Rural Wreck by Anita Beer

Ok, so I go on a little trip out of town.  And, I’ll be damned if a person could just take a little trip without the people who live around her acting like total fucking idiots.  Let me specific here, there is nothing wrong with being a hillbilly.  Generally that occurs as a result of one’s birth place, type of family around the home in general and just plain lack of getting out of the sticks.  So, please understand, when I refer to some of my family members as hillbillys, yes indeed, I am making fun of them, however, in general they cannot help it.

A redneck however is something that someone chooses to become.  People aren’t born rednecks, people choose to be rednecks.  People choose to do redneck things like go into public with no shirt on with their underwear hanging out the back and their plumber butt showing and no shoes.  That’s not something that’s just born, you do that on your own free will.

So, now that we have that cleared up.  While I was gone, one of the hillbillies went to see one of the rednecks who just happens to manufacture meth.  That’s another story for another day.  Remind me sometime when I’m running low on content, I’ll shoot that story at you.

Anyway, so prescription drug addicted hillbilly went to redneck meth dealers house and accused him of sleeping with his wife.  Now, that’s not a very nice thing to accuse someone of and even if it is true, I have my own theory here.  Let’s just say that your spouse has an affair.  Who are you going to be angry with?  Not the person who had the affair with your spouse…they never promised you anything…unless maybe they did because it was your brother or sister or parent but anyway.  How can you be mad at the outsider when your spouse is the one who made the promises to you?  Your spouse is the one who said “forsaking all others”, right?

I feel very strongly about this matter so don’t try to talk me down.  Anyway, hillbilly and redneck start fighting.  Someone calls the police.  I have no idea what else transpired because my own mother is pissed at me over something else and refuses to tell me anything.  (That’s another for an entirely different time, remind me when I am post-less for a few days, I’ll share).

So, all I know is that the Rednecks (Hatfileds) and the Hillbillys (McCoys) got into a huge ruckus and ended up cutting phone lines, satellite lines, cable lines all kinds of crap.  I mean really, what is this 1950?

Yea, I have so much more intriguing stuff coming your way….just you wait.

text message

wife:  you have a big job when you get home…….explain to Child #1 why he can’t sit in a public place and play with his wienner bc otherwise my mother is going to chop his hands off…

husband:  Lmfao Child #1?  I figured it would be Child #2 (who is 4)

wife:  no kid (#!) has had a hard on 2 days bc he won’t leave his thang alone, at this rate he is going to be blind way before puberty

husband:  omg. You are killing me,   ROFLMA

wife:  no I am for real, mom has sent him to wash his hands about 50 times & is threatening to put clothes on him (yes they run around in underwear at home)

husband:  give him some lexapro

wife:  now that is pure genius…..

Yea, I know, I’m jumping around and I just noticed that I didn’t do part two of the last story, oops, so sorry.  I will get to it, I promise.

For now, I’m giong to tell stories as they come to me or are brought up in my every day life.  And, for now, that is the story  of me, my mother, my mother’s exhusband (one of them) and my father.  Let me start this out by telling you that I moved to my fathers in my early teens.  He and I are very much alike, we thought alike, we had the same orderly nature and we just gelled.  He didn’t agree with my disaster of a bedroom but he wasn’t one of those parents that nagged about it, he did, 30 years ago what Barbara Walters told her audience earlier this week to do, “close the door”.

He spanked me a couple of times when I was young, once for standing in front of the TV.  I remember it well.  I was around 4 (they divorced at 4 so I couldn’t have been older than 4) and I had been to church with my parents wearing this enormously large blue dress.  And, I wanted to be seen some more that day.  So, I chose to stand in front of the TV.  He said move, I didn’t.  He said move, I didn’t.  He got a belt.

Another time we were in the kitchen and someone dropped a spoon.  He said “pick it up” and I said, “no” and he said, “pick it up” and I said “no” and he spanked me.

