This is Really Getting Old...

When did writing become a chore rather than something I enjoy? I’ve never been good at doing what I’ve been told, and when I feel like I HAVE to do something, it ultimately becomes something I no longer want to do. I know that technically there is no one standing over me forcing me to write, but still – I feel almost as though there is. So the words still won’t come.

It’s actually scaring me a little… because writing is the one thing in life I know I can do – and do well. If I lose that, then what?

I may be unemployed as of January 1st, which actually would be preferable by me than the alternative: continuing working through the end of March but then receive no severance. At least if a transfer happens on 1/1, I would get my three months’ severance and have that time to find something new. And maybe rest. And maybe write.

I don’t think I am depressed – on the contrary, I am too blasé about the thought of being unemployed to be depressed. Actually, even if I lose my day job, I’ll still be employed. Waitressing may not be my career of choice, but it’ll do if it has to temporarily.

I think my mind is just on overload right now. That has to be it. Between work, work, Lexie, the holidays, and the drudgery of daily life there doesn’t seem to be an unoccupied space in my creative genius of a mind right now. I’ll need to make some room in there soon…

And I truly appreciate all your kind words and thoughts while I am in repose – even though I am also slacking in the comments department, I still am reading all of you regularly. And still enjoying every word I read.

So… I guess this is just another poor excuse for a post. My apologies – again.

Much Ado About Nothing

I… just… can’t… DO IT!!!!! I don’t know why, but I just CAN’T write more TBOTE. At least, not now. I mean, it’s all there (duh – I lived it), I just can’t get it on paper. Or blog, for that matter. I guess this is my first very severe case of writer’s block. Thank God I am not under some sort of deadline or I’d really be screwed. I realize I am letting people down, and that I am sooo overdue on a chapter it is bordering on pathetic, but it just isn’t happening. Every time I read the last chapter I wrote, I just sit there and stare at the last sentence and think, “Ok, here we go…” only, nothing happens. Maybe if I stop trying so hard… In any case, I have a feeling this may take some time. Sorry, but that’s the chance you take when you read a work in progress – the possibility that there is no progress!! Sigh. This really sucks.

Things are NOT looking very good at the office, either. Nice attorney has packed up everything in his office and asked me if I could help him transfer all his files onto a disc from the hard drive. Ummmmm, sure… You going somewhere, buddy? He wasn’t very straightforward, but did mention that he had nowhere near the amount of money Satan wanted for a buyout. Then he asked me when his last check would be if he worked through the last day of the year. Definitely NOT a good sign. The fact that I am covered for at least three months is nice, but three months isn’t all that long in the grand scheme of things. And then there is the worry that if nice attorney leaves on the 31st, Satan will expect me to do M’s work, my work, AND nice attorney’s work (what I can do without a law degree, at least) so he can wrap things up here – and tell me in advance I’ll be gone in three months, which would keep me working until the bitter end with (technically) no severance at all. THAT would really suck. And yet? Not really feeling the stress right now. I’m probably in denial or something.

RL is still going well, although I seem to have a problem with the busboys. Vicious circle, actually. See, when I started my actual serving on my own, I wasn’t making a whole hell of a lot since I could only have two tables at a time. Hence, I only tipped out the busboys the minimum. Apparently they now think that I am a cheap bitch, and make no effort to help me out at all – I essentially wind up doing everything “busboy-ish” except for wiping down the table. Which pisses me off, and makes me continue to tip them minimally. And I’m assuming that pisses them off, so they continue to not help. See what I mean? I tried talking to the one decent busser (who I tip well since he is so AWESOME) and according to him, I shouldn’t worry, because most of them are lazy kids anyway. So I guess I’ll just keep busting my ass and keeping ALL of my tip money myself. Whatever.

On a final note, I actually did it. I cut my hair. Well, I didn’t cut it, but you know what I mean. Just about ten inches off – it’s now just past my shoulders. So it is still “long,” just not ridiculously long. And I love it. If I ever get a decent picture taken, I’ll post it so you all can see.

Well, that’s about it, I guess. Satan is due in any minute, and I should do some actual work while I still have a job, I guess. Kind of funny, really, since I am starting to care less and less about the work that has to be done since it seems it’s all coming to an end, anyway… Oh well. I guess I should look on the bright side – maybe I’ll recover from my writer’s block if I’m unemployed and bored… or maybe I’ll just start watching even more tv…

RL Redux

Well hello there!! Good to see you all again! I can't believe I've neglected this poor blog for a full two weeks, but alas, it's true. I have been pathetically lax in my posting, and even though I did say that this would happen, I still feel guilty. The thing is, I have been insanely busy, and when I'm not busy... well, I really don't feel like writing. Which explains the lack of Chapters, as well. Hopefully I'll get inspired to continue on that in the near future, since I swore I would eventually finish. And start a second book. Lofty goals for one who is so cavalier about her writing, I know, but it'll happen...

Anyway, I am loving my waitressing job. Even though I am one of the old fogeys now. No one even invites me out after work on the weekends!! I mean, sure, I wouldn't go anyway, but it would be nice to be asked. Last night I was listening to the young servers (you know, all the twenty-somethings with no dependents...!) talking about who made out with whom, who got drunk and passed out, who was texting so-and-so in the middle of the night... it made me laugh. A lot. Because it reminded me of my old days at RL - and yes, fun days they were. But the reality is that pretty much all I believe I am capable of nowadays is listening to their escapades, rather than actually participating. Funny thing is, I bet their partying jaws would hit the floor if they knew even half of my stories... which I think I'll keep to myself for now. Maybe someday I'll go out for one night just to observe the species in their natural habitat. Could be fun.

Of all the managers in the restaurant, only one is older than me, and it's only by a few months. The others are all about ten years younger. THAT freaks me out. I've never worked for anyone younger than myself, and I kind of feel like "yeah, right, kiddo - like I'm going to listen to your young-ass" but then I remember that that young-ass is my boss. Very weird.

And? Lots of cute boys. So all my young cyber gal-pals should definitely come out and have dinner here at the RL in Schaumburg. Because I could be arrested if I indulge. Well, probably not, but they all seem like nice boys that I am wayyyyy too old for. Even the one who looks like Justin Timberlake.

Wait - WHAT? Did I say that there is a waiter in my RL who looks like Justin Timberlake? Yes, I did. And given my feelings for Justin, I was initally a bit distracted. Especially when a busboy splattered the back of his shirt with French dressing and he asked me, "Do I have dressing all over my back?" and I kindly wiped it all away with a damp towel. Hopefully he didn't notice the slight tremor in my aging hand. Because like Justin, he is all of 23, and I am too old to be playing with boy toys. (And I will continue to tell myself that until my twisted brain accepts it.) Anyway, the more I get to know the guy, the more I like him - in a strictly platonic way. I'm beginning to feel like the older sister (I refuse to say "mother" cause I'm not that old) of these youngsters, and I really hope they don't all think I'm this old lady geek trying to be cool, cause I'm so NOT. Like I have to try to be cool. Heh.

As far as my "real" job - well, I still don't know much. So I really have nothing to share. Except for this discovery I made recently - Satan has been living a double life. Seriously. And I think I will end this entry with proof of this...

Here is Satan as I know him:


And here is his Alter-Ego...

You be the judge...

Unexpected Changes

So yeah, I guess I have some issues that need to be addressed. I really shouldn’t post blogs without resolutions if I plan on being on “sabbatical,” sorry! So – I start training at Red Lobster tonight. I am actually very nervous since it HAS been almost 20 years (10 since actually waitressing) and I keep replaying horrible scenarios in my head, such as dropping things, getting too overwhelmed, or fellow employees hating my guts. Hopefully none of those things will happen, and training will go smoothly.

Second, the car. I went to see my Prince Charming Mechanic, and he checked out my engine (hee hee – that sounds kinky – but really, it was the car’s engine…). He told me it is running smoothly, and it is probably my O2 regulator, something that doesn’t even have to be addressed immediately. He said it may stall occasionally but it won’t hurt the engine or blow up or anything, and I could bring it back for him to check out at my convenience. That it’s probably just a matter of cleaning it out and sending me on my merry way. So I will probably do that in the next few weeks when I have time. And I will keep dreaming of the pretty new Toyota RAV4 I really really want to buy come tax return time.

My birthday was nice – quiet, but nice. No big bar bash this year. Pretty low key. My girlfriends from the bowling alley (AKA the “bowling moms”) took me to dinner on Friday and I was home by 11:00. Then on Saturday I went to dinner with my mom, my bro, and Lexie. Erik was a little under the weather, so my sis-in-law had to stay home with him. We had a really nice dinner at Harry Caray’s, and I even had a steak bone to take home for Cute Neighbor’s dog. Like I said, really low-key. But I think as I get older, I appreciate that more sometimes. Not really up for doing shots and puking all night, you know?

Believe it or not, Satan gave me a decent bonus on Thursday, which shocked the hell out of me (no pun intended). He sat me down and told me how much he appreciated all my hard work, and what a great job I was doing since M left. I was pretty pleased, and of course the extra cash came in handy big time. Then today he calls me back into his office to tell me that he may be closing the office in three months. I sat there with a frozen grin on my face – because he HAD to be kidding, right? Guess not. He has decided he wants to stop practicing, and has offered the other attorney J the opportunity to take everything over. Problem is, J may not be able to do so, financially or otherwise. Supposedly, Satan is still uncertain to the long term future, but assured me that no matter what, I would get either a three month notice or a three month severance if he closes and J doesn’t take over or doesn’t keep me on. Of course, he stressed that J would certainly want to keep me since I am such a stellar employee, but it depends on lots of unknowns at this point. “In two weeks, I should have a better idea of what will happen,” he tells me. Wonderful. So in two weeks, I can justify this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Apparently, J had no idea this was going to happen either. He is a super sweet, great guy who has two sons in college and a daughter in high school. I know this is totally stressing him out as well, and honestly? I have no clue if he would even WANT to own the practice. He told me he will keep me updated and be as up front as possible, which I appreciate. Now, in the big picture this should be a blessing in disguise, since I have said all along how much I can’t stand Satan etc etc., but there are other things to consider. First of all, I would never ever find another legal position close to home that paid what I make now. Satan may be an asshole, but he does pay well. So that would mean I would have to find a job downtown, which would kill my waitressing job since I’d never be back here in time to work at RL. Plus, it would be a real pain in the ass to be downtown and be so far from home. The ideal would obviously be for J to take over and for us to run the office together and work happily ever after, but I have this really bad feeling that he will wind up heading downtown as well.

