for at least fifteen minutes following each visit, but more about that later.

Every bus driver at departure would give a little speech about no smoking, no consuming alcoholic beverages, turn your ringers to vibrate on your cell phones, talk quietly, blah, blah, blah.  There are some people in this world aren’t very bright and have trouble following even the simplest of instructions.  I was lucky enough to share a bus with these people. 

There was this group of trailer trash that I had the pleasure of riding with all the way from Wichita Falls, Texas into Birmingham, Alabama.  They were loud and completely obnoxious.  The group consisted of one woman and about five men.  As far as I know they weren’t actually traveling together they just shared a common Jerry Springer-esque bond of being ultra TPT.  It was sort of like an episode of My Name Is Earl except it wasn’t funny especially at 2 in the morning when you were trying to sleep. 

The female of this clan was one of those women that viewed herself to be a size 6 when she was in fact at least a size 20.  It was gross.  She was also VERY loud.  At one point she was on the phone sitting about six rows behind me all but yelling into her phone.  The bus driver actually got on the intercom to tell her shut the hell up (of course, he said it much more professionally).  This became a topic of discussion for most of the trip.  When the group would get loud, one of them would make a comment about how they were going to get yelled at and thrown off the bus to which Big Momma would say something to effect of “He can’t throw us all off the bus.  I paid for my ticket.  I’m going to talk if I fucking want.”  It got kind of repetitive after awhile.  To be honest, I think they were all drunk.

Somewhere on the outskirts of Terrell, Texas we hit bumper to bumper traffic.  It’s never good when you look forward and there are red brake lights as far as the eye can see.  Eventually after a good 30 minutes of inching forward, we begin to see flashing lights ahead.  Apparently, some dummy decided it would be a good idea to go and flip his car over on the highway and make everyone else have to go around him.  Thanks for that, Mr. Guy!

We made a lot of middle of nowhere stops especially in Texas and we picked up lots of loonies along the way.  In Tyler, Texas we picked up an elderly black man decked out in overalls.  It was after midnight.  I was exhausted and my creativity switch had been clicked to “off” for the past few hours.  In my mind, I nicknamed him “Farmer Black Man”.  Did I mention I was tired? 

The Farmer talked the entire time he was on the bus.  Problem was he was having this conversation with himself.  I couldn’t even tell you what he was saying it some sort of hillbilly gibberish.  His voice had an old man rasp and in addition it had a scratchiness like he had smoked since he was 10 years old and now he was pushing 80.  He would fluctuate his voice to where one minute he would talk really deep and the next he was talking in a really high pitch rasp.  It was strange and slightly scary. 

After a couple of stops, the bus driver came over the intercom and announced our next stop would be in Kilgore, Texas.  A passenger from somewhere in the back near Farmer Black Man asked, “Driver, will we be stopping at an insane asylum for the old man?”  That came from the trailer trash peanut gallery.  It was probably the only thing that came from that group that was even remotely funny.

Speaking of places we stopped, as I said before we stopped in the middle of nowhere a lot in these little one horse towns.  Maybe I noticed them more because it was the middle of night but I couldn’t help but think that I wouldn’t want to wait for the bus here in the dark not would I want to get off the bus at these stops.  All I could think about were scary movies and serial killers as I imagined what it would be like to get off there.  In particular, one such stop was in Kilgore, Texas.  Kilgore’s motto should be “Kilgore: the place where serial killers are born”.  Take my advice.  Do not travel on a bus with kids or you may find yourself thinking that Kilgore may actually be an excellent place to abandon your children.

Like most kids, my children are avid bathroom inspectors.  I know I was when I was a child.  Hell, I had an official I.D. and everything.  After listening to my kids complain over and over about how smelly the bathroom was I vowed that I would do whatever was necessary to avoid using it myself.  Somewhere in Texas during all the middle of nowhere stops, I had the urge to GO.  Finally, I could hold it no longer.  I entered with caution.  My New Orleans friends and family will understand completely when I say it smelled like Mardi Gras Day in there.  Anytime I use a public toilet I always put down a layer of toilet paper on the seat but this time I put numerous layers.  It was THAT scary in there!  After which, I was thankful that the little cubby hole restroom indeed had toilet paper and also for the hand sanitizer I carried in my purse.

Somewhere near Dallas one of the guys from the pot smoking party decided to start a conversation with the lady sitting behind me.  From what I gathered, he had just gotten divorced and he was on his way back to Killeen, Texas to burn his ex-wife’s house down.  Something tells me it's a trailer.  So any of my Killeen friends that read this remember you read it here first, people.  I am bringing you all the juicy gossip from my super awesome road trip.  Be sure to let me know too once you see it one the news so I can say “Hey!  I know that guy.”

There were tons of little babies and toddlers on this trip.  Those people should be nominated for sainthood.  I would not have had the patience to deal with that.  One lady had a little guy who was about three.  I learned on this trip that whining in any language is just as stressful because you can’t understand it in any tongue. 

My son was sitting near the little boy and his mom.  The little guy, who my son to referred to as Pedro the whole time, thought my boy was the bees knees.  When we would get off the bus, he would follow him around and copy his every move.  I also think he had a crush on my daughter.  He would constantly ask me were “la niña” was.  This kid was just another official member of my son’s fan club.  Later in Shreveport a lady got on the bus and as her husband was waving goodbye to her, my son was sure the guy was waving to him.  He says, “Mom, do we know him?”  My boy thinks everyone wants to be his fan club president.

Somewhere between Vicksburg and Jackson, Mississippi, I woke up from a brief nap to find us stopped along the highway.  First thought was “Great!  We got a flat tire or we are having engine trouble.”  I asked the guy in front of me, the arsonist, why we were stopped and he said he wasn’t sure but he said the bus driver was outside of the bus.  I looked out my window and saw the driver standing out there smoking a cigarette.  At this point we were already running over an hour behind schedule.  The traffic near Terrell, Texas didn’t help. 

From what I gathered from the people sitting around me, we had already been stop for a good 20 minutes.  Another 20 minutes later, a mini van pulls up and another driver gets out and climbs on the bus telling the current driver thank you for waiting for him.  I thought maybe we were switching drivers but no, this other driver just needed a ride into Birmingham, Alabama.  So now we are almost two hours behind schedule.

We were scheduled to reach Birmingham a little after 9 a.m. but it was nearly 11 when I made it.  Lucky for me there was a cab parked right out front that took me to Enterprise Rent-A-Car which closed for noon.  I would have been devastated if I wouldn’t have been able to get the car considering I still had to drive an hour and a half to Huntsville to get to my husband.

I’m going to go ahead and end it here for now.  I still have much more to tell you guys about.  I’ll try to get to the rest of this tale tomorrow.  Part 2, here.