That's My Boy!!

Feeling lazy today, and besides, the Cubs are on and I want to listen to the game... BUT, I figured I'd share this little tidbit with you. You know, to spread some pre-weekend cheer...Obviously, I have a very intelligent godson, check out the huge smile for Aunt Dasi!! He knows who to suck up to even at only 10 weeks old. That's right, Erik, sweetie, keep smiling like that and Aunt Dasi will be putty in your little hands!!

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Feeling Out-Classed

I had a verrrry scarrrry e-mail in my inbox yesterday. Actually, the e-mail itself wasn’t really THAT scary, I guess what was scary was the impending event it referred to.

The e-mail in question came from the alumni association of my high school. And it was pretty nonthreatening, until I read the part that said “Class of 1986 Reunion now in the planning process. Contact Annie Alumnae-Nowmarried for more info.” (Ok, so I took some liberties with the contact’s name, but you get the idea.) As I’m sure you’ve already figured out, I am a member of said Class of 1986. And since it is already the end of April, and I had received nothing either via e-mail, snail mail, or voice mail regarding a 20 year reunion, I figured our class was too lazy to organize one and that was that. Guess I was wrong. Our class apparently isn’t lazy, just a bit slow.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not totally adverse to reunions. I enjoy reconnecting with old friends and seeing who’s been doing what. I went to my ten year reunion and had a pretty good time. Saw some old friends, and laughed at high school memories. But that was TEN YEARS AGO. Now, it is TWENTY. At twenty year reunions, people expect big things from you. You know, marriages, divorces, lots of kids, hugely successful careers, yadda yadda yadda. ESPECIALLY when said reunion is involving an all-girls Catholic high school. Because as we all know, lots of women are catty and superficial and just DYING to find someone who “never made it.” Someone who never got the huge house in the burbs with the three-car garage, the wealthy husband who let them give up their successful career that they worked SO HARD getting a degree for so they could stay home and raise their perfect children, the fulfilling volunteer work with the community… someone, in other words, like yours truly.

See, back in high school, I was the girl who pretty much got along with everyone. I wasn’t with the “popular” crowd, but they knew me by name regardless. I was an honor student, even though I tended to fall asleep during class. I was the type of person who was a real people-pleaser, wanting to make people laugh (although definitely NOT a class-clown type), willing to lend a shoulder to cry on, or agree wholeheartedly with whatever it was a friend felt strongly about, be it a boyfriend who turned out to be a jerk or a teacher who graded unfairly. I may have drank in high school, but I was sooooo against illegal drugs (Late bloomer – see TBOTE. Heh.). It was pretty much assumed that I would graduate, go to the Big Ten University I was accepted to (early admission), and continue my life in a pretty successful manner. (Insert annoying buzzer noise here) WRONG!!!

As a select few from the tenth reunion found out, I didn’t exactly finish college. Ever. Actually, I didn’t exactly finish even the first year. But I still managed to land a job as a paralegal. And no (amused laughter), I still never found “The One.” Still single. Happy, of course. Yes, I have a daughter, but her father’s not in the picture. Oh, NO, I never married HIM! See, that’s a really long story, there… No, thank you, I don’t drink. Minor problem with some drugs for a while there (shocked looks – YOU??? - yes, ME!) but I’m clean now. Still living in the city, yep, in the neighborhood. As a matter of fact, still at home for the time being. With mom. Money’s kind of tight now, you see… Oh, I’m SURE things are going to change soon! Big future for me!! Just wait until the NEXT reunion!

Sheeee-it. The next reunion is here. And what’s changed? Let’s see, I do own a condo in the burbs, that’s a plus, I guess… Oh, and I do drink now (still no drugs, of course), which may come in pretty handy at this here reunion… But still a paralegal, still a single mom, still no man in sight. Granted, I don’t really have a problem with my life per se, I mean, sure I’d like to have a husband, but I don’t want to settle, either, and my job (although run by Satan) is lucrative enough to keep my head above water all by myself. I have a beautiful daughter and two awesome cats, and lots of good friends. But I don’t have what’s expected of me.

Which really sucks. I want to sashay in (I’ve always wanted to “sashay,” ever since Ru Paul suggested it) in a knockout casual-chic dress (which reminds me, I also traded in my slim, youthful figure for a middle-aged “full-figure”), gorgeous, youthful-looking yet distinguished husband on my arm, able to talk about my upcoming novel and the last five that made the Times bestseller list, and gushing about my perfect daughter. (Well, I can still gush about Lexie, at least...!) I want to prove that I have become somebody, that I am worthy of respect and admiration and maybe a tad bit of jealousy. Instead, I’ll probably creep in, wearing something I hope doesn’t make my ass look even bigger than it is, and try to make my life look more interesting than it really is while I try not to gag listening to the success stories around me.

And before you imply that it can’t be all that bad, I would like to point out that I have checked out classmates.com and found only like one other girl in my class who doesn’t have a hyphenated last name – and I found out at the last reunion that she is gay. (So is one of our old gym teachers, but that’s irrelevant.) I, however, am NOT gay, and therefore am apparently the least desirable girl in our whole class – judging by the fact that I am the ONLY one never married. (Ok, so maybe there are one or two more, but they probably won’t even show up.) And some moron girl who I kind of remember already beat me to the punch in the book biz, too – according to the Alumnae News she has published some stupid “How to Sell Stuff on the Internet” book or something and is a role model to moms everywhere, apparently. Heck there’s also a girl I graduated with who was on last season’s “Amazing Race!” (Yes, she was one of the “Pink Ladies” – the obnoxious sisters that didn’t win.) This really sucks.

But I will probably go. Hopefully I will have fun, maybe a few drinks will let me relax and not worry so much about the judgment I am pretty sure will occur. Maybe no one will care that I am who I am, and not some Desperate Housewife or Jet Setter or Corporate Cutie. Maybe there will be some people who will just be happy to see me, Dasi, and the hell with all the bells and whistles. We’ll see. And by the next reunion? I’ll have my book done and probably be a brazillianaire. So ha!

The Beginning of the End, Part 28

Being back in Chicago was bittersweet. I wanted it to still feel like home, but in many ways, it didn’t. I felt like I had changed so much since I had been in Reno that I really didn’t fit anymore. But I went through the motions, telling sanitized versions of life in Reno and being the good daughter.

It was especially hard with my mother, who seemed to know there was something bothering me, but never outright asked. I doubted I would’ve told her anything even if she had, but I still felt like I was lying to her every time I smiled in her direction. I missed Kevin, and strangely enough, I missed Reno. For all the shit that had happened out there, it had become my home, and the happy middle-class family life had become foreign to me. Regardless, I still was able to play the role of loving daughter and sister to the hilt, even when I felt anything but loveable. I went to the family Christmas party on the day before Christmas Eve, and smiled and thanked my relatives who commented how much weight I had lost and how good I looked. I almost lost it when my grandmother hugged me and said, “We missed you, dolly.” And all the laughter and camaraderie was starting to make my head spin. I started to feel claustrophobic, I wanted to just drop down on the floor and put my hands over my ears and make everything go away. Nobody really knew me anymore, not who I was now. The girl who used to be a member of this family was gone, replaced by someone completely different. And pretending to be the old Dasi was killing me.

I participated in conversations in a fog, laughing when I was supposed to, responding to questions when asked, nodding to show I was paying attention. But I wasn’t. I just wanted to leave. Actually, what I wanted was a hit. It had been four days, and my heart was pounding just thinking about it. I had to get out of there.