Just what I need, right? New stress just when I think things are going my way. It figures.

And as far as “TBOTE,” I will make no apologies for the fact that I haven’t written a new chapter in a month. Know why? Because even though I realize it may someday be my bread and butter – it’s not right now and I seem to be having a bit of a problem focusing on things other than working and cars and money and bills. I will definitely write more chapters, but I can’t make any promises as to when at this point. Hell, I can’t even promise when my next regular post will be. Lord knows the writing is cathartic and I should do it more, but sometimes I just don’t have it in me.

So that is where dasi’s life stands right now. I figure in two weeks when I get more news, I may feel like blogging again (heh)… then again, based on the news, maybe not. But the least I can do is let you know my employment status so you all don’t worry too much (cause I KNOW you’ll worry, right??) so I promise to let you know as soon as I do what’s going on. And in the meantime, don’t forget about me – because in the words of Arnold “I’ll be back!”

Little Repair Shop of Horrors

So about my car…

I have a cute little 97 Saturn SC2. First car I ever bought ENTIRELY by myself – about five years ago. Aside from a few oil leaks (drips, actually. That left a yukky mess on the driveway, though) my little Saturn has treated me pretty well. Oh, except for the fact that the sunroof is permanently shut. Because it USED to be permanently open, and when I had to choose between the two, well… Of course, now if it rains torrentially, it DOES leak just a smidge on the passenger side from said sunroof… And the speakers are a little on the blown out side, I mean, I can hear the radio (or the CDs I play), but it’s more like listening to a transistor radio than a STEREO. BUT, with 113,000 miles, it still runs and it’s paid off and those are the two most important things, right?

Let’s continue. About a month ago, I drove out to a friend’s house which was about a 30 minute drive. We had a nice visit, then Lexie and I left. As we were driving, I thought “Hmmmm – I thought I had more gas than this,” but thought nothing of it and hopped on the highway to go home. We stopped at a gas station where I filled up the tank and thought “Hmmmmm – my car usually doesn’t take THIS much gas,” but again – blew it off. We stopped in a store and when we came back to the car, I noticed a pretty strong smell of gas. When we backed out of our spot, there was a HUGE puddle under where the front of my car was. I asked Lexie if she smelled gas too (yes) and if she noticed if said puddle was there before we parked (not sure). So I pulled into a different spot, sat a few minutes, and backed out again. SHIT! Another huge puddle. Obviously something was leaking. So, I drove home.

When I got home I decided to park the car on the street rather than in my driveway – you know, because it was leaking. Lo and behold, Cute Neighbor was outside with his girlfriend. I asked Cute Neighbor to look at my car and tell me what was leaking. Well, Cute Neighbor looked at it and freaked out, explaining my car had a leak in the gas line and I was lucky that it didn’t explode on the way home. That driving a car with a leak in the gas line is EXTREMELY DANGEROUS because any spark could ignite it. (Huh. Go figure. Good thing I quit smoking three years ago.) He told me I needed to have it towed right away to a repair shop and have it fixed. Since it was late Friday night, I figured I would wait until Saturday morning, and hope no one tossed a lit cigarette by my car before then.

So AAA came in the wee hours of the am and towed it to a shop we’ll call “Randy’s.” (Yeah, I know, I’m being pretty subtle, right??) I told Randy’s to fix the gas line leak, and while they were at it, to fix the oil leak as well, since my baby had been leaking oil for quite a while now. Not GUSHING oil, mind you, but enough to make a mess of my driveway over time. Had to rent a car for the weekend, and the long and short of it was that Randy’s had my car until the following Tuesday and the total bill was $1,236.31. After my nifty “$250 off” coupon, I paid $986.31. Pretty much a “Holy SH**!” moment, but what choice did I have? So I leave with my fixed car and am happy.

Temporarily.

Over the following weekend, I notice my car is smoking from the hood. I notice this as I am in stop-and-go traffic on the highway. And I ALSO notice something smells kind of off, but I’m not sure if it is my car or something outside my car. When I get home that night, I pop the hood and try to see if anything looks like it is burning, but all looks well. On Monday, there is more smoke and more smells. I call Randy’s and they tell me to bring it in, which I can’t because I have to work. They tell me to bring it in on Saturday so they can check it out for me. Fine.

On Tuesday, I have a thought. Maybe I’ll check the oil. Silly as I think that is, since they FIXED the oil leaks and just put FIVE QUARTS of oil in a week before. But I can’t help that nagging feeling… Sure enough, bone frickin’ dry. I buy five more quarts, put two in right away, and stash the rest in my trunk. Then I call Randy’s again, and explain the situation. What do they tell me? “You’d better put oil in it right away, then!” DUH! I tell them I did, but that there must STILL be a leak, and so I plan on putting in a quart at a time until Saturday.

Saturday comes, and I drop off the car again. This time when they call back, they explain that they made a mistake, and they needed to install a new oil thingamgiggy which they didn’t do at the first visit. That since it was their fault, they wouldn’t charge for labor, only for the part. Which was $600.00, give or take. As I feel my chest constrict, I manage to spit out – “Ok, do what has to be done.”

About 20 minutes later they call back. “How long was your car running without oil?” they accuse. “I don’t know!” I retort. “I mean, you DID just put FIVE QUARTS in and had SUPPOSEDLY fixed the leaks, so until I checked it on Tuesday, I had no idea it was even low!! WHY WOULD I???” This was a lead in for the next bombshell – my engine was shot. And I needed a new one.

Before my mind wrapped itself around that information, I was quickly assured that since they made the mistake, I wouldn’t be charged for the new (rebuilt) engine or the labor for that either, but it would take about a week. I would only be paying for any upgrades and that $600 oil thingamagiggy. Whatever – do it. What choice did I have?

So a week later, I return the rental car (oh, yes, they paid for that baby) and pick up my “like new” car. With my “like new” engine that has (supposedly) 40,000 less miles on it than my old one. Like they were giving me this huge gift or something. I paid the new bill to the tune of $642.62 (“Boy, we really kept your bill low!”) and left.

Next day? The damn car stalled. Three times. And had NO pickup at all. AND? The “Service Engine Soon” light came on. Instead of going back to Randy’s immediately, I called a friend whose husband is a mechanic. I drove it out to him, he said he couldn’t see anything wrong with it, but that he didn’t have any diagnostic equipment either. He suggested trying some fuel injector cleaner. Did that, didn’t help. So what choice did I have? I called back Randy’s.

Their response? “You’d better get it back in as soon as possible so you don’t ruin our engine!” Wait a minute – YOUR engine??? PUH-LEASE!!! Brought it back last night, rented another car (this time on my own dime) and got a call this morning. “Well, it’s not our engine,” (again with the OUR ENGINE BS) he tells me, “It’s your EGR valve and O2 sensor. You need those taken care of right away. Now, I called on the part, it runs about $700, but tell you what, I’ll give you a $200 discount.” WHAT?????? I told him (in a freakishly high panicky stressed out voice) that I had NO money left and I couldn’t AFFORD $500. And how could those things have “suddenly” gone bad? I never had problems before!

He explained that it was an emmissions thing, and that “these things happen” with older cars. But they had nothing to do with it. I told HIM I just had my emmissions test and my car passed with flying colors. But he insisted that was the problem. I told him not to touch my car and I would call him back.

After calling both my parents and my brother and crying and panicking and thinking irrationally, I finally called another mechanic that my friend had told me about. And guess what?

He laughed at me.

He told me Randy’s was notorious for that kind of crap and I was lucky to get the engine out of them. He told me there was no way an EGR valve would cost $500, and besides, if I was planning on only keeping the car a few more months, there was no need for a new one. He told me he could clean out the carbon in ten minutes and not even charge for it – that all I needed was for the car to run smoother, right? And he also asked if I could bring the Randy’s receipts for him to look at, because he never heard of any oil thingamagiggy that cost $600.

He said that IF there is anything that does absolutely, positively need to be fixed, he’ll take care of it, but he doubts it is anything that would run even near $100. That even with a messed up EGR valve, the car may be annoying to drive since it stalls, but it won’t blow up or ruin the engine in the few months I plan on keeping it. So I am getting my car from Randy’s tonight after work and bringing it to my Car Mechanic Prince tomorrow morning at 8:00 am. I don’t even know this guy, but I think I love him.

Oh, and? When I called Randy’s to tell them to leave my car alone, I’ll pick it up tonight, they again warned how “serious” this is. And how they offer “90 days same as cash” plans. Yeah, I bet. Well, guess what, Randy’s? You’ve taken enough of my money. And you’re not getting another penny. I’M SO SORRY, CAR!!! Let’s hope my prince comes through.