The third time was on one of my weekend visits with him, he had washed my hair or I had one and since it was down to my waist it was difficult to brush out.  He broke the brush trying to brush my hair.  I cried like I was dying.  I wouldn’t stop crying, so he pulled the ol, “if you are gonna cry, I’m gonna give you a reason to cry” and he spanked me so I had a reason to cry.

The only other time he had to discipline me in my life was for skipping 2 hours of school one morning.  And, really he didn’t punish me for that, I was afraid he would be mad because the only reason I went in late was because I as on the phone late and I was sleepy  so I lied about it.  Since he was a teacher, he knew I was late even though he taught at another school, he knew before I ever got home.  That was it really.  He died when i was 19.  Who knows how much different my life would have been otherwise.  I say that because I really made some bad decisions from the time he died up through about age 31.  So, just curious.

My mother was quite different.  She basically would just put up with my smart mouth, my acting out and not doing my homework in time to go to church for the 14th time that week.  She would steam and boil about how bad her life was and how she missed so much because I was so non-compliant.  Her basicaly discipline occured like this:  I made her made, she fussed at me, I fussed back, she cried, I wouldn’t hush, she got mad, she cried more, I didn’t apologize for making her cry, she got mad, I smarted off some more” and then…all holy hell would break loose.

She would get one of my step-father’s belts.  Let’s be clear here, he was my mother’s first cousin.  They married each other numerous times and he was abusive to me, to her, to me, to her…Anyway, she would get one of his belts and commence to dragging me to their bedroom (which quite honestly made me want to puke just going in that room - more on that later).

She would start hitting me with the belt.  Butt, legs, back, side, butt, back, legs.  She would hit and hit and hit until she was exhausted and then she would leave the room and I’d go to my room to cry.  Sometimes I wouldn’t cry when she spanked me and it would just make her madder so she would just keep hitting.  It hurt, I know it did.  But, I was a bit bigger than her and as long as she stuck to my butt and legs, she would get tired before I would start to hurt too bad.  the sides, th back, that was  different story.

Anyway, we’ve had a few incidents in my adult live where she has spanked one of my children and I have spoke up and told her to stop.  One was recently, and she was simply mad because 4.5 year old who is still experiencing his terrible 2’s (and does have a sensory disorder) wouldn’t do whatever her latest demand was.

I am in a comprimised situation right now with my help and I’ve needed her to watch my children quite a bit.  But, when I yelled at her to stop, she got mad.  She is still mad.  When she gets mad, you can expect punishment and since I am too old for her to beat me with a belt, she resorts to not speaking to me unless she just has to.

And, the woman lived in a house, with that ex-husband I mentioned up there, while they were arguing, they slept in the same bed, she cooked meals like we were this happy fucking family, she made is damn lunch and did everyone’s laundry just like nothing was wrong.  But, she didn’t speak to him at all for 6 weeks.  She only spoke to me when she needed something.

She has vengenance.  Trust me, she has vengenace.

*Oh and the sidenote about me hating their bedroom.  There were several reason for that.  I think that one of them was just that simple teenager thought of their parent having sex.  Although he wasn’t my father, I had heard them before having sex and it would (and just did just now) made m literlly sick to my stomach.

But, he had this smell, he was a grese monkey so their room always reeked of that.  And, then, he would try to shower and cover it up with a certain aftershave - which I absolutely cannot stand to spell to this day.  So, the room was stinky - no it fuckin’ stank.

But, one of the main reasons I hated that room so much was because I would hide in my room when I knew he was in the house, only coming out and walking in the hallway when I knew he was no where around.  And, on the off chance I made a mistake, I was subjected to his groping and tickling and then his disgusting evil laughter.  He makes me want to puke to this day.

Man years later and my mother was seeing him again, I don’t know how many times she married him but even in between she was sleeping with him and running around with him.  But, we had 2 girl cousins new to our family and my mother had taken them with her to his house.

I immediately called their mothers, explained to them what I grew up in and why it was a bad idea for the kids to be around him.  Naturally, they confronted her, told her not to take their children to his house ever again.