I slipped away into a bedroom and picked up the phone. The numbers came to me immediately, I was always good with remembering phone numbers. An old friend of mine and Kevin’s picked up after the second ring.

“Dasi! I thought you and Kevin were in Reno!”

“We are. I mean, HE is, I’m home on vacation.”

“I see. So, what can I do you for?”

In a matter of minutes, it was all arranged. My friend was going to pick me up at my aunt’s house and we would go out and party. I returned to the family and said my goodbyes.

Nothing personal, I assured them, but with only being in town for a week, I really wanted to catch up with some girlfriends. There were kisses and hugs and “Merry Christmas-es” and “I Love You’s” and they went by in a blur as my mind focused on the rest of the night. I informed my parents not to wait up, and went outside to wait.

It was chilly outside and I watched my breath in little puffs as I waited for him to show up. Finally, I saw headlights slowly moving down the block, and I ran out to the curb. The car came to a stop, and Chris opened the door for me with a smile.

“Really needed a hit, huh?” he smirked.

“You ain’t kidding,” I muttered.

And we were off. We went up to P’s, had a few drinks, and socialized. I wasn’t too surprised when I noticed that Aaron was still the man in charge when it came to what I wanted. He caught my eye, and I lifted my beer and nodded, which caused him to smile. I wasn’t sure if he ever found out I was the one behind his bust, but I was jonesing too much to care. Chris eventually made his way over to Aaron and they slipped out the back. A few minutes later, Chris returned with a smile, and we headed to his place.

My anxiety melted away as the smoke filled my lungs. The hours passed as Chris and I talked about Reno, and mutual friends here in Chicago, and got high. When everything was gone, he drove me back home and I hugged him tight.

“Thanks, Chris.”

“Hey, no problem. Merry Christmas, and say hi to Kev. Take care of yourself.”

I watched the car disappear and then tried to focus on my housekeys. I made as little noise as possible, and crept into bed at 4:15 am. But my head was still spinning and my heart was still racing. I tossed and turned until I heard my mom moving around in the kitchen and saw the sun begin to shine through my blinds, then I finally fell into a restless sleep.

At noon, my mom knocked lightly on my door. For an instant I forgot where I was, then I sat up groggily.

“Hey,” she said. “What time did you get in last night?”

I yawned. “About 4:00. Me and Diane sat up talking like forever.”

She looked at me, seemingly searching my eyes. I looked away. “Ok, then. How’s she doing?”

“Fine,” I responded cheerily. “So, I didn’t sleep through Christmas Eve, did I?”

“Nope. We’ll have dinner around 6:30, and presents after. You don’t have any other plans, do you?”

I shook my head. “Of course not. Only, Kevin is going to call about six. But I’ll be done in time for dinner.”

My mom smiled. “Ok. It’s good to have you home, Dasi. I really wish you’d reconsider and stay…” she broke off, and I looked away. She started to walk out, then turned. “Are you sure everything is ok?”

I saw the love and concern in her eyes, and almost screamed out, “NO! It’s not ok! I party too much and I can’t stop but I love Kevin… Things in Reno are hell and I was raped and we live in a motel and I just want to make it all stop…”

But instead I gave her a sleepy but convincing smile.

“I’m fine, mom. You just worry too much.”

She smiled back. “I guess. But that’s what mothers do.”

I watched her walk out and felt my chest tighten. The tears came without warning, silent and hot. I hugged the teddy bear I still slept with at home and thought, “Mommy, I’m here… help me…” But I knew those words would never be spoken.

Time Flies

Hard to believe that it has been a full 365 days since my brother suggested I start a blog, and I actually took him up on it. Yep, one year ago today I wrote my very first blog. Said post was about stupid people, a subject I still feel stongly about. But a year ago, I think the only people who read it were myself and my brother. A lot has happened in that year.

Initially, I would complain to my brother that this was stupid, because no one even READ my blog, except maybe him and his softball buddy, Fig. Every once in a while, another of his softball buddies read too, since I was linked on his softball site. He told me that I had to find other blogs I enjoyed, and comment on them, and then maybe they would read MY blog.

So I tried. I went to my blog and hit “next blog.” And hit it again. And again and again and again. “There are no other blogs that I like!” I lamented to my brother. He laughed at me, and told me I had a bit of an arrogance problem. But that really wasn’t it, I just wasn’t finding anything that really grabbed me. Finally, I noticed Fig had a link. To something called “Shady Dreams.” I read it, and I LOVED it. I commented, and Timmortal read my blog and commented. Then I looked up one of Timmortal’s commenters, Amber. I read her blog, and guess what? LOVED it! And commented. So now I had some links to put on my blog, and I started getting more into it.

Thanks to Fig and Timmortal and Amber, I started getting more hits. And comments. I LOVED (and still do) getting comments, whenever I would see an e-mail in my inbox with the blog as a subject, it would TOTALLY make my day. Because, as most bloggers, I thrive on the attention and recognition and online support. I mean, really, who doesn’t, right? I remember when Amber first started reading my blog regularly, and commenting regularly. I was so excited, because someone who didn’t even know me, and who lived clear across the COUNTRY, no less, enjoyed my writing. And let me know. My brother started teasing me, saying that he didn’t want to comment anymore, because he felt he would intrude on my “conversations” with Amber. And that’s kind of how it went, for a while. I could count on Timmortal, and Amber, and my brother, and my hit counter slooooooowly crept upward.

Then somehow, things started to snowball. Through a link on Amber’s blog, other people “found” me. And they LIKED me!! They were COMMENTING!! And I read their blogs, and I commented, too. Suddenly, I had a sidebar full of links, and found myself linked on several other blogs as well. A great honor and privilege, to all of you who felt my blog worthy enough to link, I thank you. Especially since I have been somewhat lazy in my posts lately. But I’m working on that.

Anyway, my blog has become pretty special to me. And my blog buddies even more so. My mom once remarked how it was kind of like 21st century penpals, and I guess in a way, it is. To me, it is an outlet. I mean, writers write. That’s what they do. And to have a forum that can be shared and to receive feedback is like the ultimate. And “TBOTE?” Something I always wanted to do, but never had the discipline. It’s hard to just stop in mid-story when you have people waiting for more. (Yes, I know, I know, I am working on the next chapter. Having difficulty gathering my thoughts.) So this blog has helped me to strive toward a goal I have had for as long as I can remember. (Of course, it wasn’t until I met Kevin that I had a reallllly good story to write, but whatever.) And this blog has helped me to get through gloomy times. And this blog has helped me step back and take a look at certain aspects of my life I needed to re-examine. This blog has been AWESOME. (The blog itself, not the contents, I’m really not trying to be conceited.)

But honestly, I guess it’s not really the blog, is it? It’s the people who read it. And the people who comment. And even those who don’t, because that’s ok too. I have made a lot of friends in cyberspace, and some have even crossed over to IM’ing and phone conversations (or at least, ATTEMPTED ones – YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!). I’m looking forward to meeting some of you – hell, if I had my way, I’d meet ALL of you – in the near future. But even if we never meet face to face, I will still count you among my list of friends. Heck, you can’t share as much as most bloggers do and NOT be friends, right?

So I hit a one-year milestone, and have also reached 10,000 on my hit counter in that year. Which I am proud of and think is pretty cool. I figure if I get back on track and write more regularly, the sky’s the limit! (heh) And I also figure if I don’t write more “TBOTE” I may wind up LOSING readers instead. So that will be high on my priority list.

Again, thanks, everyone. Even if you have never commented, your visits mean a lot to me. (But in all honesty, I’d love to hear from you too!) It’s been an interesting year, and I hope that the next one is even better (i.e. filled with interesting things to blog about)!