Feeling Helpless

First of all – yay! – I got the job. I have orientation tonight and start training next week. Which is awesome, since Saturday is my birthday and I have plans for both Friday and Saturday nights but didn’t want to start off the new job saying “by the way…” I’m a little nervous, since I haven’t done any actual waitressing for like, oh, ten years or so, but I’m pretty sure it’s like riding a bike (something else I haven’t done in ten years or so – bad analogy for me, I guess!). In any case, keep your fingers crossed for me, because I need the extra cash to save for a new car. What? Why do I need a new car, you ask?? Next blog, I promise. Because today I have something major on my mind.

I’m sure all of you out there have someone special in your life. Not necessarily a significant other, I’m talking about someone (be it a relative, friend, co-worker, etc.) who you just click with – someone you can talk to about anything, someone you know will ALWAYS be there for you when you need them and vice versa. Someone who can make you laugh when you are pissed off at the world, and someone you can make laugh as well. Someone you just know would never judge you, who you feel so damn comfortable with you know you would be lost without. Maybe you see and talk to that person all the time, maybe not as much as you’d like, but either way, just knowing they are out there is sometimes enough.

Now imagine that person taking a loaded gun and putting it to their head in a game of Russian Roulette.

I apologize for the harshness of this – but it needs to be said. My someone special (who I know is reading this) is doing just that. And I can’t even bring myself to think of what my life and the lives of the rest of her family and friends will become when she loses the “game.” Which is what it is to her right now. She may not have an actual gun to her head, per se, instead she is messing with her heart. And not in the emotional sense, either. Her doctors have been asking – no, begging – her to have additional tests run… saying she is at risk of a major heart attack or stroke if she doesn’t find out what is going on with her ticker. She’s already had one scare, and I’m so afraid the next one will be much more than just a scare.

Right now, her excuse is that she wants to wait until her husband has his procedure – not too far off, but with the heart, every second counts. And as serious as his procedure is, even the doctors say her condition is much more serious and life-threatening.

But I know what the problem is. She is scared. No, she is terrified. And she should be. Although she shouldn’t be afraid of finding out what is wrong, she should be afraid of what will happen if she doesn’t. I love her so much, it is killing me knowing that she would rather hide than face reality.

And it is pissing me off. Because she is being selfish, too. She is putting her fears ahead of her health and totally disregarding everyone else’s fears – the fear that she will die if she doesn’t listen to the doctor. And you know what? To me, that is just as bad as suicide. If you ignore the medical help being offered and just wait for that one twinge, or that one gasp for breath – you are in essence just slowly killing yourself. And guess what? Been there, done that. Thought about it, tried it, changed my mind. Know why? Because I couldn’t imagine how the people left behind would deal. Yup, conceited me thought my loved ones might be a bit upset at my passing – and thank God I chose that moment to start being a bit more unselfish. When I think of all I would’ve missed had I succeeded twenty-some odd years ago… It gives me the chills. And makes me a lot less tolerant of people who think they don’t matter and would be better off gone.

I don’t know what to say or do to convince her to listen to the doctors, get the tests run – do whatever they say. She is a grown woman and has her own mind and can make her own decisions. But for me, it’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting for a phone call telling me she is in the ER, or worse, the morgue. And I can’t even imagine dealing with that – now or ever. I know eventually I probably will, but what’s the rush? I’m expecting at least a good twenty or forty more years together – and if we make it much past that, then we can find our cliff.

I love you so much. But dammit – you know you can’t jump without me.

Happy Halloween!

So I filled out the application, took a written test (!), had one interview, and have a final interview on Thursday. Who knew getting back into Red Lobster would be so difficult?? Twenty years ago, it was like, "Ok, you want a job? Great - start next week." Apparently they are a bit more picky about their employees now! But on a good note, when I went in for the first interview, I ran into one of the waitresses I used to work with. She remembered me, and it was great to see her. She told me that she has now been with RL for 25 years. And? She had seen Tandy quite a bit up until about 6 years ago. I told her about my dreams, and she said last she knew, he was doing ok, no longer with the anesthesiologist though. Anyway, she told me she would put in a good word - even though she remembered I was "let go" way back when. "That was SO long ago - they'll never know" she told me. "Don't even worry about it!" So, I'm not. I'm keeping my fingers crossed and will have news for you on Thursday.

Now down to real business - HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! I'm not really big on dressing up myself, but I enjoy seeing other people's costumes. Especially kids'. ESPECIALLY really really cute kids, like, say, oh, I don't know - my godson, maybe??
And how funny is this? Erik is my godson - and his father, my moronic baby brother, apparently is God. For one day at least. He just thinks he is the rest of the year...!
Finally, although Lexie is officially going to be "Just-Woke-Up-Pajama-Girl" with her friend, she had to emulate her Uncle and try being God herself for a few minutes...
Hope everyone enjoys the pictures - and don't eat too much candy!

Resurfacing...

So today at lunchtime I plan on going over to the local Red Lobster to apply for a waitressing position. Just to supplement my income until I finish my book and get really really rich, of course. Funny thing is, my daily cell-phone horoscope said something along the lines of "somthing you thought had left your life resurfaces..." That made me kind of chuckle, since Red Lobster was a huge part of my life, oh, about 20 or so years ago. See, I worked there forever ago, and absolutely loved it. I was a cashier, which they phased out eons ago (shows how long it's been!), and didn't necessarily love the work, but I loved the people. Made a lot of friends back in the RL days - as a matter of fact, my best friend was my manager. Of course, she was my manager first, the best friend part came later. But I'm glad it did - she is awesome.

I don't really keep in touch with any of my old coworkers except for her and of course, my brother (yup, got him a job there too) but I think of them a lot. I wrote about Tandy a while ago, and there were lots of others I'd really like to know about. Back then, when I was young, thin, and pretty I had a lot of admirers at work too. One in particular that I dated for three whole months until his mother decided I wasn't good enough for her son (read: I wasn't Italian). Bottom line - it was fun going to work and flirting. And the women were fun, too - just so you don't think I was that sleazy girl who hated women - actually, a lot of us would hang out after work and have a few (or a lot of) drinks at the bowling alley down the street.

Anyway, now that I am an old lady with a daughter, I doubt I will be as crazy as I was back when I originally worked at Red Lobster, but I still think it will be fun. It takes a certain kind of person to deal with the restaurant biz, and those people are usually pretty cool. So I really hope I get this job. It'll be hard holding down a full-time and part-time job, I know, and I've already talked to Lexie about it, but I think in the long run it will be worth it. I'd really love to pay off some bills and just be able to breathe financially, you know? And waitressing is something I've enjoyed and was good at. So hopefully I'll be able to work a few shifts a week and bring home a few extra hundred a month and not kill myself in the process.

I guess I'll find out soon if Red Lobster is ready for dasi again...!

Magic Man

I don't know about any of you, but I LOVE magic. Which is why I absolutely had to share this little video from YouTube... Magic Man. If you don't laugh as loud or as long as I did, you definitely need to get professional help.

The Beginning of the End, Part 39

THE END. Just kidding! Proceed:

When I got back to the room, Kevin apparently was just finishing up with the packing. All the lights were on, and all the drawers were open. I stood in the doorway slack-jawed as I watched him coaxing Schmauser out from under the bed. He wrapped our little furball in a towel and passed him to me.

“Here,” he said. “Get in the car – I’ve already got it loaded up.”

And sure enough, he did. All of our worldly goods were crammed into the back seat – and I was assuming the trunk as well. I tried to protest, I wanted to double-check myself, but Kevin assured me he had cleaned the place out.

“Trust me, I got everything,” he emphasized. “The last thing I want to do is leave behind any clues about us or where we’re going.”

He jumped in the mustang and miraculously, it started with the first try. The tires screeched loudly in the night and Schmauser let out a wail of protest as Kevin backed out of the parking spot and threw the car into drive. With a lurch that sent me almost into the windshield, we headed out of the parking lot of our “home,” and toward another new beginning.

The questions were flying through my head faster than Kevin was driving – and that was pretty fast. Once I managed to catch my breath, I asked, “So where exactly are we going?”

Kevin pursed his lips. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I saw another motel just up the road. It’s not that far from the casino, but it’s far enough away from our old place. I was thinking we could try there.”

“And are you planning on telling me why we’re moving? And how you got out of jail? Who paid your bail, Kev?” I asked, unable to stand the not knowing.

“No one paid my bail,” he answered casually.

I almost choked and accidentally squeezed Schamuser a bit too tight causing an angry hiss to emerge from the towel. “Kev, you didn’t…” My mind filled with visions of metal files hidden in chocolate cakes, bedsheets tied together to make escape ropes, tunnels dug through the walls in the dead of night…

“No!” he laughed, glancing at me sideways. “I didn’t break out. I cut a deal. Which is why we had to move.”

I listened as he told me the whole story. The DA had decided there were bigger fish to fry, and was looking for willing bait. Kevin’s public defender, Dan, had recommended he work with the State in order to regain his freedom. Kevin gave the name of one of the top guys he had dealt with, and kept the name of his rival to himself. He had figured giving up Polon and saving Arturo may have more than one benefit in the long run. Dan and the DA worked out an elaborate scheme in which Kevin would call Polon to make a buy. They provided him with money for the buy and told him where to schedule the meet. Once the deal happened, the cops would pounce and everyone would be arrested, including Kevin. Of course, his arrest would only be for show, and once they got to the station he would be released and the charges against him dropped.

Kevin’s eyes shone as he told me how he made the call and was dropped off from an unmarked car about a mile from the meet. He walked to appointed spot, and waited. And waited. And waited. He told me he was afraid Polon wouldn’t show, and his deal would be tossed, but then he saw movement up ahead in the dark. It was a guy on a bike, heading straight for Kevin.

As it turned out, Polon had sent another guy to do the actual drop. But it was good enough for the cops. As soon as money changed hands, the area was flooded with light. Kevin and the dealer were cuffed and brought in. And then – Kevin was set free. As far as the DA was concerned, they were now one link higher on the food chain and Kevin was no longer needed.

