Shamrock Sherlock's Happy Birthday!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

I hope there is no more Progress. Somehow Senior Ave appeared in my Life Plan, against my will and consent. If you've ever called yourself Stupid, read this and you will proclaim yourself to be a Genius!

Shamrock Sherlock Happy Birthday!

By Alexander Guinevere Kern

I was born on Saint Patty’s Day in 1955 at 5:55 a.m.!

Making me 40!  Heh!

My friend took me to get my Johnson and Johnson Vaccine.


Some hilarious tidbits about Sherlock:

When I moved out of my parent’s house, it was because my Mother was certifiably insane. Her fav target was me, so I deprived her of that option.

Once out of the house, I discovered some fascinating facts of Life my parents tried to hide from me:

I wondered what the electric bill was all about. I did not know you had to pay for the apartment electricity.  Until Pepco cut off the power.

I did not know you had to pay for your phone.  Ditto.

“Bills” and the concept of them left me confused and frightened. What were they? How many of them could I reasonably expect to receive? Most importantly, how would I pay them? I only earned about $3.50 per hour.

My car ran out of gas - because I did not know you had to put gas in the old Mustang. I am NOT kidding! Some guy had to exit his car and help me push it into a gas station.  I had no idea why it stopped running. Grumbling and stupified, he had to show me how to pump gas. This was also terrifying, as the gas dribbled and smelled horrible and where was I supposed to pay for it? Did I have enough money? How much was a full tank? Thank God back then the gas station attendant took your money and brought out your change and even washed your car windows!

I was publicly mortified.  Gas was about 70 cents a gallon.

I worked in a jewelry store across the street from my dive apartment, which was on the very borderline of Washington, D.C.  Quebec Arms was the most dangerous apartment complex there was and I lived across the street from it.  Every night the police or fire department showed up at our builiding or one of theirs. If I wanted to do my laundry, I had to walk over to the apartment building next door, (rain, snow or shine) and if I left, the laundry was quickly stolen. No one EVER walked out at night alone. I did it all the time and only God would watch out for an IDIOT like me. I tried to buy 6 bags of groceries, but had no way to get them back to my apartment. So I carried back four bags and was shocked to see someone had taken the other two when I returned to the store!

For a while I had a female room-mate.  Her parents paid her rent while she attended the University of Maryland. Her ugly boyfriend visited often so they could freely smoke pot in her room. He called her “KeeKoo.” When KeeKoo got sick with the flu for a week, he came on to me bigtime. All men scared me to death. Disgusted I told KeeKoo what he had done - she denied it, yelled at me and then moved out.  Leaving me with the rent and the BILLS I did not know I had to pay.

She also took all of the furniture with her when she left.  My parents only allowed me to have a small dresser, my clothes, a junior bed. No pots, pans or silverware.

Thus, after KeeKoo left, I came home from the jewelry store to an utterly dark apartment. I did not have a LAMP, a couch or chairs, curtains  or anything else in the living room. I did not earn enough money to buy any and no idea how to transport such items to the apartment.  Sometimes I sat in the dark and listened to my battery-operated transistor radio. I can’t read in the dark.

I worked for a Senior Jewish man who was flashy and knew how to sell jewelry. He was also hilarious. I had to keep the books from boiling over from debt and I also was required to learn how to intake product and store it or create attractive jewelry displays. My teacher in these important matters was a very Senior Jewish lady who dressed like my prim Grandma, was strict and ultra professional. She kept her job and was paid well because “She knew how to sell pens better than anyone else in the business."

I did not like females for room-mates. She left stockings hanging in the shower and stuff like that. So I even got married several times so I did not have to live with another girl. And I never have.

I read that young people today like their parents and want to live with them, no matter how old they are.

ALL of my friends moved out at 18, so they could pack four people into a two bedroom apartment and be free to do drugs.  We all got jobs and we all worked our butts off.  Our parents were “establishment” and clueless about all matters whatsoever. My Mother had never smoked in her entire life. Once in a while they enjoyed a “Tom Collins.”

I did not do drugs or drink alcohol. No one cared, because my boyfriend was the Weed Provider for the area.  They all drank to excess except for me. I was very angry because I was tricked into being the NAME on all of the bills, so I got stuck with long distance phone calls no one admitted to making.

Thank God there were no credit cards back then.

When there were, my First Husband and I got them in the mail, with our names on them, ready to use. So we did. I did not understand “Credit” or that there was “interest” accruing.  We laughed and said “CHARGE IT” until we found out how deeply, deeply in debt we were.