An Open Letter to the Loser

**Anonymity be DAMNED. If anyone knows this jerk, please kick him where it counts for me. And if you have the stomach, you can see a picture of him here.**

Dear Richard Sterling Benson III,

How ironic it is that someone with such a classy sounding name could be such a piece of total shit! Yet there it is. I felt it necessary to write you this letter because it is about time people knew the whole story – and maybe karma will finally bite you in the ass like it should have a long time ago. Anyway, I digress.

When I first met you, you were nothing to me. Wait, I shouldn’t say that. You were the weird looking guy who always had money and drugs and beer. In my addled state, you seemed nice enough. Once Kevin snapped and I had found myself single again, you were there to comfort me. Addicts can be really single-minded, as you well know, and I knew that you had a big enough crush on me to allow me to crash at your place and party a lot, much to that bimbo Terry’s chagrin. I found it kind of comical that she wanted you so badly when I was only using you to party. She was so pathetic, too. How old was Aaron when she first came back from California? Two? If that, I bet. How sad that a mother would spend the child support she received on crack instead of diapers. I bet the towels she wrapped his little bottom in gave him BAD diaper rash. And it couldn’t have been good for him to be held by her while she took hits off the crack pipe. I mean, secondhand cigarette smoke was bad enough, but secondhand CRACK smoke? Ask him if he remembers that, because I do. Oh, and I also remember that one time he grabbed the coffee table with his little toddler hands to balance himself and almost knocked some rocks off the edge. Boy, did Terry scream at that!

So yes, I slept with you. And believe me, it was not an enjoyable experience. But I was so out of my mind on drugs that it didn’t really matter. I’m not proud of it, but that’s the way it was. When I really couldn’t take it anymore, I ended it and moved home. You were way older than me, and so totally not my type, and I just couldn’t bear to be with you anymore, even when I was high. But the few times we were together was obviously enough to get me pregnant.

By that time, you were dating someone else, oh yes, the OTHER Terry, the dark-haired one, another junkie. When I told you I was pregnant, you wanted to get married. I did not. I had no desire to spend any more time with you than I already had. What I wanted was to give the baby up to a better home, because I didn’t think I would be a good mother. An agency was contacted and papers and forms filled out. You told me that you would respect my decision, no matter what it was.

When I had the baby, a precious little girl, you told me that you had decided to give her to your sister, Jackie, in Michigan. I would have no part of that. My father contacted the adoption agency and some poor couple in Georgia got their hearts broken because I decided to keep her instead. You forced my hand by your decision, and though at the time I was upset, that is the one thing I will be grateful for. My life changed radically from that point on. You swore that you would always be there for me and your baby girl, and a counselor at the hospital sat both of us down and explained to you that this was an eighteen year minimum commitment financially, and a lifetime commitment emotionally. You swore up and down that you knew that, and fool that I was, I believed you.

You held her once, at the hospital, and my mother said it warmed her heart, even though she really didn’t like you.

When we both were released form the hospital, I am ashamed to admit that it still took me three months before I realized how important my angel was to me. I continued partying, and letting my mother take care of her. But then it was like I hit a brick wall. I couldn’t live like that anymore, I wanted to be a good mother, I wanted to stop using, I wanted help. I worked my ass off in recovery and made new friends and got a real job. I paid for daycare for my daughter so I could work, got an apartment on my own, and stayed clean. During this time, you made no contact with us at all. I filed the appropriate papers in court to obtain child support, but since you worked for Cook County yourself and your father obviously had some sort of pull, being a retired Police chief in Park Ridge and all, the process was slow and eventually came to a complete stop.

You were making over $40,000.00 a year, but didn’t pay a dime to your own daughter. Eventually, because I fought tooth and nail, an order was established, and your checks were garnished and she finally had health insurance at the age of two. When this all happened, you asked if you could see her. I asked if you were clean, and you told me yes. You told me you stopped drinking the case of beer a day you always drank, and stopped smoking the $100 worth of crack a day you smoked. I asked where you got the help. You told me you “just stopped.” You were lying, and I knew it. I told you to call back if you made a serious effort to get clean, because I did not want my daughter to be exposed to an alcoholic junkie, father or not. You never called again.

Then, guess what? You lost your job. Or maybe you quit, I’m still not sure. In any case, the child support payments stopped, and when I took Lexie to the doctor when she was sick, I was told that her insurance had been cancelled. I called Blue Cross to find out what happened, and as it turned out, you cobra’ed YOUR insurance and left her without.

Over the next decade, you worked, then quit, then worked, then quit. Your payments were so sporadic, it was pathetic. You hired an attorney to get your payments reduced. I found it amazing you could afford an attorney when you supposedly couldn’t afford child support. Apparently you couldn’t, though, because he removed himself from the case when you stiffed him as well. During this time, you actually MARRIED that skanky first Terry and moved to Holiday, Florida. But you don’t have a phone, I know this because when your attorney needed to call you he had to call your parents to go find you. A forty five year old man without a phone. Say it with me: LOSER. Apparently you have been unemployed now since mid 2004. Yet your parents sent Lexie a picture of you in a cherry picker, and another of you lounging in a speedboat.

The most current court order has set the child support at a measly $60 a week, although it also requires payment of an additional $40 a week for health insurance and daycare expenses. So your total payment is legally $100 a week. Then there is the issue of arrearage. Do you know that you are currently over $31,000.00 in arrears? I bet you don’t even care. Yet over the last three years, you have made a total of $1,590.00 in payments. In THREE YEARS. Because, “good guy” that you are, you are sending piddly checks back to the Illinois Child Support division to keep them from hauling your ass to jail. You must be working for cash, since they cannot find an employer for you. Or maybe you are selling drugs like you used to, I really don’t know. According to the morons that I have spoken to, as long as you “make an effort” they can’t do anything to you. And your last check of $30 to cover six and a half weeks is apparently “making an effort.”

This is utter and total bullshit. If I sent a $50 check to my mortgage company, and said, “Sorry, that’s all I’ve got,” they would take my frickin’ home. They certainly wouldn’t say “Oh, she’s making an effort.” You should rot in jail if you can’t make your payments, asshole. And I shouldn’t be so far in debt because I am busting my ass trying to support myself and a child ON MY OWN. Supposedly Illinois is now working with Florida to get you back into court and to find out what is going on, but know what? I’m not holding my breath.

I guess it says a lot about a person when that person would rather get drunk and high with his new skanky wife in Florida and live off her son’s child support checks than take care of his own child. Or call her. Or be there for her. Although I must admit, she is much better off. And she knows it, too. She knows both you and I had drug problems, but as sure as she is that I got help because I loved her so much and wanted to be the best mother I could, she is also sure that her so-called “father” will never stop using or drinking and is absolutely NOTHING to her. She knows about your new “family” and that you don’t even care about her. She knows that you tried once to contact her, ONCE, and never again after that. And guess what else? She also hates your parents now, because she feels betrayed by them. She feels like they have a part of you that she will NEVER have, and that they could have convinced you to be a real dad. I’ve tried to explain to her that it is not their fault, but she has made up her mind. And really, who can blame her? So guess what, asshole? Your own flesh and blood cannot STAND you. And as much as I agree with her, I also think it really sucks.

I have a great dad. My brother has a son now, and HE is a great dad. Actually, I’m pretty sure even you have a great dad. So it really sickens me that my daughter had to get gypped. Although you know what? She’s better off. You are a NOTHING. A NOBODY. A big, fat, LOSER. And the one good thing in your life is the thing you threw away, abandoned. Shows just how stupid you are. You really don’t even deserve to be a dad, but I guess on some level you already know that.