The first thing Kevin did was call the cab. He had no money, but knew I would be working. After he left me, but before he went home, he stopped and made a phone call from a payphone: to Arturo. He had rightly suspected that Polon would find out almost immediately what had happened, and he wasn’t sure Polon would believe he wasn’t involved. He explained his situation to Arturo, and swore he would never give him up, that the cops had wanted his name as well, but that he wouldn’t crack. Arturo assured him that his people would watch out for Kevin and me, but he also warned him that Polon wouldn’t be so quick to let this go. It may have only been a messenger they caught, but the betrayal was something he wouldn’t forget.

My mind spun. So now, basically, we were on the run from a Mexican drug lord. I almost wanted to laugh. It seemed so surreal. Here I was, a nice, upper-middle class girl, fleeing in the middle of the night with my boyfriend and my cat from a drug lord who probably wanted to kill us. Well, kill Kevin, at least. I couldn’t help it. I did laugh. Which caused Kevin to look at me quizzically.

“You think this is funny?” he asked.

I looked at his profile as he drove and stopped laughing. Because it so obviously wasn’t funny at all. In fact, I could feel the fear crawling up my spine.

“No,” I said quietly. “You think he’s really gonna be looking for us?”

Kevin shrugged. “Hopefully not for long. And Dan said he’s going to have the detective check in with us every now and then, once we get settled.”

Great. A detective. That actually was a good thing, we would be safer with the police watching us…

“So we’ll have to be extra careful when we party,” he stressed.

The laughter bubbled up again. Why wasn’t I surprised? Kevin give up his partying? Come on! Just because he had been arrested, had just gotten out of jail, and would now have a detective staking out our place… I laughed harder.

Until the laughter turned to tears.

ALMOST The End of The Beginning of the End...

So, like, no one is going to go off the deep end if they don't find out how Kevin got out of jail immediately, right? Because I almost just typed and posted Chapter 39 which just said "The End" since I am a bit aggravated with life in general and basically a tad stressed as well...

I won't do that, though. Promise. But I can't guarantee when another chapter will be posted. All I can guarantee is that eventually I will get to it - and I will finish the whole shebang eventually as well. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

If it's any consolation, I am nearing the end. For real. Of the first book, at least...

To All My Homies

My unbelievably awesome cousin Tom made a very valid point last night while I was visiting with him and his family. He implied that this blog may not be achieving its full hit counter potential due to the fact that I am not reaching a certain demographic. To rectify this problem, I suggest you click here if you find yourself not fully understanding my writing. It should help immensely.

And? Feel free to use this tool to translate your blog or other web pages as well. Fo’shizzle.

Monkey Business

I knew a girl a while back – actually, she was a coworker of mine – who was really into animals. And I mean REALLY into them. As a matter of fact, animals were a side business to her. She owned quite a few, and knew the right people to contact to rent any animal you may need – say, an elephant for a circus photo shoot. As someone who has always loved animals, I thought this was the coolest. Still do, actually.

Anyway, I was thinking about her recently, because that animal dude brought a capuchin monkey on the Leno show the other night. And one of Ruth’s pets was a capuchin named George. George was AWESOME. George wore little tiny diapers, because Ruth explained he was basically just like a human baby – except he could climb and jump. And Lord knows you didn’t want any (ahem) accidents to happen as George was climbing and jumping around the house. George was free to roam around as he pleased, though, because he was very people friendly. A couple of us had gone over to her house to see her menagerie, and were greeted by this little guy almost instantly. But Ruth shooed him away to introduce us to the rest of her “family” first.

On the pretty ordinary side, she had several dogs and a ton of cats. (Ok, maybe not a ton, more like six.) Although two of the dogs had to stay outside, because they were trained guard Dobermans, and not very friendly. The other two were hilarious to watch – a HUGE Rottweiler and a tiny Boston Terrier, who loved to play tug-of-war. (Although I really think the Rott wasn’t trying that hard.) She also had cockatoos, cockatiels, parakeets, two macaws, and an African Grey parrot. Some of the birds were really talented talkers, and would mimic the other animals as well as the phone, the doorbell, and the alarm clock. Which was cool, but also kind of annoying in a way.

Downstairs she had even more (oh, did I mention this was all on her main floor?) tenants. Several snakes (pythons and boas), cages and cages of rats (some as pets – some as… well, you know…), an aviary with a couple dozen doves (apparently big for weddings), chinchillas, tortoises, a spider monkey, and the most adorable silver fox. The fox was on loan for a photo shoot and was lounging in a cage on the floor, and Ruth warned me not to get too close. “You know that saying, ‘sly as a fox?’ There’s a reason for it. Any time a wild animal is trapped in a cage like that, they feel threatened and will do anything to escape. So DON’T go thinking he’s tame.”

Yeah, whatever. Ruth started talking to another of our friends and I made my move. The little guy was sooooo cute! And had these sad eyes and just was looking at me so sweetly, so how could I NOT slowly approach the cage… as he watched me with hopeful little silver fox eyes… as I crouched down and he inched his nose closer to the bars… Just as I started to put my hand out, that sweet, adorable little creature turned into a snarling, frothing, mass of teeth and fur. I almost lost my balance (and my fingers) pulling my hand back and straightening up as if nothing had happened.

“You tried to pet the fox, didn’t you?” Ruth said with exasperation.

“NO!” I said with what I hoped was a tone insinuating that I would NEVER try such a stupid thing.

(And believe me, I NEVER will again!)

I asked to use the bathroom while they finished their conversation, and Ruth directed me back upstairs. She said they would just meet me back up there. So I went in the bathroom and as I prepared to sit, I froze mid squat. In the bathtub across from the toilet was a seemingly docile yet quite large reptile with pretty darn big teeth. I pulled up my pants and decided that I had better check with my hostess about this.

“Ruth?” I called hesitantly. “In the bathtub…”

“Oh, that’s just Elvis. He won’t bother you.”

Just Elvis. Well, when you gotta go, you gotta go, so I did my business with a five foot Cayman alligator looking on. And smiling, I think. I don’t think I’ve ever peed that fast in my life. Very unnerving, peeing in front of a dangerous uncaged alligator. Afterwards, Ruth carried him back to his cage, and told me to pet him. When I tried, he let out a strange hissing noise. “Oh, maybe you’d better not, he seems a little agitated,” Ruth decided. Yeah, fine with me.

After visiting with all the other animals, it was time to hang out and visit with each other. And George. George was like a petulant child, upset that we had left him alone. He jumped around from person to person, screeching and basically making a scene. Ruth reprimanded him, and eventually he calmed down and started visiting with us individually. He was the funniest little creature I had ever seen. And smart. Ruth had told us that it was ok to give him some snacks and let him drink our drinks (nonalcoholic – don’t worry!), and that he was partial to Pepsi over Coke, which was why we all had Pepsi. I was eating some cheese popcorn when George came over and jumped on my lap. He sat there watching me eat, and finally, I handed him a piece. He looked at it, and then at me, like “that’s IT?” So I handed him another. And another. This continued until his first little hand was full. So I held out another piece. George quickly stuck out his other hand, and I proceeded to fill that one as well. When both hands were filled, I held out another piece with a chuckle. I knew George would want it, and I wondered how he would solve this dilemma. He looked at me, looked at the popcorn, then looked at his hands. He maneuvered closer to me, then put both hands together by his chin so I could balance the final piece on top. Problem solved.

George continued to work the room, randomly taking people’s drinks and sipping from them (he never backwashed – I watched) and eating snacks. One of the guys, Steve, wasn’t keen on a monkey drinking from his glass, so when George came over, he covered it and said, “NO!” George seemed insulted. He backed away, screeching, as Steve repeated “No!” and stared him down. George gave him one last screech, then hopped away. He took a drink from my glass, grabbed a handful of cheese popcorn from the bowl and proceeded to race over and dump the whole handful into Steve’s glass. He sure showed Steve! As we were laughing, he came over to me, and started reaching toward my face. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, until he started putting his hand by my mouth. He wanted me to open my mouth. So I did, and George placed a piece of cheese popcorn in my mouth and sat back with (I kid you not) a smile on his face. Apparently this was my “thank you” for sharing earlier.

Ruth’s house was the best. And I miss her and George. And the rest of the animals, even the scary alligator and the mean fox. I wish I knew where she was nowadays, Lexie would so love it there. But in the meantime, I can always see George on You Tube – did I mention he is a famous music video monkey? Well, he is. Although he’s probably retired by now – and eating all the cheese popcorn he can handle.

I'm OK - Really!

Why is it that whenever I am stressed, depressed and generally not exactly Little Miss Sunshine everyone gets so “worried” about me? Is it because I was a junkie over ten years ago and they think maybe I’ll wind up heading out to the west side? Or is it because as a stupid teenager I thought swallowing a few bottles of Tylenol would solve my problems and they think I’ll try that again? Or maybe because they think I’m really incapable of managing my own life – let alone my life and my daughter’s?

Whatever the reason – I’d like it to STOP. I appreciate people’s concern, and even sometimes actively seek out sympathy and ego-boosting words. But I have no intention of offing myself, turning back to drugs, or beating my child. Sure, life can suck sometimes, but if it didn’t it would be unnatural. Nothing is ever perfect – least of all me. Sure I am an expert at putting on the “happy face” and convincing everyone of just how “fine” I am… maybe that is the problem. Maybe I am too good at convincing people that life is all peaches and cream and I am exactly where I want to be.

Maybe I need to start being a bit more real.

