Interview with the Gypsy

I apologize for the repost but this is one of my favorites of all time. And this is new to some of you anyway. And for those of you loyalists who have read this before, consider this a reward for sticking with me for all these years. Next time I’ll buy you Isotoners. I’ve been slacking off lately due to a *found* bushel of opium. (I didn’t know it came in bushel form either until last month.) Starting this week though, I’m rededicating myself to writing while beginning a long and arduous detox.

So enjoy this Crazy Ass Gypsy Post…  

 

Part I

 

I met her on a narrow winding street surrounded by tidy whitewashed homes, but there was nothing tidy, narrow, or white-washed about this woman.

I’ve done it! Through persistence, 8 cardboard boxes of wine, 1 pack of roll up cigarettes, 7 euros, and an old pair of boxer shorts I was finally able to begin to chronicle the Gypsy life. For the purposes of simplicity and duplicity I have translated this interview from its original format of her speaking broken English and me speaking broken Spanish to something resembling coherence. So now, in the proud tradition of Frost/Nixon, Larry King/Tony Blair, Howard Stern/Crackhead Bob; I give to you….. Oglesby/Crazy Ass Gypsy Lady…..

G.L.- Do you got a cigarette?

Me- Yea, I’ll buy you a pack of roll ups if you talk to me for a minute.

G.L.- I want to drink something too then. And not no goddamn water.

Me- Ok, I’ll buy you a box of wine.

At this point there was much celebrating in the form of hand kissing, dancing, and suggestive hip thrusts. After I bought her the wine I pulled out my camera to get her photo…

G.L.- Oooh, oooh, shiny thing, give me, give me??

Me- No, get off of me. Stand back there, I want to take your picture.

G.L.- Can I have a euro?

Me- Yes, now stand still and get your hands out of your pants.

                                                                                                                                                                   

After capturing her image on the ‘evil shiny soul catcher,’ we found a nice spot in the park for me to sit down and type, and for her to endlessly pace, smoke, drink, shoot-up some smack, smoke some crack, and scream insults at passing tourists. After I was able to calm her with another euro, we began again.

Me- Can you please state your name for the record

G.L.- Blearaphariemooshhhhhhh.

Me- Ok, I’ll just call you Crazy Ass Gypsy Lady, or G.L. for short. Ok?

G.L.- Buy me more wine?

Me- In a little while.

G.L.- You Goddamned mother fucker.… yes yes.

Me- How old are you?

G.L.- 29.

Me- What? You can’t be.

G.L.- Coke miles ain’t easy miles, white boy.

Me- I guess we’ll skip the personal information for now. Can you tell me anything interesting?

G.L.- I’m the hottest bitch on the block white boy, wanna fuck?……….. Hey, why are you throwing up and stabbing at your eyes and poking sticks into your ears? Are you ok? Do you need some brown mother fucker?

Me- No, no (calming down) I’m fine, I just must have eaten something.

G.L.- Oh yea, that happens to me everyday. I thought I was funny.

Me- What can you tell me about Gypsies? Do you have any family legends or lore?

G.L- Well, one legend states that we were forever cursed because we made Christ’s crucifixion nails. But that’s a load of horseshit! The truth is that we stole one of the four nails that were used to crucify him.

Me- Wait are you saying that you are a 2000 year old vampire?

G.L.- What are you, fucked up? You’re in the wrong ‘Interview.’ Stay with me here white boy!

Me- Sorry.

G.L.- That’s why Christ had both feet stuck with one nail. The truth is we didn’t do it out of mercy; the nails were made out of olive wood, which were really handy for stabbing relatives back then. Anyway, because we spared Christ that one painful nail, God bestowed upon us the blessed ability to be the best thieves in the world.

Me- But you always get caught. Old, half blind, drunken shop owners have kicked you out of every store in Europe.

G.L- Fuck you white boy. Buy me some wine. Please mother fucker?

Me- After one more tale.

G.L.- This wine is getting my womanly juices flowing!

Me- I’ll give you a euro if you just tell me why the Bulgarians have a country and a church and you don’t?

G.L.- Hell yea! At one time there was a country in which the Bulgarians and the Gypsies lived. The Bulgarians built a church and the gypsies built another one. The Bulgarians made their church out of gold. We made our church out of cheese. Time passed. The gypsies were wandering incessantly, and hunger gripped us. We did not have anything to eat…. so we began to eat the church. One Gypsy took a slice, and then another… We ended up without a church. For that reason we do not have church, because we ate it. The Bulgarians have one, but we don’t. We do not have a state either. We do not have anything.

Me- Ooh don’t forget your God bestowed talent for thievery.

G.L.- Fuck you.

Me.- No really, you guys are like Satan. The greatest trick you ever pulled was making the world think you didn’t steal.

G.L.- Fuck you, I’m getting mad.

Me- Cause nobody would ever think that a gypsy would steal anything. I’ll bet the shop owners ask you to lock up for them every night huh? Cause you guys are so trustworthy and all?

After she pulled out a knife I changed the subject back to the cheesy church.

Me- Wait, you made a church out of cheese?

G.L.- We’ve always been a bit eccentric. We like cheese, plus we like to horde shit. This was like stabbing two relatives with one knife. Smart huh?

Me- What kind of church was it? Romano Catholic? Christ of the Ubriaco? Saint Paulin? Protestant Pepper Jack? Anglican Acorn? I’ll bet the Marble marble Saints kept the Munster out! Jajajajaja. You guys should have made it out of Swiss; then it would have been really holy.

G.L.- You are seriously a fucking idiot. My IQ is like 48, I’m strung out on smack, I’m drunk; and I still know how lame you are. What’s next in your comedic repartee, knock knock jokes? Jackass.

Me- Uh, sorry. Do you want to finish this tomorrow?

G.L.- Yea, because you suck. Buy me some wine. Mother fucker.

The End

If you enjoyed this and want to read Part II, you can do so here.