So the bottom line is, you make me sick to my stomach. I may have made mistakes in my life, but at least I turned my life around and made it something to be PROUD of. You, on the other hand, will spend the rest of your life being hated by a little girl who is capable of so much love. Keep your damn money, if that is what is so important to you. No, forget that. Lexie DESERVES that money. And I will make sure she gets EVERY DAMN PENNY. So you better cut back on your Busch beer and your crack. And watch your back, because someday you might find me in your neck of the woods with a Sheriff’s Deputy and an arrest warrant. Oh, and? Please make sure your life insurance is up to date, because when you die of an overdose or in a shooting from a deal gone bad, I want to make sure Lexie still gets her money.

I guess that’s about it, Rick. Tell Terry I said hello and I hope Aaron is ok, maybe he is safely in the custody of his father now since Lord knows the two of you are piss-poor examples of parents. Have a nice life there in Holiday, Florida, and remember that karma thing. I may be struggling, but I have my daughter and she makes everything worth it. And you, you SOB, you’ll never have her or even KNOW her.

But I still want her money.

Sincerely yours,

Dasi

Excuses, Excuses

I had jury duty yesterday. And so I was really busy at work today. Besides, I am having a minor creative drought. And I’m sick of people stealing my pop and water at work and the Loser is pissing me off with his half-assed child support payments (First payment in 6 ½ weeks - $30. Yes, THIRTY FREAKIN DOLLARS. Asshole.). Anyway, those are my excuses. Maybe I’ll write a real post tomorrow. Then again, maybe not. Don’t know at this point. Just don’t desert me, please!

Parenting 101

My daughter is going to be the death of me. No, literally. I really mean it. She is going to make me so insane that it will come down to kill or be killed. And since I could never bring myself to kill my daughter, I will have to be the one euthanized for my own good. Because she is only TEN YEARS OLD and already has the attitude and mouthiness I hadn’t developed until I was at least 15.

Don’t get me wrong, she is a great kid. Everyone tells me so. “Oh, you are SO LUCKY! That Lexie is SUCH A WELL-BEHAVED, POLITE GIRL! So GROWN UP! Such a PLEASANT CHILD!” And I smile demurely and say, “Thank you” all the while thinking how well she has these people snowed. Because only I know that inside that little girl’s body lurks an evil, manipulative creature that can appear at any time. And the scariest thing? When I mention any of this to other mothers of girls, the general answer is an ominous “Just wait.”

I don’t want to wait. I am AFRAID. Because as it is now, she has me pulling my hair out. I don’t remember being like this when I was little. I remember being sweet, and pleasant, and SCARED TO DEATH OF MY PARENTS. She, on the other hand, isn’t scared of me at all. And I just don’t get it. When I threaten, “Do that again and you won’t be going to so-and-so’s house, you can just stay in all day!!” she replies calmly, “Fine, give me the phone so I can call her.” Which, of course, I won’t do, because I really DO want her to go out so I can have some “me” time. So I give her the old “Well, ok, then, you have ONE MORE CHANCE.” And she smirks in satisfaction knowing she has won the battle.

DAMN! Damn damn damn!! I am CONSTANTLY outsmarted by a ten-year-old!!! But I am getting better.

Like the other day, she called me at work when she got home from school and BEGGED to go out bike riding with her friend. Of course, the answer was a flat-out no. She knows the rules: when you come IN the house, you do NOT go back OUT until I get home from work. I don’t want her traipsing the complex until I am home from work and can be there if she needs me. Since it is April, and she has been coming home by herself since September, this is not new information to her. But you would think that it was, because I got the full-out whine assault. “But MOOOOOOM!!! It’s SOOOO NICE OUT!!!” I don’t care. I’ll be home in an hour and a half, you can wait until then. “But I’m NOT A KID, Mom!! I’m TEN, not SIX!!” Stifle laughter on that one. “It’s a FREE WORLD!” Not until you are eighteen, it’s not. “Everyone ELSE gets to and KARA’S MOM will watch me and IT’S NOT FAIR…” she continued to babble and added some phony tears in for good measure, so I passed the phone to my coworker, M.

Now, M, being the good single-with-no-children person that she is, listened to the ensuing tirade with hand on hip and raised eyebrows. She knows Lexie, and has heard my stories of late as well. AND? M, being the hot-as-hell independent black woman that she is, knows how to get ghetto when she needs to. Or when she is dealing with a petulant pre-teen. All of a sudden, I heard M: “You about finished, there, Miss Lexie Ann?” I think Lexie’s tears stopped mid-stream and her jaw hit the floor when she realized who was on the phone with her now.

I sat back and listened as M unleashed her lecture on my daughter guns blazing. “Do you KNOW how many PERVERTS there are out there? DO YOU? Your mother sits here EVERY DAY, WORKING HER ASS OFF so YOU can have a good life, and still you CALL HERE asking her QUESTIONS that you DAMN WELL know the answers to, and you ADD to her STRESS like she DOESN’T HAVE ENOUGH working with SATAN every day, NOOOOO! Little girl, you better STOP and THINK about what you are DOING because if I was your mother, you’d get your ASS WHUPPED. Besides, your mother tells you no because she LOVES YOU. Do you know how long it takes to KILL SOMEONE? TWO MINUTES. TWO MINUTES and you could be DEAD. And THEN what would your mother do?? HOW DO YOU THINK SHE WOULD FEEL? Or MAYBE you wouldn’t get killed. Maybe some PERVERT would TAKE you and do TERRIBLE THINGS to you. And your mother would wind up in a CRAZY HOUSE because she DIDN’T KNOW WHERE YOU WERE!! And you all FAKE CRYING and BEGGING to do something you KNOW you can’t do!! PLEASE!!!”

She continued on for about twenty minutes, every now and then inserting, “LEXIE ANN? YOU STILL THERE?? GOOD.”

Finally, I had to go meet a client, so I just let her finish. And when I got home, I asked Lex how her chat with M was. She sheepishly smiled and said, “Good.” I don’t think she’ll be calling me at work to ask to go outside again. In fact, if I were her, I’d be afraid to go outside AT ALL. M scared me, too. Heh.

Then there’s the matter of responsibility. Obviously, she feels she is grown up enough to go out by herself with her friends when I am not at home, but there is a catch to that. She is totally clueless when it comes to cleaning up her room or her play area, sorting her laundry or putting it away, and the other night I discovered another thing she “doesn’t know how to do.”

She had eaten her dinner (which I had made) that consisted of a bowl of soup, some crackers, and a glass of milk. Since it is only the two of us, we generally eat in the living room. So anyway, she finished eating, got up, and went to go play her game cube. Leaving her bowl, cracker wrappers, and glass for the maid, apparently. When I reminded her to please put them in the dishwasher, I got a sigh and the following response, “But I don’t know HOW!”

Ok. What? She “doesn’t know how” to put dishes in the dishwasher? I could NOT have heard her right. I reiterated my request, and this time she got up, albeit grudgingly, and again commented that she “didn’t know how” to do it. So I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. I think my response was, “Look, Sweetie, you’re going to have a tough enough time dealing with dumb blonde comments in your life, but if people hear you saying you ‘don’t know HOW’ to put dishes in the dishwasher it’s going to be even tougher!” She got mad at me and accused me of calling her “dumb.” My response? “If the shoe fits.” So she started whining about how she couldn’t believe her OWN MOTHER thinks she’s dumb. As she took miniscule steps toward the kitchen with her bowl and glass.

I decided to ignore her.