Ok, people, here goes. The bottom line is that I am happy – to a degree. I have a lot more in my life now than I ever thought I would have after my “dark years.” But I also know I fucked up a lot and am now paying the price. I didn’t exactly follow the rules for a long time, and my little life plan didn’t pan out the way I would’ve liked. But I have a home, and a beautiful daughter (who admittedly has been giving me more grief than usual lately – but that comes with the age…), and a job (one I hate, true, but at least I have an income that is actually higher than I could’ve hoped for without a college degree), and friends (both cyber and “real life”), and a wonderful family who always supports me. Those are the good things.

Ok, I’m going to be honest with you all now, in the hopes that maybe you will realize I am human, and not a robot, and that it is ok for me to not always be “up.” I would give anything to have a man in my life. Not just any man, but a wonderful, loving, caring man that puts me and Lexie first and who loves me for me – imperfections and all. Sure, I brag about “not needing a man” and about “loving my independence,” but the reality is that I feel gypped. I look around at all the married couples and I know they have their problems and issues, but they have each other. And GOD I wish I had someone to lean on sometimes. I wish I had someone to share my life with and snuggle next to in bed and bitch at for the toilet seat and complain to my girlfriends about. I AM LONELY. And I am so tired of shouldering all the responsibility and all the stress and all the EVERYTHING. And yet as ridiculous as it sounds, I know I am just too damn jaded to ever get close enough to someone to make that dream a reality.

Secondly, I really want to believe that good things will happen, but I am having a really hard time doing that. Like with my book. I reread it and think “This is crap. This needs a total overhaul – and I just don’t feel it right now.” Millions of people write – as instanced on the internet. Thousands, maybe TENS of thousands have real talent. So what could possibly make my work stand out enough to make the right people take notice? I appreciate all the support and encouragement of my cyberpals, but do any of you really think I will find that uber-publisher and my life could change dramatically – for the better? Pretty much a needle in a haystack chance. I mean, I’m trying to find an agent, don’t get me wrong, but I really can’t afford to get my hopes up too high. It’s too easy for me to imagine finally getting a break and paying off all my bills and quitting my day job and buying a real house and traveling – oh God, I would love to even take a one-week vacation… I need to be realistic, though.

So yes, I am not exactly thrilled with my life at this point. It may get better, it may get worse. Couldn’t tell you. Maybe things will start turning around – or maybe they won’t. In any case, I will survive, I always do. And as much as I appreciate people’s concern, please understand that sometimes I just have to let myself cry. Or scream. Or isolate. Or even write – which obviously is my biggest catharsis. It’s when I seem TOO happy or TOO “on” that you need to start to worry, ok?

And please? Since my mom doesn’t read my blog will someone PLEASE tell her this too???????

Thank You

Know what? You people are so awesome! I really appreciate all the kind words. I haven’t jumped out any windows, in thinking it over a little more I realized that with my luck I would probably wind up injured just severely enough to rack up some serious medical bills, but not enough to miss work for any length of time. And really? I’m not that big into pain.

It means a lot to have people listen (or read!) and understand, and give me the sympathy I am subconsciously looking for. I know I’ll manage, I’ve survived through a lot worse, but sometimes it really seems like I am repeatedly pounding my head against a brick wall, you know? Yes, you do, as evidenced by all your comments. And in response to those:

Network Geek: I’ll be (choke) 38 in November – but don’t feel that old, at least not usually. I guess being old is really a relative thing, though, to an 18 year old I may be old – to a 68 year old, I’m young. And the picture was taken last Christmas – and really? Classic pear shape, those damn Irish hips and thighs are my downfall – and those you will NEVER see in a picture. Unless I can photoshop it. ;) I’m anal about my bills because of the years when I really didn’t give a shit and had really messed up credit… I finally got it back at a decent level and drive myself nuts trying to make on-time payments. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I feel I have to prove myself to people (read: my father) and NOT wind up in the red on a permanent basis. So I borrow from Peter to pay Paul. Not the smartest thing, I know, but for now, at least, it is working…

Rick: “Don’t give up before the miracle…” (Grin) Haven’t heard that one in a while! But you’re right, I have to have faith that things WILL eventually go my way. I’ve busted my ass too long to straighten out my life and do the next right thing to give up and miss the boat… Thanks for the reminder!

Cheryl: Yeah, you would think a 46 year old man would be responsible enough to support his own child, but then again, beer and drugs are expensive too – obviously he had to choose between those and Lexie… Oops, my bad – I cannot say for certain he is still partying, wouldn’t want to defame his character or anything… ;) And, ummmm, Cheryl, I know you mean well – but cutting off my cable would be like cutting off my arm. My right arm. That I use all the time. Because if there is one thing about me that everyone knows, it is that I NEED my tv. HBO I can live without, FX (Nip/Tuck, Rescue Me & The Shield), VH1 (Flavor of Love & Surreal Life), Bravo (Queer Eye, Blow Out) are necessities. Not to mention the regular network shows as well. I know, it’s pathetic, really, but I have this unnatural need to watch other people’s lives – whether they are fictionalized or real!! And the land line isn’t so bad, it is also used for my internet and has unlimited calling for a reasonable price. I think I’d actually consider giving up the cell phone before the land line. Old fashioned, I guess! ;)

Linda: FINE. I am so used to your not even caring!!! (Obviously, I am SOO kidding!! I’ll call you soon!! But I can’t do tequila – trust me on this…)

Hope: First off – I MISS YOUR BLOG!!! Second – the government SUCKS. It is so unfair that hard working people get screwed while the rich and the LAZY poor (those who just refuse to work to collect aid, or those who scam the system) get all the breaks. If I sat down and wrote about all the issues I have had over the years, it would take FOREVER. One ridiculous thing that I KNOW you will appreciate (being a fellow kitty lover) when Baby was really really sick about six years ago, the vet basically told me I had to either have him hospitalized (yeah, right!) or put him down. They suggested calling the Anti-Cruelty Society because they offered pet health assistance to low income families. I figured I’d qualify as a single mom who was barely scraping by. But when I called to inquire I was told in order to qualify, you had to have a monthly gross income level BELOW $800. Now, call me crazy, but if you are grossing less than $800 a month – HOW THE HELL DO YOU AFFORD A PET IN THE FIRST PLACE??? As it turned out, though, I found a new vet who discovered Baby was allergic to penicillin and cured him much more cheaply. (Yay!)

There. If anyone else responds, I’ll write a new "thanks a lot" blog. Seriously, I really do appreciate all of you – even the regular lurkers who don’t comment. Some I know (like various cousins and friends and brothers (well, the one and only brother) and one pretty damn fantastic aunt who shall remain nameless but who knows who she is… Yes, you, Auntie Margie!!) and some I don’t, but regardless, just knowing people are reading boosts my ego every day. And at times like this, when I am feeling pissy and sorry for myself, I am so grateful to have people like all of you to haul my ass back up and remind me that I’m still ok.

Ok, I’m so done with the mushy crap. Bottom line: thanks guys. Now I’d better get back to my hellish job so I can continue to make some money to pay the bills until my book sells. Which it will, I know, because all of you tell me it will. ;)

I Wanna Be Sedated - PERMANENTLY

I. HATE. THIS.

M has been gone for just over a week and already I am nearing my breaking point. Satan asked me yesterday if I was managing ok, and I told him that currently I was fine. But that I probably shouldn’t say that, because that’s when things pile up. He laughed, and I laughed.

Then he came out to my desk with monster file #1. And monster files #2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. On top of all MY work I had, AND the copies the other attorney needed, AND the faxes waiting to go out, AND the calls that needed to be returned. Oh, did I mention that he barely explained how to do the work on said monster files, but rather said “just look up the procedures. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

And? Lexie has been sick. She was home yesterday with a stomach ache and slight fever. By herself – since I can’t miss work right now. So I spent the day (in between attempting to get work done that I don’t know how to do) calling home to check on her. And I got to race home at lunchtime and spend four minutes with her – no more, no less, since it takes three minutes each time out of the office and to the parking lot and vice versa and ten minutes each way to and from the office – and I only get a 30 minute lunch. She said she was still sick today, yet she is eating fine and not doubled over in pain and has no fever, so I made her go to school grumbling anyway.

AND? I found out asshole has been working since May 9. MAY 9. Yet – have I GOTTEN any child support? Nope. SUPPOSEDLY they are hauling his ass into court in Florida on contempt charges for nonpayment – but I’ll believe that when I see it. So in the meantime, I am maxing out my credit cards to pay the bills and somehow survive. Oh, and did I mention that the lovely State of Illinois’ All Kids Health Program denied my application for health insurance for Lexie? That’s right. Not because I make too much money, but because I THOUGHT IT IMPORTANT TO KEEP HER INSURED. They won’t give me assistance because I manage to somehow pay the exorbitant premiums to Blue Cross to keep her covered, since asshole never has. And for that I am punished. Oh – but wait – it gets better – they told me if I cancel her insurance and leave her UNINSURED FOR A YEAR, then I can reapply and MIGHT get accepted. Did I mention that the website says illegals can get the health insurance assistance without being reported to INS, “because the health of ALL Illinois children is important to us!”

I am broke, stressed, fat, old, and tired. I have already cancelled my Curves (a women's workout place, for you men who don’t understand) membership, cut out my premium cable channels and have the lowest amount of monthly minutes possible for my cell phone. I can’t figure out how else to cut corners unless I just stop buying groceries or leaving the house at all – which actually doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

And in the time it has taken me to write this? Three more files on my desk from nice attorney.
Sorry for the rant, but I gotta let it out somehow. I think I’ll go jump out a window now.

The Beginning of the End, Part 38

I went into work as planned, but was hard pressed to concentrate. All day my mind raced with questions. Where was he? Was there a bond amount? Who should I call? What now?