One time our cat went into the fridge and got into someone’s LSD.  The cat survived but was never the same again.

Every smoked - everywhere. Ash trays in every home, in the stores, in the bars in the movie theaters, in the airplanes and in the cars! Cigs were 35 cents a pack. We bought them out of machines. I smoked until I found out I was pregnant with my first daughter, who is now about 46 years of age, making her younger than I am. I stopped smoking in two weeks, because it is easier if you don’t think about it.

My first husband still drinks excessively, still smokes, as he has since age 7 in Baltimore City. He looks better than ever.

One of my old boyfriends said, “Kathy is kind of good-looking now that she’s had a nose job.”

I’d known Kathy since High School. She had not changed at all. Laughing, I told her what my boyfriend said. She stared at me and said “Gwen, I had a radical nose job. I woke up in the middle of it and it hurt like blazes and they had to knock me out again to finish the surgery.”

I could not see any difference.

Later my Uncle lent me $400 to buy a used car. I did not know you had to “fix cars” when they needed the oil changed or tires rotated or general repairs like how to repair a flat tire. I never did that in all my life. My husbands did those things.

My husbands and kids know to “fix things.” One of them likes to take stuff apart completely and put it back together. I can’t understand it.

Even now when something breaks, I just throw it out and buy a new one.

My daughter also has a map in her head.  When my father drove us to his brother’s for Thanksgiving every year in Harrisburg, he always called my Uncle first - for directions, which never changed. I do that, too.

My daughter learns once and then never forgets again.

I still think most people are really mean and ill bred.  Their rudeness, invasiveness and hyper-focus on sex is appalling to me. The don’t believe in God and even when they *say* they do, they do not act like it.  Once I left home and started getting jobs in the Real World I was chronically horrified by the way people acted and the things they said to me.

NEVER did I hear my parents, or any of their friends, or any of MY friends at church talk to people the way Routine Humans talked to me. I grew up with polite, well-attired, highly intelligent people who discussed *ideas* and not other people.

My bestie died years ago of AML secondary to Hodgkins Disease. She was a psychologist. She said: “Gwen, you are the smartest woman I know but you DON’T UNDERSTAND PEOPLE.”

That is because I am ALIEN.  Later in life my buds called me Borgo the Borg.

‘Nuff Said.  I LOVE the plane(t).  But people and how their minds work, I cannot take apart and put back together and make any sense out of the end result.

66 years and dead thrice and still cannot understand why Heaven keeps throwing me back like an undersized fish.

Not even a one bedroom fish!

This is my Life's Greatest Mystery.  Why don’t they like me?  Whatever lessons they want me to learn, I cannot please them to satisfaction. I cannot learn. That’s all there is to it.

God loves me. He loves everyone, though.

Our family doctor changed $35 a visit. His office was in his home. His wife was his receptionist. First he examined you in his examination room, then he took you to his office. While he smoked a pipe with the door shut he talked to you about your psychological problems. He told me my Mother was crazy and the only way I could survive it and finish High School was to take Valium. I took 2 mgs Valium for two years and was bedazzled. I wondered if this was what people felt like every day. It was wonderful.

My doc will not give me Valium. He says it is addictive.  I quit taking it just like I quit smoking. 2 weeks, nothing to it.

Strangely, but in truth, I do talk to spirits and ghosts and aliens or some Beings along that line, including Spirits who have left their Human bodies at home and astrally project themselves into . . . well, the Astral. These are particularly irritating as they can bug you or hurt you badly in or out of a body.

I actually CAN see my Past Lives, most of my current Life and even Earth Stuff far into the future.  Every single day I resent this.

One New Age Spiritualist sort of person told me most Mystics would give their right arm to have the experiences I have had against my will and consent.  No one believes my stories BUT them.

And, at 66, all the Former Mothers-in-law and Fathers-in-Law and Old Husbands with their New (now old) wives and their friends and even my very own Virago, (but much missed Madre) Mother, have gone on to their great reward - or punishment, as the case may be.  Every day I thank God I don't have to listen to their complaints about me, the analysis, critique, condemn, insult and dismiss me as a viable Being.

Well, that is, I think my exes and their new/old wives are still alive - somewhere, in some plane, game, timeline, program, dimension, universe or alternate or parallel universe or reality.

At least I am finally alone. I don’t have to *care* about what they think. Or what anybody thinks!

I have no car, one bill and all the time in God’s Imagination to write, paint, think or sleep.

Retirement is glorious!


Submitted: March 23, 2021

© Copyright 2022 RexMundi555'.-. All rights reserved.

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