And guess what? She figured out how to put the dishes in the dishwasher all by herself.

Now, believe me, I KNOW that my daughter is far from “dumb.” In fact, I am pretty positive she is near genius. And SHE knows that too. So I am not crushing her self esteem or anything when I make comments like the one above. I am simply playing her game. Because in order to survive, I sometimes HAVE to. I think. I’m still relatively new at this whole mom thing. Even after ten whole years.

Life has been pretty cushy for my girl, Lord knows I have bent over backwards to make sure she is happy and wants for nothing. So I know that this whole attitude thing is partially my own fault. It’s time for her to step up, and time for me to batten down the hatches for the fights that I know await me. This shit is HARD.

But know what? It’s all worth it. Because when she’s in her normal happy Lexie mood, I remember how lucky I am. We laugh together and talk about anything and everything and sometimes just sit together watching tv snuggled together on the couch. This morning she reminded me of a time when she was about five and tried to do a cheer for me. It was right before we took our Disney cruise with my mom, and she was really excited about it. We laughed about it all over again, because it was pretty funny. This was her cheer:

L: Gimme an “M!”
Me: M!
L: Gimme a “U!”
Me: (Somewhat confused) U?
L: Gimme a “C!”
Me: C?
L: Gimme a “K!”
Me: (Giggling) K!
L: What’s that spell?
Me: Muck.
L: What?
Me: MUCK. You spelled “Muck.”
L: NO, I spelled, “Mickey.”
Me: Trust me, you spelled “Muck.” Yay, Muck!

Her spelling hasn’t improved too much over the years, either. Ok, now I am rambling. Time to end this post. To summarize: Parenting: Hard but gratifying. Daughter: Obnoxious but wonderful. Me: Stressed but dealing. Although I think I’m getting the hang of things. Maybe.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Ok, it's almost 5:00 and my ass should be out the door, but Satan just left and I didn't want to leave my loyal readers waiting any longer. So you want old pictures? You got em. Funny thing is, I realize my hair wasn't as big and my eyeliner wasn't as dark as I remember. Except in the last picture, and that was for a theme party. But anyhoo - here is a much younger, more fun version of Dasi.

This is me on a hospital guy's motorcycle with fellow dietary gals Colleen (who we used to call Olive Oil - like in Popeye) and Michelle, the rotten boyfriend stealer. I had on sunglasses because this was shortly after I found out she stole him and I had been crying and I didn't want the bitch to know. This is me in the pink vest, along with Cindy, Kimmie, and Tommy - the guy I had the hots for. See his incredible talent of holding a full beer can with his teeth? I got to make out with him once - lucky me - and that was it. Last I heard he was making a living as a male stripper. So I guess I am better off without him. I'm wayyyyy too jealous a girl to have a stripper for a boyfriend, or God forbid, a husband. This was in June of my high school graduation year. At my friend Paul's party. I had a HUGE crush on Paul in 5th grade, but he signed my autograph book and wrote "too bad I don't like you." Well, let me tell YOU, Mr. Paul, Dasi sure turned into a HOTTIE, didn't she??? Long story short, we dated, broke up, stayed good friends, and are currently trying to hook up so I can meet his boyfriend. (Now I know the real reason he didn't like me in gammar school.) Finally, me and Suzy at a frat party. No, my hair was not permanently red, it was a wash out color, and the outfit wasn't the norm either. But we kind of got more into the "pop n punk" theme than most of the guests. See the guys in the background checking us out? We were HOTTTTTTTT!!! And had a lot of FUN, too! The only problem was, when I went back to the frat for a regular party, none of the cute guys who flirted with me remembered me without my whips and chains. In fact, one particular guy insisted he had never laid eyes on me before (when previously he laid a lot more than EYES on me - heh!). So there you have it. Pictures as promised. So now I am going home. Hopefully "TBOTE" will be forthcoming, ok? Oh, and? No using these pictures on any other weird websites, please!!

The Drive-In

I must say, I am REALLY loving this weather. Today it is supposed to actually hit 80. Of course, I would love it even better if I was outside and not trapped at work with Satan, but what can you do? (Wellll, I CAN just quit and hang out outside, but then I would probably have to hang out outside forever since I would be unemployed and broke, so I won’t do that.) Yesterday while I was driving home from Curves (yes, I actually WENT) I had the window down and the radio on, and next thing I know, Axl Rose is longing to go home to the green grass and pretty girls. You know, back in Paradise City. I looooooove that song. It holds so many good memories. And between the good weather and my good mood and the good music, I am hoping this turns out to be a good post.

So anyway, as I’m listening to the music, I started reminiscing. And for some reason, the drive-in came to mind. When I worked in the kitchen at the hospital, once the nice weather arrived, every weekend was Drive-In weekend. And oh. My. God. did we have fun. Of course, if my daughter ever pulled any of the crap I did as a teen (or as a young adult, for that matter) I would KILL her. But I digress. Back to my fond memories.

So anyway, it would usually start out when someone commented how nice it was outside. Then eventually, a whole group of us would be making plans to meet in the hospital parking lot later that evening to go to the drive-in. We ALWAYS invited Eric, because he was over 21. And he always came, because I don’t think he had a lot of friends outside the hospital group. Even though most of us were between 16 and 19. He had a speech impediment, and even though the guy was a near genius, he struggled with certain pronunciations. Case in point – once one of the other guys told me he and some buddies were going to ask Eric to join them on a golf outing. I gushed about how nice that was, and he replied, “Yeah, we want to watch him tee off and yell ‘FIR!’” But believe it or not, mean as all that sounds, we really were nice to him. Especially since he bought the alcohol. Heh.

So I would go home after work and tell my parents I was going to the drive-in. The beauty of the drive-in was that it was a good 30-45 minutes away, and the only one in the area. So the story went like this: “Well, you know, by the time we all MEET and leave the PARKING LOT to go out to WHEELING and then actually GET to the drive-in, it is time for, like the 10:00 show. Which doesn’t END until around MIDNIGHT. And then, you know, getting out is a really PAIN because it is so CROWDED, and then we have to go BACK to the hospital (since most of us carpooled together) and then DROP PEOPLE OFF, and gosh, by the time I make it home, it will PROBABLY be like 2:00 am, but ONLY because it’s the whole DRIVE-IN thing, you know?” Good way to extend your midnight curfew. And it worked, too. But honestly? The explanation wasn’t all bullshit. It was actually pretty true. The only thing that was bullshit was the fact that we needed to stay to watch the whole movie. Because NOBODY actually watched the movie. Duh.

Anyway, a good amount of time was spent getting ready for the outing, because the guys we worked with were Hot. Well, most of them, at least. And you never knew just how the night would wind up. Believe it or not, your fair Dasi was pretty Hot herself back then, too. Tall and shapely, with lots of eyeliner and Rave hairspray. (It was the 80’s, you know…) The gang would generally include anywhere from a dozen to about 30 people, with a pretty equal ratio of guys and girls. So the caravan would leave from the hospital and make a pit stop at a liquor store on Milwaukee Avenue and Eric would go in, with a memorized shopping list and a fistful of dollars. We’d all wait patiently until he emerged with a couple cases of beer, then went back in to get the wine coolers, and back in again for the Boonesfarm someone always requested. Once the trunks were slammed, we were again on our way.