I had no one to talk to about any of this, and I was scared to death. I considered calling Nancy, but decided that may not be the best way to go. This was something I would have to deal with on my own. So during my break, I looked up the Reno police department and made a phone call.

The desk clerk was gruff but kind, I suppose my trembling voice may have softened him a bit. It turned out Marc had been released on his own recognizance, unfortunately Kevin remained behind bars. Apparently when you are not a Nevada-born resident, the law decides you are a much higher flight risk. I listened as the officer rattled off the two charges Kevin was being held on: possession of paraphernalia, and something called “internal possession.” He explained to me that in the state of Nevada, if you have illegal narcotics in your system, it can be classified as a Class X felony. My heart fell. This was really serious.

I tried to take deep breaths and remain calm as he explained that Kevin was being held at the Washoe County Jail pending trial, or until bail was posted. And bail had been set that morning to the tune of $50,000.00.

I think I caught the officer off guard when I started to laugh. He continued with his explanation of visiting hours, directions to the jail, and how to post bail, albeit with a bit of confusion in his voice. I stopped laughing long enough to thank him, and hung up the phone.

Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.

I realized that I would only need $5,000.00 to get him out, but even that amount was ludicrous. I would be lucky if I could scrape up five hundred. I had no idea how bail bondsmen worked, but I was pretty sure I would need some form of collateral in order to get a loan. And obviously we had none. Even Kevin’s car wouldn’t be worth the price of the bond.

I finished my shift and went straight home without stopping for my usual drink at the bar. I wasn’t in the mood for socializing, and I wanted to get a good night’s sleep so I could get up and go down to the jail before work. I wanted to at least see Kevin, even if I couldn’t do anything for him. I thought it ironic that Marc had been released yet hadn’t even bothered to come by and check on me or let me know what had happened. So much for the care and concern he had professed to me in the past.

My sleep was restless, and I awoke in the morning feeling more tired than I had the night before. I showered and got ready, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. I looked again at the information I had scribbled on casino stationery last night, and wondered how long it would take to get to the jail. I hoped to God the car started easily, it hadn’t been giving us as many problems lately. With fingers crossed, I turned the key in the ignition and heard it rumble to life.

It was a sunny, beautiful day, and the drive was actually doing me some good. I had the windows rolled down, and the fresh air seemed to revive me from my zombie-like state. I pulled in front of the large, nondescript building about twenty minutes later. With a deep breath, I parked the mustang and walked inside.

I had never been inside a jail before, and I wasn’t at all comfortable in this one. There were plenty of other people waiting, mostly women. One at a time, we were ushered to the waiting area after submitting to a pat-down search and showing identification. My purse had been dumped out unceremoniously, and everything inside scrutinized. The pockets of my jeans were turned inside out, and even my shoes had to be removed for the search. I felt like a criminal myself. Funny thing was, technically, I guess I was… I just hadn’t been caught.

After sitting in the waiting area for about ten minutes, I heard them call out “Visitor for Kevin B, please approach the metal door.” I stood up and quickly weaved between the other waiting visitors until I reached the door. There was a loud buzz, and then I was in another, smaller room.

It was nothing like I had pictured. It was carpeted in a navy blue pattern, and was actually very quiet as compared to the waiting area. There were a dozen chairs lined up facing glass windows with the phones I had seen in prison movies along the dividers. I was led to an empty seat, and I picked up the phone and waited.

Kevin was led in by a guard and he smiled sheepishly when he saw me. His uniform wasn’t the orange jumpsuit I had expected, but instead a navy blue that seemed more like a work outfit. He sat down opposite me and picked up his phone.

“Hi, babe.”

My eyes filled with tears at the sound of his voice. I had so much I wanted to say, but my voice caught when I tried to speak.

“It’s ok,” Kevin soothed. “I’ll be out soon.”

“No you won’t!” I moaned. “Your bail is fifty thousand dollars. FIFTY THOUSAND, Kev! We don’t have that kind of money! And I doubt we could even get a bondsman to…”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “But there’ll be a hearing in a month or two, and hopefully with a first offense I’ll get probation.”

“A month or two?” I felt like I had been sucker punched. “What am I supposed to do? And what about my trial? What if it happens while you’re in here? I can’t do it alone! I need you!” The tears were rolling more freely now.

“Babe, just be glad you were at work. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I’ve already spoken to the public defender, hopefully things will move fast,” he reassured me. “And no matter what, I will be with you at your trial. No matter what.”

We talked a little while longer, about where Marc might be, about what to tell his boss (we decided the truth would be best – minus a few details), about changing our lives when he got out. He convinced me jail wasn’t so bad, county was actually very clean and very mellow – mostly nonviolent criminals who had just made some bad choices. He made me promise to not worry about him, to just keep working and keep living and be happy until he got out. That the time would fly by.

It seemed like we had barely started talking when I had to leave. It hurt so bad watching him walking back into the jail, knowing I was walking out alone. But I had to keep going.

The days blended together, and I visited Kevin two more times in the following week and a half. I explained to Kevin’s supervisor (and mine, for that matter) that Kevin had run into some “legal issues” and wouldn’t be returning to work. He didn’t question me, and I was glad. I had also spoken to Nancy, she was pretty sure my preliminary hearing would be taking place within the next few weeks. I didn’t tell her about Kevin, and realized that I may have no choice as far as dealing with court alone. I couldn’t imagine Kevin being released in time.

But I was wrong.

Another week had passed, and Kevin’s county visit was now up to almost three full weeks. I was working the 5 to 1 shift, and around 12:30 am my mouth dropped as I saw Kevin approaching me followed by a quite large black man.

“Hey, babe. Pay the cabbie – I owe him for the ride. And hurry home. When do you get off? Soon, right? We have to move. Tonight.”

I fumbled in my pockets and pulled out the tips I had made that night. My mind was spinning. Move? Tonight? Why? How did Kevin get out? What the hell was going on?

Kevin took a couple of bills from my hand and gave them to the man, who smiled and left.

“Kevin, what’s going on? How did you get out? Why do we have to move?”

He looked at me with eyes that seemed entirely too nervous for my liking. “Don’t worry, babe, I was released legally. Honest,” he said with a smile. But his expression turned serious when he added, “But we really need to leave tonight.”

“I’m done in half and hour,” I said dumbly.

“Good. Meet me at home. I’m going to start packing. I’ll explain everything then. Hurry,” he emphasized.

He kissed me hard on the lips, and took off, leaving me standing there in confusion. I looked at the clock and watched the second hand tick away, knowing the last twenty eight minutes of my shift were going to take forever.

Nose to the Grindstone

Well, it’s official. M is gone. And I am alone with Satan. Well, the other attorney is still here too, of course, but as far as support staff, I AM IT. Which is why you will have to be patient with me for the time being. I am already expected to do things I have no idea HOW to do, therefore it is taking me longer to get said things done. And in order to execute my Master Plan and get a HUGE raise and more vacation time, I must perfect the art of ass-kissing and figuring out how to do all this crap I am getting dumped on my desk.

Therefore, I will most likely be blogging less than usual (which I know is already sporadic at best). I realize, however, the importance of finishing “TBOTE,” especially after reading this. So I will try to work on that when I can, even if it has to be done (gasp!) in my own time at home. Believe it or not, I am actually pretty close to the ending of this book. “What?” you ask. “THIS book?” Yes, faithful readers, THIS book. Because everyone knows if you want to be a real novelist, you want to sign a two-book deal at least! (heh!) Besides, this is getting long enough. Rest assured, though, it will end on a cliffhanger (though nothing TOO extreme) so as to entice people to read the second book. And maybe a third, eventually. Who knows? Gotta dream big, right?

So that’s that for now. And since you are all officially informed, I must get back to the drudgery that is my 9 to 5 life – for now, at least!!

The Beginning of the End, Part 37

As it generally does, life went on. Despite my concerns about Melanie, I forced myself to move ahead and start making some positive changes in my life. I hadn’t spoken to Nancy in quite a while, and honestly wasn’t in any hurry to do so. I had, however, called Gregg, and informed him that I thought it was best if I didn’t return to my job. Thankfully, he was very understanding and wished me well. Shelley had come by and hugged me tearfully and promised she would come by and visit. I had laughed and told her I wasn’t leaving the state – only the restaurant. But I knew that the Olive Garden was our only real tie, and without that we would probably lose touch. I watched her leave and wondered if it was for the last time.

Kevin had brought home an application for me from the casino where he worked, and I filled it out and walked him to work to hand it in personally. I was given an immediate “interview,” and walked out as an official casino change-person, that is, as long as the background check cleared and I got my sheriff’s card. I wasn’t too concerned about either, and didn’t have to be. I passed with flying colors and proudly walked in for my first shift as a bonded casino employee.

For a while, everything in life seemed to be falling into place. I enjoyed my new job and the people I worked with. I was developing some “regulars,” gamblers who frequented the section I worked in and knew me by name. The job itself was more fun than work, spending mid afternoon to mid evening handing out rolls of change and paying out jackpots… socializing with coworkers and customers… listening to the cheezy band music… and my favorite? Collecting tips. Paying out jackpots usually led to a cash tip from the winner – the larger the jackpot, the larger the tip. On a good night, I could walk out with anywhere from $100 to $200. My best night, I walked out with $500. And this was all on top of the dollar-over-minimum-wage salary. Which included insurance, vacation pay, and a free meal each shift. Life was good.

The only downside was that Kevin had been switched to the morning shift, which meant we didn’t have as much time together. He was usually just leaving work as I was starting, and when I got off there seemed to be more and more times he was nowhere to be found. My partying was slowing down a little, and I didn’t really miss it. Although when Kevin did meet me at work, or when we both had some time off, we made up for lost hits by going on long benders.

