Thursday, April 23, 2009

Poe Little Rich Girl

My First Week livin the life of a ghetto star in my new A-P-T has been not completely terrible. Sure I've had a few ghetto encounters such as the cat -call "Hey hot cracka momma youz be lookin fine" or the kid digging in the dumpster outside my apartment for a Hustler magazine and telling me to "mind my business" when I asked him what he was doing. But even a white-bread girl like me can make adjustments to my accustomed life-style...right?

I have to admit, my hurt pride kicked in the first few hours in my new place...The ceiling fan is out dated and has that weird mesh pattern from the 80s on have to pull a metal string to turn the light on in my closet and the appliances in the kitchen are closer to yellow than the advertised "cream". But after a mini-break down and a nice long cry, I have made my crapper feel more like a home. I moved my second hand furniture in with new accessories and curtains and "voila" a palace has been created. But what makes it even better, is that it a continual reminder that I am okay and I can take care of myself....even if it's not ideal.

Now, to put your minds at ease....I have not moved to South Dallas to share an apartment with a Crack hore and become a pimp. I have moved to the prominent and sophisticated Plano, TX. That being said, I have moved into the cheapest apartment in that area (which isn't all that cheap). So, the apartment being out dated was the only draw back I knew of but I figured with the amount of money I would be saving that it would be worth it. Little did I know that a section of the apartment complex (next door to my building) is government housing. LOVELY.

Why is it that these people cannot afford housing on their own yet they all drive gold Cadillacs rollin on dubs?? Well, I believe it has something to do with the high traffic that passes through and the little "exchange" of a small substance. I have seen occur out in the parking lot. I do plan to document this for all my "cracker jack" friends. Stay posted.

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