Once at the drive-in, it was party time. Everyone got out of their cars and cracked open their illegal alcohol. Now, before you label myself and my coworkers a bunch of alcoholic minors, let me assure you that generally the drinking was minimal. We couldn’t really handle our alcohol that well, and most of us were deathly afraid of getting busted by our parents. So, casually sipping until the desired buzz was felt was the norm. (And yes, we were still minors, and it was WRONG, and blah, blah, blah for all of you minors reading this. Do as I say, and not as I do yadda yadda.) But, oh the flirting!! That was the A#1 reason for hanging out at the drive-in. Not too long ago, I was reading my old diary, and I found a drive-in entry. Went something like this: “So I was, like, having SOOOO much fun, and Mike was like TOTALLY hitting on me, and I was like, ‘Well, ok, he’s pretty cute,’ but then Colleen came up and started giving him a massage, so I was like ‘Whatever’ and walked away. Then I was talking to Mark and he is like SOOOO CUTE and he is my Honeybunch after all, so I was thinking, ‘Well, maybe I really like Mark,’ but then he went to get some popcorn or something. Then Scott came over and God, HE is SOOOO HOT, and he was like TOTALLY talking to me, so I decided I REALLY liked Scott, until Kelly came up and kissed him RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. So I decided to go to the bathroom, then Larry caught up to me and told me I had beautiful eyes, and Larry is REALLY REALLY HOT AND he is like an AWESOME singer and has these puppy dog eyes, so we were like TOTALLY making out. But he is dating Chris, so we had to pretend like nothing happened when we got back. I’m not sure if he really likes Chris or not, because he told me he really liked ME, but oh, well, whatever.” Yes, in the course of one evening, I liked then didn’t like FOUR guys. Fickle? You could say that. But at sixteen I wasn’t about the long-term thing. And besides, I was still the good-girl virgin, and only wanted to have a little fun. Wine coolers and kissing was DEFINITELY fun.

Ahhhh, the good old days. The drive-in has been closed for like forever now, and in some ways I am glad. I wouldn’t want Lexie trying to pull that “But we’re going to the drive-in” crap. Because I KNOW what goes on. And fun as it was, I don’t want my daughter doing it. But honestly? I miss wine coolers and kissing. Things were a lot more simple back then, weren’t they?

For the Love of Benji

When I was a kid, I LOVED dogs. I still like dogs, of course, but as a kid, I LOVED them. I favored my canine stuffed animals over the others, I visited all the neighborhood dogs, I read dog books, I watched dog movies. And for obvious reasons, one of my very favorite movies as a kid was “Benji.”

I have fond memories of that movie, and I thought I remembered it so well. I can still clearly see the scene where Tiffany gets kicked across the room, the image of the heavy shoe making contact with her fluffy little white body making me tear up. Watching her fly across the room yelping and landing in a crumpled heap (Alive? Dead? We didn’t immediately know, did we?) was worse to my young eyes than any slasher movie out there. Yup, I really loved that movie. So when I saw it was going to be on cable, I excitedly set my tivo to capture my beloved Benji forever.

See, I figured since I had loved it, Lexie would too. Plus, she is a big dog freak like her mother was. I raved about what a GREAT movie it was, how exciting, how sad, how totally engrossing. She wasn’t impressed with my enthusiasm. In fact, her first question was “When was it made?”

What? Hmmm, good question. So I looked at the movie info and found out it was made in 1974. I relayed this information to my skeptical daughter, who responded by rolling her eyes and walking away.

“Wait!” I pleaded. “I swear, it is a really good movie!”

And even as I spoke the words, I began to wonder. I mean, 1974? I remember seeing it at the movie theater with my mom, and if it was in 1974 I was probably only like 5 years old. And really, how good of a movie critic is a 5 year old, anyway? Still, my memory refused to acknowledge anything but good in regards to Benji, so I convinced myself (and Lexie) that it was at least worth a watch.

I hit the play button on my tivo, and with a satisfying “bloop” the movie began. Immediately I began to worry. The opening sequence was of Benji, looking a bit more scraggly than I remembered, running through the neighborhood to really cheesy music (I think something about “love” or some other crap). When actors appeared on the screen, I cringed. I think even Benji was doing a better acting job than the housekeeper, the kids, or the dad. But Benji’s bark. Damn! That poor dog sounded like he had spent the better years of his life chain-smoking or something. He had a raspy, pathetic “ruff” that I really don’t recall him having. I mean, Benji was this hero dog, right? I could have sworn his bark was a bit tougher.

Lexie was watching the it with a smirk, and I didn’t try to stop her when she reached for her Nintendo about 10 minutes into it. This movie was pretty bad. Seeing the neighbor lady scolding Benji while halfheartedly waving her broom for chasing “Sweetie-Peetie,” her anorexic white cat, got a snort out of my daughter. When the same lady later yelled after Benji that someday she would “let her cat get him,” she snorted again. (I think it was an amused snort, but I can’t be sure.)

Then Benji met Tiffany. Ahh, finally, the good parts!! But my smile of victory vanished as Lexie laughed out loud at the ludicrous “prancing through the field” scene (which, once again, was accompanied by cheesy 70’s music). In talking to my friend Linda, I commented, “Benji has a better love life than I do, though.” Which made Lexie laugh harder.

It continued on its downward spiral, even through the supposedly exciting kidnapping scenes. And the “Tiffany gets kicked” scene that haunted me for so many years? Well… it seems my memory may have exaggerated that as well. What I remembered at five was slightly different. See, Tiffany did get kicked, but they didn’t even show it. The showed the windup of the foot, then they jerked the camera around, you heard a yelp, and saw about one second of her in the air. Not even that high, either. But, they did show the crumpled white heap. At least I got that right.

Lexie was a trooper, though, and didn’t ask me once to stop the movie (probably because she was only half-watching). But I did anyway. Because I was heartbroken that the movie I had such cherished memories of turned out to be so crappy. And Benji? Bleh. He may have started the whole “dog-star” era (after Rin Tin Tin and Lassie, of course) but he was a wimp. What could I have been thinking all those years ago? I am embarrassed. And sad that my memory failed me so.

But in my defense, I WAS FIVE, DAMMIT. I think the next time I see an old movie I remember fondly that is more than 25 years old, I will just keep remembering it instead of watching it. You know, just in case.

Feelin' Groovy

See, I knew this was going to happen!! Satan is back as of this morning and my fingers are just itching to type something not work related. Go figure. Maybe I enjoy the danger of writing for my blog when I know that any second I could get busted and beaten down mentally… Or maybe I’m just a moron who can only think of things to write at inopportune times. Actually, it’s probably a little of both.

Anyway, it seems that spring has finally arrived in the Chicago area, and what an excellent weekend it has been. First I would like to point out that the Cubs swept the Cardinals in their first home series. Excellent games – my boys in blue are playing some exciting baseball. And that other Chicago team – who are they again? – I hear they lost 4 of their first 6. Shame. (Excuse me while I try to stop laughing in adolescent glee at that fact.)

Saturday Lexie’s bowling team apparently clinched last place, I was so proud!! She actually bowled 18 pins BELOW her average in the second game! What a gal! (Ok, that was sarcasm there, in case you didn’t notice. But the facts are accurate, although myself, the other moms, and the kids themselves really don’t care. It’s just fun to hang together in a noisy place on a Saturday morning.) The rest of the day was spent cleaning and shopping in preparation of a visit from my cousin Tom and his wife Carolyn (Hi Carolyn!) (And Hi Tom – just in case you BOTHER reading this…!) and their daughter who I can’t type enough superlatives to describe. Suffice it to say, Lexie and I are entirely smitten with their almost two-year old angel.

So on Sunday itself we had a really nice visit, got to break in the barbecue with one pound steaks from Costco. Kendall met the kitties, and basically spent the day being adorable. See?