I had finally spoken to Nancy, and a preliminary hearing had at last been set. She wanted to meet with me again the day before the hearing to go over what could (and probably would) happen. I made a mental note of the date and wrote it on the calendar Kevin and I kept to keep track of our shifts. It was only three weeks away, yet I pushed it out of my mind for the time being.

The day after I spoke to Nancy, I tried to distract myself at work by talking more and pushing the looming court date out of my mind. Kevin had also been frustrating me lately, he had been disappearing more frequently and for longer time periods – and playing the innocent when questioned.

“Just meeting Marc, honey,” he would say, as if that explained everything. Which it kind of did, since I knew what their “meetings” were about.

“But can’t you wait for me to get off work?” I would complain. “Or can’t you party here?”

“Relax, babe, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” he would tell me. “You got an extra twenty or so before you leave? Maybe I’ll have something waiting when you get home…”

And like a fool, I would hand over the cash and go off to work, rushing home afterwards only to find the room empty again. I started hanging out at the casino bar after my shift, talking and flirting and drinking for a few hours before returning to the loneliness of my motel room.

And that was where I met Tad.

Tad had sat down next to me that night and I barely gave him a second look. He was a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline and cheesy bling. I continued to talk to the bartender who had become a friend of mine as well as a coworker, when Tad interrupted.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

I looked at him with an amused smile and accepted. He seemed harmless enough, and actually, he was. He was friendly and entertaining and after several drinks, he invited me back to his room.

“Oh, I don’t think so, I have a boyfriend,” I told him with a shake of my head.

“Really?” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “So where is he?”

“Oh, he’s at home,” I answered casually. “Waiting for me,” I added quickly, just in case this guy had other ideas.

“That’s a shame,” he said pulling out a business card. He handed it to me and I looked at it.

“TAD JOHNSON” and a phone number.

I laughed. “Pretty generic card,” I commented. “So, what is it you do?”

“Professional poker player,” he said proudly. “Damn good, too. Honey, I could take great care of you – you could live on an island in the Caribbean and never work another day in your life.”

My eyes sparkled with amusement at his outlandish offer. “I’m sure you could,” I responded, “but like I said, my boyfriend is waiting.”

He finished his drink and stood up. “Just as well,” he shrugged. “The tournament is picking up again and I have to go. Final table.”

He took my hand and kissed it with exaggeration. “Hold onto that card,” he said as turned to leave. “I’m leaving in the morning, but my offer still stands. Call me whenever.”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded. “Ok,” I said with mock seriousness, then saluted him as he walked away.

I finished my drink and returned home. And once again found the room empty. I fell asleep alone and in the morning, Kevin was sleeping next to me. I had forgotten he had the day off, and I hadn’t even heard him come in the night before. I watched him as he slept and tried to remember that he had been so good to me, and that I loved him. It was just getting harder now, because I felt as though he was slipping away. I promised myself that I would force him to talk to me, when we were both straight, and that we would work things out.

As I walked to work, I noticed the marquee had been changed. When I read it, my jaw dropped.

“CONGRATULATIONS TAD JOHNSON – ONE MILLION DOLLAR TEXAS HOLD ‘EM WORLD SERIES OF POKER CHAMPION 1992”

I reached into my pocket and felt the card that I had forgotten to take out the night before when I changed. I pulled it out and looked at the name on it, then again up at the marquee.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered under my breath.

I continued my walk to the casino, and stopped at a trash can outside the front doors. As I crumpled up the card and tossed it in with the other garbage, I wondered if I had managed to make a huge mistake the night before… I mean, who doesn’t love the Caribbean?

But the bottom line was, I loved the jerk who was sleeping at home even more. Even when he pissed me off. I went through my shift on autopilot, and couldn’t wait to get home to talk to Kevin. At exactly eleven, I punched out and practically ran home, anxious to talk to him and make things like they were before.

I could see the glow from the lights in our room, and Kevin’s car was sitting in its spot in front. He’s home! I thought happily. I could hear voices coming from inside as well. Oh, well, if Marc is here, I can just ask him to leave for a while.

But when I opened the door, the room was empty. The TV was still on, which was the source of the voices I heard. All the lights were on, and the closet was opened, as well as the drawers on the dressers and the desk. All the pipes and cooking utensils were gone.

I shook my head in frustration and anger. Someone must have picked him up and taken him out to party. I closed all the drawers, shut off the lights, and sat on the bed, determined to wait him out. I knew he had to work at 8:00 the next morning, he couldn’t stay out forever.

I fought the exhaustion as long as I could, then gave up. The next time I opened my eyes, it was 11:30 in the morning. I looked around, and nothing had changed. Kevin had never come home, and as far as I knew, he was missing work. I was furious. I paced the room, went outside and checked to see if the car’s engine was warm – thinking maybe he had come home and used it at some point. But it was still cold.

Eventually I had to calm my anger and get ready for work. I could still feel the rage pulsing in my head at Kevin for partying all night without me and then blowing off work as I walked out the front door.

“Some night last night, huh?”

I turned to see one of the other motel residents sitting in a lawn chair outside his front door. He was an older guy, who seemed to know everything but pretty much minded his own business. I looked at him curiously.

“Why? What do you mean?” I asked apprehensively.

“Well, when those police people came and knocked on your door, I knew there was gonna be trouble,” he drawled.

Police? My mind raced. I remembered the open closet, the rifled drawers… the missing paraphernalia…

“Then when they brought out those boys in cuffs, well, your boyfriend and his buddy looked none too happy,” he finished.

“In cuffs?” I asked dumbly.

“Yep. Took ‘em away with sirens flashing. Got most everyone out of their rooms to see what was going on.”

I leaned against the wall of the motel for support. Kevin was in jail. And most likely, so was Marc. And I would’ve been, too, had I not been at work. And here I was, cursing him out for not waiting for me.

Ironically, last night he apparently had. It just happened to be a bad night to do so.

Sexyback

So I am trying to figure out when exactly I became a dirty old lady. Ok, so maybe the "dirty" part has always been hidden somewhere in my psyche, but the "old" part really snuck up on me. Cause I certainly never felt that old, but when I consider the fact that I was going to junior prom when current 21 year olds are taking their first drink (well, first legal drink, anyway), crap I feel ancient!

And today I went out and bought the new Justin Timberlake CD. Which is why I totally feel like a dirty old lady. Because women my age should not be having the kind of thoughts I have been having about my boy Justin. Now, I know Cameron does, and gets to act on them as well (lucky girl!), but she is four years younger than me - hence less than a decade older than Justin. And really? Kudos to her. Think about it - when she first started dating him, everyone was like "Oh, my goodness! Cradle-robber! And he's such a baby!! Such a young looking boy!!" Because really? He totally was. He was still a geek when they started dating. And Cameron ignored the trash-talk and hung on to her boy-toy and now?? Homegirl is laughing her ass off at all of us. Because she's got a man. A HOTT (notice the two "T's"), SEXY as HELL man who can MOVE and SING his tight little ass off. Damn.

I saw him on the VMA's, and ummm... is it getting warm in here? Give me a minute to catch my breath... That boy had me considering illicit bedroom acts that I blush to even think about. Which is just sooooo wrong!!! I mean, you all know me! Nice, sweet, innocent dasi! Pure as the driven snow! Why does this man-boy affect me so? HE IS THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME!!! I was entering my teens when he was born!! When I became legal, he was only FIVE!!!! I must regain my composure here. This is utterly ridiculous.

And yet... I just... can't... seem to... help myself....

Even his singing. Why does he have to sing such blatantly sexual songs?? I mean, ok, so the CD does have an "Explicit Content" label on it, but I thought that mean some swear words or something. I didn't realize it meant "don't get drunk with strangers while listening to this CD or you may wind up in bed with them while fantasizing about Justin Timberlake." Did any of you know that?? Although I seem to be addicted to the music which seems to be having a very odd effect on my loins... AAAAACK!!! STOP IT!!!!!!! This is so not me!!!! Back in the day, when I was a Prince fanatic, his songs never did this to me - and he was pretty damn explicit too... then again, Justin isn't four feet tall... and Justin does have those sexy blue eyes... and Justin...

HELP ME!!!!

You know, I used to think all those so-called "studies" about women reaching their sexual prime when they were a tad bit older - more around the age I am at now - were a load of crap. But now I have to wonder if there is some merit to them after all. Of course, the only sucky thing is that I would like to enjoy my prime with someone THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME. Who just happens to be famous and already dating Cameron Diaz. Mother of all that is Holy, what's a girl to do???

I think it's time to turn off the CD and take a cold shower. Sheesh.

Creepy Crawlies

Ok, I know Halloween is still over a month away, but I have been living a horror story over this weekend, and I felt compelled to share. Now, this story is not for the faint of heart, so BE WARNED!!!

Ready? Brave people only, here, right? Ok - those of you who are faking, don't say I didn't warn you!!!

On Friday morning, Lexie and I were leaving the house to go to school and work, and we walked out to the car like we did every morning. Only this morning, Lexie let out a bloodcurdling scream. I jumped, and my heart stopped. My daughter stood a few feet away from our car, clutching her backpack to her chest and staring with wide eyes at THIS:

(SEE?? I WARNED YOU THIS WAS SCARY!!!!!) This HUGE, (pretty much actual size, this picture is...) UGLY, GODAWFUL spider had built an enormous web from my car antenna to the front windshield, and was nonchalantly sitting smack dab in the middle, obviously waiting to catch a small bird or something for breakfast. It wasn't moving, Mr. Stupid Spider, just sitting... waiting... but making me freak out nonetheless. I am SO not big on spiders. Well, good mother that I am, I told Lexie to just get in the car really fast and try not to bump the spiderweb. She did, and when we were both securely in the car, I turned on the windshield wipers.