And that………..that led to one of the biggest fights I ever had with her because, as usual, she took someone else’s side.  I was always the liar, the one who made shit up just because she didn’t want to believe the real truth.

Ok, tomorrow night, more on kidnapping maybe…..

Yes, I was four.  Some pieces of the atory are left out some other issues are briefly changed but the man story of being kidnapped is no different.  So, here’s how it went…

My family had one of those”house onthe corner where all the kids play” and that’s where we spent our days beore school, afterscool and in the summer.

The day was easy, arrive at aunts house, eat fried egg and eatched Captain Kangaroo.  When everyone’s egg was gone and the Captain was gone, we were shoo’d outside for the day.

Between 8 AM and noon, we played hide-n-seek, basketball, wiffleball, kickball the whole bit.  Lunch, a cheese sandwich, a bologna and cheese sandwish) and koolaid was brought to the front porch.  More play on our bicycles, apple tree climbing and strawberry picking.  The youngest were sent inside to the nap, the other shewed on out to play

Than, as our parents started to trickle in, we all threw fits and begged to stay longer beause “we just got started playing” and so we were pulled from their yard squalling.

Baths at home and back to the sitter at 6 AM.

No, wait that had nothing to do with kidnapping, please continue

Not very man people will ever know who the author behind this blog is.  And, I want it that way.  This is  place is safety for me.  I am really sick of sensoring my writing all because someone might read it and get offendded.  Someone generally meaning my family.  I alientated a few folks a couple of years ago and my mom bust my fucking chops daily about something I have written.

I am going to use the most useless example to get this gig started.  Ok, so I live in the general area where I grew up.  And it just so happens that a meth dealer lives near by.  I also write posts for advertising companies and once I wrote an ad and made the following statement “drugs are prevelant in our neighborhood”.

Then, one day I am laying low on my sofa just chilling out when my husbands says, “omg, dick head is walking up in our yard”.  He was headed outside anyway so he went on to see what this idiot wanted.  Within seconds the door opens and my husband says that dick head wants to talk to me.  Sure, as if I care that dick head wants me to get off of my sofa and see what ails him today.

When I get outside he says something to the effect that he doesnt’t appreciate me writing about him on the internet.  I inform him that he is a complete fucking food and I didn’t write about him.  He continued that yes and quoted the above.

My answer?  First of all dick head doesnt know how to read, secondly dick head doesn’t have a computer, third, dick head has been telling people all over town that he is going to burn my house down.

So, I did what any normal person would do.  I called the insurance company and upped my policy because duh, any fool dumb enough to 1. burn his own house down within hours of making bail on drug charges wouldn’t think twice about burning someone else’s house down and 2.  how stupid is he to run around all over town telling people he is going to “burn her out”?

And, when those tactics didn’t cause me to get all in a tizzy because duh, I didn’t write about him, I would venture to say that 99% of you would agree with me that “drugs are rampant in our society” even if you don’t have a drug dealer living near by.  Well anyway, all in a tizzy didn’t do him any good so he went to my mom and begged her to ask me to quite writing about him.

Come on puhlleeeze.

I promise some better tales, I am struggling right now with some serious bullshit with my own mother and I am going to get it out here as soon as I figure out where to start.  I mean, duh, it isn’t like I can say, “I was born and my mother turned into a bitch” but, that’s basically how it is.

So, more later from the tales of ruralwreck community.

You can call it a home, I call it my ruralwreck and I…I am Anita Beer.  I am going to be brief here but just so you know what to expect, I am totally unlocked here…….my identity belongs to Anita and I will live vicariously through her….hope you like her.

It is important to note and I am going to start off by saying as much, you must know that I have no plans of being politically correct.  Being PC in the woods with the hillybilly’s and redneck’s will cause nothing but confusion.  You gotta speak the language.  You don’t have to agree, but don’t expect me to care if you don’t like it.

I”m Anita, and this for today…