We watched the Cubs and when Jones hit the three-run homer to take over the lead, there were high fives all around. Only, Kendall appeared concerned and kept saying, “Oh, no!” I sincerely hope that Tom and Carolyn work on that, because no one that cute should EVER be a Cardinals fan.

Lexie and I also watched some quality movies on Saturday night – “Wayne’s World,” “The Outsiders,” and “Rosie O’Donnell’s Very Special Cruise.” Obviously the first two were good, and Lexie enjoyed them, but let me tell you, Rosie’s Cruise was pretty damn good too. The level of intolerance in this world is unbelievable. Watching those couples with their children was nothing short of amazing. The amount of love was staggering, and the kids were all so well-adjusted, and not “messed up” like a lot of people assume children raised by gay couples would be. It was actually interesting hearing the teenage kids talking about growing up with gay parents, and saying how the fact that their parents weren’t afraid to be true to themselves made them more comfortable about being who they wanted to be, because they knew they would always be loved no matter what. Amazing. Not many kids of straight couples are that secure in their own skin. Anyway, the cruise looked like so much fun, and all the people were so awesome… there was a point where I thought, “Gee, maybe I should be a lesbian. They all look so happy and they get to go on a cruise” but then I thought of being kissed by another girl and kind of shuddered. Apparently I won’t be cruising with Rosie or wearing Rainbow pride colors in my lifetime, since I’m quite obviously a raging heterosexual. Which isn’t to say I can’t support them, though, and make sure my daughter is tolerant of everyone. But in any case, if you get the opportunity, I’d highly recommend watching it.

Soooo, that brings us to today. It’s another beautiful day, and even though Satan is in da house, I’m in a pretty darn good mood. Only 5 ½ more hours to go, and it’s off to Curves. Still working on those abs, dontcha know. Especially since I can’t afford to have the fat surgically sucked out at this point. Maybe after I sell my novel (heh!). Oh, well. Enjoy your day, people, and hopefully my good mood will continue indefinitely!

Yesterday

So yesterday was an interesting day. I had to leave work early for my annual "fun" women's exam, and still wound up just about ten minutes late for my appointment. Which really didn't matter, since I STILL sat there for almost an hour before getting called. I absolutely HATE that. I mean, a few minutes I can understand, but almost an HOUR?? I could've stayed at work at least another half hour or so and goofed off there (since Satan is still gone). But whatever. I digress.

So there I am, sitting on the uncomfortable table with one of those stupid gowns ("open in the FRONT, dear") while my doctor makes small talk like we're just hanging out or something, and he's not about to go poking around DOWN THERE. Then all of a sudden my cell rings. Lexie's ring. "Excuse me," I say, trying to reach my phone while keeping the gown closed.

"Sweetie, this is really not a good time," I say, smiling through gritted teeth. "I will call you back in a few minutes."

"BUT MOM IT'S AN EMERGENCY! The toilet and sink are making funny noises!"

I sigh and reply, "Are they overflowing?"

"No..."

"Then they are fine. Leave them alone, or get Brad (cute nice neighbor across the hall)."

"Fine. I'm getting Brad." Click.

Again with the maneuvering to put my phone back, and then I blushingly apologize to the doctor who it seems is smirking at me. He has three young kids of his own, you see.

"Everything ok?" he asks.

"Oh, fine," I reply. And the appointment proceeded with no further interruptions.

So on my way home, I call Lexie back. "Did Brad come over?"

"Yes. And when he did, it stopped. So it's ok."

Whatever.

When I got home, there was a large notice posted in the hallway. Apparently, a water pipe had burst down the street, so the Village had shut off the water for the entire complex starting at 4:00. Possibly until the next morning. And they apologize for the inconvenience. Well, that explained the funny noises Lexie heard, but it also really SUCKED. Of course, one of the few days I actually put makeup on I might be unable to wash my face before bed. And when I get upstairs, Lexie walks up to me and announces, "They're DOING it again!"

I wrinkle my nose, because she stinks. "I know," I tell her, "the Village shut the water off. And you STINK."

"Thanks, mom!" she replies sarcastically, sniffing her pits. "I'll take a shower tonight."

I don't even bother. There's no point. Then she announces she wants her eyebrows plucked. That everyone is making fun of her unibrow. She's really fair, and although she DOES have a unibrow, she is only ten, so I try to avoid the issue. When she won't give up, I warn her it WILL hurt, and if I do it tonight, she will have to continue doing it FOREVER or it will be even worse. She wants it bad enough, so I pluck away.

Surprisingly, she barely flinches as I wrestle with the tweezers. And she looks ok, I guess. There's definitely no more unibrow, and that makes her happy. We watch some tv, and I inform her that if there is water tomorrow, she NEEDS a shower. Right before bed, I test the faucet. WATER!! YAY!! But now it is too late for her to shower, so I warn her I will be waking her early.

Then, in the middle of the night, about 2:30 am, I hear Lexie get up. Coughing. And half crying. She has a bloody nose. A GUSHING bloody nose. I roll out of bed and find her in the bathroom with bloody hands and a bloody sink and a bloody mirror trying to pinch it shut. This hasn't really happened since she was five and she had her nose cauterized. So I got the ice, and calmed her down, cleaned her up, and we pinched and waited. We wound up awake for over an hour waiting for it to stop. Which, thankfully, it finally did. I tucked her back in, and pulled out the humidifier, cleaned it out, and plugged it in. By 4:00 am, I was back in bed.

This morning, we were both DEAD TIRED, but evil mom that I am, I refused to let her stay home and sleep. I told her to nap when she came home if she wanted, but she had to go to school. After her shower, she seemed a little more awake, so I'm hoping she makes it through the day.

And I am hoping I make it through today, too. It is the Cub's home opener and the last day before Satan comes back, so I plan on savoring both these events to their fullest. I am soooo dreading Monday.

Anyway, I realize this is a pretty lame post, but I am tired and have nothing else to write about. And I am not feeling "TBOTE" right now. Hopefully I will feel more witty and creative by next week - you know, when I have to sneak to blog because Satan is around!! Ha! Have a great weekend!

The Beginning of the End, Part 27

Marc had brought enough “party supplies” to keep us going through “tomorrow.” But when the proverbial well ran dry, Kevin and I crashed – hard. It had been an exhausting few days for both of us. Kevin woke up barely in time to make it to his 6:00 pm shift at the casino, and he kissed me goodbye with a worried expression.

“Will you be ok alone?” he asked.

I nodded. “I’ll be fine,” I assured him. He seemed to think it over, then, satisfied, headed out the door.

Truth be told, I was still feeling somewhat anxious. Without a phone in the room, I had no means of communication with the outside world, no way to call for help if I needed it. I got up and checked the lock on the door, then peered out the heavy motel curtains. The parking lot was quiet, and even the traffic on the main street seemed less than usual.

Schmauser jumped up on the bed and gave me a questioning “meow.” I had to laugh as I sat down next to him and allowed my furry friend to rub up against me, purring. It was somewhat comforting having another living thing, albeit a somewhat psychotic cat, with me in the room. It meant I was really not alone. I turned on the tv and turned off my thoughts.

One day blended into the next, with Kevin working and me doing nothing. A little over a week after the attack, Kevin loaded the car to drive me to the airport in the car he had supposedly managed to fix. I laughed in spite of myself as I watched him ease underneath the front end to maneuver the wires that started the car, then wiggle out with a smile of triumph.

“Good as new,” he bragged.

“Oh, yeah,” I said sarcastically. “All the new cars need to be started from underneath.”

“Hey, it’s getting you to the airport, right?” he shot back.