Which did pretty much nothing. Apparently, Mr. Stupid Spider wasn't that stupid, because his web was far enough away from the wipers to not even be touched. BAH!! Lexie and I watched anxiously as the creepy-crawly slowly started climbing upwards on the web. Apparently he had noticed that there were intruders in his midst and decided to head for higher ground. Well, I took that opportunity to put the car in reverse and backout of my driveway a tad bit quicker than normal. Then I SLAMMED on the brakes and lurched forward, heading down the block. I tried to see if my mission was successful, and was relieved to see that the web had been blown away to kingdom come. HA!

"MOM! Look!!"

The little (excuse me, GINORMOUS) booger had skittered up to the top of my car's antenna, and there he remained, all eight ugly legs wrapped tightly around the top. I tried to pump the brakes, jerking the car repeatedly until my daughter claimed whiplash (can't have that, working for a PI attorney and all...) then just gave up. He wasn't going anywhere.

I came to Lexie's bus stop, and she informed me that she wasn't getting out of the car. Because, you see, the antenna was on her side, and she was afraid of the actions of our stowaway now that we had stopped. But I poo-poohed her fears, and told her she had to get out. Which she did, but in her panic she left the door wide open, causing me to scream, "CLOSE THE DOOR! DO YOU WANT TO GET YOUR MOTHER KILLED???"

Ok, so she shut the door, and ran to the safety of the bus stop. Leaving me alone with the arachnid from Hell. So I drove to work, every few seconds peering over at the top of the antenna, hoping maybe he was gone. But he never was. All the way to work, he hung on relentlessly. I parked next to a pretty blue Lexus, thinking maybe he would prefer to move to a classier car. Then I went inside.

When lunchtime rolled around some five hours later (I take a late lunch), I had an errand to run. When I got to my car it was still there. I thought maybe, hopefully, it was dead, but then I saw it stretch out one long, ugly leg almost in greeting. I hopped in my car and slammed the door shut, convinced that my errand which consisted of driving on the highway at speeds in excess of 80 mph may dislodge his grip. Guess what? That mo-fo is STRONG!!! He held on the entire ride, and when I arrived at my destination, I watched in horror as he scrambled down the antenna and disappeared under my hood.

I got out of the car and cautiously looked at the place where he disappeared. He was gone all right... but to where?? I took care of my business and returned to the car. Still no spider. But NOW I was worried that the damn thing was going to pop out of my air conditioner vents at any moment... which he didn't. The return to work was uneventful, and after work he still was nowhere to be found. Satisfied that he had permanently relocated (maybe to the pretty Lexus), I allowed myself to breathe easier.

The next morning, Lexie and I left for her bowling league. And waiting at (or should I say ON) the car, almost in eight-legged defiance, was the SAME DAMN SPIDER. Another huge web, same spot... and Retard the Spider sitting in the center again. He must have waited patiently under the hood until dark and then made his move. This time, Lexie and I were less anxious and more aggravated. Obviously, we DESTROYED his web last time, for crying out loud, he built it on a MOVING thing, yet he was too stupid to go build somewhere else. We drove to bowling, and watched in disgusted fascination as once again its web was destroyed, and once again it scrambled up the antenna.

At bowling, we told others of our dilemma. Thankfully, a friend and her two sons were less wimpy than Lexie and me. After bowling, one of the boys, Nick, flicked the antenna, causing Retard to fall... unfortunately, he fell once again under the damn hood. I thanked Nick halfheartedly, but wondered how long it would be before I saw it's ugly thorax again.

We drove out to my mother's and spent the rest of the day there. When we left, no spider. Sunday morning was gloomy and chilly, and we went to my grandparents' in the afternoon. Again, no spider. I finally was able to relax and try to rid my mind of the horrific images of those legs clutching my antenna.

This morning it was pouring rain. Buckets. And buckets. The wind was whipping the rain around, and it was an absolutely miserable morning. I dropped Lexie off at the bus stop, and headed to work. On my way, I called my mother. I was sitting at a stop light and had just finished the conversation, so I closed my phone and turned to put it back into my purse.

(Insert classic horror film music here)

THE SPIDER WAS CLINGING TO THE OUTSIDE OF MY PASSENGER WINDOW!!!!!!

In the POURING rain with the GUSTING wind, the damn thing was desperately trying not to lose its grip. I screamed as I watched its legs scrambling to get a better hold and move to a safer location. It seemed to have spun a mini-web to hold on as well, because it was bouncing off the window as the wind blew. Then, it happened.

The light turned green, and I turned left. As I did, the mini-monster lost its grip and flew toward the back of my car. But now here's the thing: I think it's gone, but I have thought that before... Granted, with the rain and the wind and the force of my turn, it stands to reason that it fell completely off and is lying dead on Golf Road, but this spider is no ordinary spider. As we all know. In fact, I still have this queasy feeling that it managed to land near my trunk and somehow find refuge in there, until I am parked in my driveway again and it is time to build a new web...

GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! I HATE SPIDERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyone want to buy an infested Saturn??

Tough Questions

The other night, I had a conversation with my daughter that I wasn't exactly prepared for. I mean, since the day she was born, I wrestled with exactly what I would tell her when (or if) she ever started asking questions. Because the long and short of it is, her birth came at a time in my life that wasn't exactly all hearts and flowers. Basically, I was still involved with drugs (see "TBOTE" for that backstory) and her "father" was a rebound relationship I had no intention of continuing. I had actually gone so far as to contact an adoption agency, and there was a couple in Georgia who was thrilled at the prospect of adopting my unborn child. But once she was born, everything changed.

First off, her "father" wanted to give her to his sister in Michigan. Ummmm... NOT! I wasn't exactly receptive to the thought of my child being raised by someone I would most likely have contact with. Then there was the whole maternal instinct thing. When I held her, I cried. She was so beautiful and perfect, and I couldn't imagine my life without her. Then again, I was also terrified that I would be the World's Worst Mother, since I wasn't quite ready to give up the partying and be a responsible adult. Basically, I wanted things to both change and stay the same.

In the end, I kept my daughter, broke a Georgia couples' hearts, and never looked back. She saved my life. For real.

So when she started talking about her "father" (he did finally write her back, albeit over a month later) and asking questions, I kind of had that sick feeling in my stomach. I answered the easy ones honestly ("How come he never tried to find me before?" Because he was sick, sweetie, I can't think of any other reason. "Does he love me?" I'm sure he does, in his own way.) and then came the question I knew would lead down a verrrrry slippery slope: "Mom, was I wanted?"

I took a deep breath, and looked her in her big blue eyes. "All my life, I have wanted you, baby."

"Ok, but did you plan to have me? Or was I an accident?"

She wasn't about to make this easy. And honestly, I couldn't blame her. She had a right to get some honest answers. I thought for a minute, and measured my words carefully.

I explained to her that no, she wasn't planned. That at the time I was pregnant, I was terrified and didn't know what to do. But that somewhere deep inside, I always knew that she and I would be together forever.

I told her I considered adoption, because I wasn't sure I could be a good mother. She asked if I was doing drugs and drinking when I was pregnant (we've already had that talk, you see, she knows about my checkered past) and when I admitted I had, she let out an astonished "MOM!" I explained that it was partially because of that fact that I knew we had to stay together. That even though we don't go to church, I believe in God (as does she) and I also believe that HE took care of her in my stomach until the day she was born. That I truly believe she was put in my life to save my life, because that is exactly what she did.

Her eyes were teary, but so were mine. I could feel not disappointment, but rather love radiating from my little blonde beauty. "You were my miracle," I told her. "And everyone else's too."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

I explained that no one, no one in our family even knew I was pregnant. That only her grandparents and Uncle Bob knew, and when I brought her home it sent shock waves through the entire family. But that everyone came to see her, and fell in love, and never judged or looked down on me. That she was showered with gifts and kisses and so much love it made my head spin. She was that special.

"So you stopped doing drugs then?"

It broke my heart to admit to the truth, but I knew it had to be done. I told her that initially I didn't, that she was three months old when I finally got help, but that it was because of her that I did. That I wanted to be everything she needed, and I wanted her to grow up proud of me. So I worked hard and I followed the rules and I quit drugs forever. Her father, unfortunately, didn't, and I insisted he be clean to be with her. Because I never wanted her to be exposed to a life like that... ever.

And guess what? She smiled at me. She understood. She still loves me, even with my imperfections. She asked me how I thought of her name, and I told her I had read a book, ironically called "No Greater Love," and the little girl in it was named Alexis, and called Lexie, and I just adored that name. She wanted to know if I had thought of any other names, and truthfully? I hadn't. "No boy's names?" she asked. "Nope," I told her, "because I knew you were a girl. And I knew you were going to be Alexis Ann, and you were going to be my miracle. And you were."

So now there are no more secrets. I told her I was sure that someday, when she is an impossible teenager, she may throw this information back in my face. That she may accuse me of not wanting her, of not loving her. Then I told her that I was saying this on the record for when she does say that: "I have always wanted you, have always loved you, and always will. You are my miracle, baby girl, and without you, I would probably be dead. You are my world, and you bring me joy every day. No matter how scared I was initially, I always knew that you were meant to be. And I am so grateful that you are my daughter, and that I am your mother."

"I'm glad you told me, mom," she said, smiling through her tears. "And I'm glad I'm your daughter. 'Cause I don't think I'd like Georgia."

I had to laugh. Only my Lexie could make light of something so serious. So we crossed a huge hurdle together, and guess what? It wasn't that bad. Because I am learning that my daughter is made of strong stuff, and honesty is always the best way to go. I only hope that we stay as close as we are forever - although I have a feeling we may get even closer as she gets older...