Yes, it was. I was going home for Christmas. Kevin was staying in Reno, and he promised to let me know if Nancy had any news. She knew I would be gone for a week, and told he she didn’t think anything would be going on during the holidays anyway. Nothing had gone on at all, really, but she assured me that this was normal, and that things would probably pick up after I got back. She had informed us that Morcos had been arrested for the assault and was in jail pending a preliminary hearing. She told us that she doubted he would be able to afford the bail, so I should have nothing to worry about.

Yeah, right.

I watched the scenery go by in a blur as we approached the airport. I couldn’t wait to get home. I missed my family, missed the security of a real house, of mom and dad. I even missed my brother. And I was dying to see my little schnoodle Snuffy. The idea of Christmas anywhere but in Chicago seemed preposterous, and apparently my parents agreed. They had arranged for a ticket to be waiting for me, and finally I was on my way.

“Have a great trip, hon. Merry Christmas,” Kevin said.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of leaving him behind. But it was only a week, and Kevin was scheduled to work the holidays anyway. Time-and-a-half, although I knew realistically he would probably spend the extra cash partying while I was gone. I leaned in for a goodbye kiss, and hugged him tightly.

“I love you, Kev,” I whispered into his ear. “And Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Love you too.” We separated, and Kevin handed me my duffel bag. I was traveling light. “I’ll call you on Christmas Eve, promise. Right when I get into work. Six your time, ok?”

“I’ll be waiting. And don’t forget to pick me up next week,” I warned.

He laughed. “No chance.”

I watched him leave and I headed for the gate. I hoped I was able to be convincing enough around the people I loved at home. My stomach churned at the thought of them ever finding out anything about what had been going on in Reno. I was the honor student, the good girl, and I wanted to keep that image intact.

After I boarded the plane and was headed east, I drifted off into a fitful sleep. As excited as I was about going home, I was also nervous as hell. I already knew my parents had plenty of doubts about my life in Reno with Kevin. But I had managed to sugar coat everything to keep them at arm’s length. Easy to do over the phone, even if it was a collect call on a pay phone. But I wasn’t sure if I could keep up the charade in person. After the attack, Kevin was wonderful, sure, but the little girl in me wanted my room, my parents, my dog. I wanted security and safety and my childhood home represented all that.

The plane landed smoothly, and I grabbed my duffel bag and took a deep breath. I followed the line of people up the aisle and out the door, and looked around as I walked into the terminal.

My eyes immediately filled with tears as I saw my parents and my brother standing together waving at me. All the pain and fear and anxiety spilled out uncontrollably in liquid form. My heart felt like it was going to explode from the love I felt for these people, my family.

“Oh, Dasi! Don’t cry!” my mom said, laughing through her own tears as she hugged me.

I tried to catch my breath, but the tears continued to roll as I smiled happily. “I’m just so glad to be home.”

My dad hugged me next. “Yeah, well, I wish you’d stay home,” he growled gently.

I laughed at his not so subtle campaign to keep me out of Reno. We let go and I turned to my baby brother. At over six feet tall, he certainly didn’t look like a baby anymore. “Hey, Bob,” I said, and felt the tears come harder again.

He shifted uncomfortably, as most nineteen year old boys do around overly emotional sisters. “Hey.”

“Well, give me a hug, you,” I said, embracing him tightly.

When the greetings were done and my tears slowed again, everyone started talking at once. I answered their questions as generically as I could, and tried to sound enthusiastic about my new life. They relayed the details of our holiday – who we would see, what we had planned. And mom shared family news and funny anecdotes I had missed while I was gone. This continued in the short jaunt from the airport to the house, and when we pulled up in front, I felt as a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

We all got out, and when dad opened the front door, I was practically knocked over by the pitifully small ball of grey and white fur we called Snuffy. His tail was wagging so furiously, I thought he would fall over from the force.

“Hey, Snuff!” I said, laughing and trying to calm him down.

“Welcome home, Dasi,” my mom said with a smile.

I turned to smile back up at her. But in her eyes I saw questions. I smiled just a little bigger, to try to assure her I was ok, but somehow mothers always know…

That Shit Ain't Right...

Ok, very briefly, because this isn't really a post, just something I felt compelled to share...

Satan is on vacation, and therefore I have been checking his voicemail on a daily (actually hourly) basis. And he just got a voicemail from some Nature Center informing him that his "steel chainsaw is ready for pickup."

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I don't know about you, but hearing things like that really scare me.

A Tale of Two Cities?

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Apparently this is the opening line in ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ by Dickens, but P said it to me in my dream last night. Go figure. I’m guessing it could be because “Desperate Housewives” was the last thing I watched on TV before going to bed, and I was remembering my own experience with sponsorship and the whole 12-step program.

Anyway, to clarify, P is a friend of mine from my program days. And by “program,” I am referring to Cocaine Anonymous, which is where I finally managed to straighten out my life (Shoot! I just ruined the end of “TBOTE!”). I saw P about a year ago at a mutual friend’s father’s funeral, and haven’t seen him since. But he was right there in my head last night, and with that trademark P smile, looked at me and said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” For whatever reason, I don’t remember if there was anything happening before he said that, or if the dream continued after he said that. All I remember is that phrase. I woke up with it echoing in my head. And it remains with me even now clear as day.

Because it was so crystal clear, I did what any obsessive person would do: I started overanalyzing it. I wondered exactly what P was trying to tell me. I wondered if there was some sort of hidden meaning in those words, if I was supposed to act on something I didn’t know about. But after worrying for most of the morning, I decided to take a virtual step back and just look at the big picture rather than scrutinize the details that just weren’t even there.

And that is how I came to the conclusion that Bree VanDeKamp probably had something to do with my dream. Watching her with her sponsor probably triggered my subconscious. And P was just telling me what I already knew: that it really was the best and worst of times. Why he chose Dickens to relay that message is still an unknown, although P always seemed the intellectual/artistic type. Because you see, I met a lot of great people while getting clean. We had parties, and dances, and poker games (yeah, I know, one addiction replaces another…), and hung out at the coffee shop together. My whole post about a best friend? I guess I kind of forgot my RH pals. Collectively, I had a bunch of best friends for about two years, because in recovery openness and honesty are key. In meetings I could (and did) spill my guts without being judged. I was able to cry, I got the hugs I needed, and never had to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. Pretty damn good.

Although, you could also say it was the worst of times. Getting clean is hard. And beating yourself up over your past sucks, too. Doing a complete 180 with your life is something that takes a lot out of you. Well worth it, of course, but hard as hell. There were many nights I wanted to just give up, that I hated not being able to party, that I felt abnormal being “normal.” As my system cleaned out and I started facing life on life’s terms, I felt emotions I had to deal with rather than smother. I gained weight when I started eating regularly instead of smoking regularly. I lost “friends” I thought were the only people who cared, but who, it turned out, were never my friends at all. I made a lot of discoveries about myself and my life, not all of them good, many I wasn’t proud of. But I busted my ass to do the next right thing.

So I think what P was doing was reminding me of where I came from. And maybe, he was also trying to show me how far I really have come by reminding me about those days. There are many people I met in recovery who didn’t make it, who couldn’t find the strength. Some who relapsed and died. Actually, many who relapsed and died. I have videos of “sober parties” and watching the laughter and the camaraderie can be bittersweet when you see the celluloid ghosts of those who lost the battle.

I’ll be forever grateful to the friends I made back at RH, for their support as I rebuilt my life. There are a few I still keep in touch with and always will, but most I just hear about in passing or wonder about on occasion. Like P. So, thanks for the reminder. Because you’re right. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”