No, I am Not Dead

So, yes, I am a bad, bad blogger. I know it, I own that fact. Believe it or not, I actually have started Chapter 36 – it just isn’t quite finished. But soon – verrrry soon. As far as WHY I haven’t been posting at all for the last week… hey, none of your business!!

Ok, so it is your business. Kind of. And technically HAS been your business since I started this blog and made a commitment to all the people who take the time to read. So the reason I haven’t been posting is actually a whole mess of reasons:

• Satan has been on my case, MAJORLY (surprise, surprise!) and I have been in a ROTTEN mood
• Lexie had the stomach flu yesterday (ok – only a one day excuse, but an excuse nonetheless)
• I actually have been doing real WORK, not just pretending – partly to stave off Satan and partly because it needs to be done
• I have been spending a lot of time worrying about the usual – finances, bills, and money (or are those all the same thing?)

I did, however, read my Writer’s Market 2006 last night, and it seems there are a whole mess of agents out there looking for new authors. Only, I really don’t want to query until I get TBOTE finished, in case they write back and say “Ok, let’s see this book.” But it’s nice to know they are out there, and kind of comforting knowing that someday I will be able to at least query these people and for once in my life follow through with my writing. Good thing #1.

Good thing #2 is that my co-worker has found a new job. Now, technically, that sounds like a BAD thing, because I will miss her terribly and will have a HUGE work load increase (and thusly may be blogging even LESS), but you must remember I work in a two-person support staff law office. Two people – her and me. And if you take away her, that leaves little old me. Whose ass Satan will have to kiss repeatedly to keep around. Because HA! He will need me desperately. I’m forecasting a raise and more vacation time as well. It kind of makes it a bit easier to put up with his bullshit and snarkiness, knowing that as soon as M puts in her two-week notice he will make a complete 180°. And if he doesn’t – well, let’s just say I’d love to see HIM try to run his office BY HIMSELF. So, extra work = BAD, but Satan’s lips permanently attached to my ample ass = GOOD. It will so totally be worth it.

I applied for a second job, actually, at a new restaurant in the area. Since I have about 7+ years experience, and actually really loved waitressing, I figured it would be worth a shot to apply for a couple shifts a week. Of course, they told me they would need me there before 5:30 during the week (not going to happen), but talked to me anyway. When I turned on the charm and schmoozed the hell out of the manager, he told me he may have to “bend the rules” a little. But so far, I haven’t heard anything. Oh, well. Although I am still hoping it may pan out… those few extra bucks would really come in handy. You know, until the big book deal and all…

SO. That is pretty much where things stand at this point. I will try to be more consistent with my writing, and try to get more chapters. TRY. That’s all I can do. No empty promises here. That said, it’s time to get some work done.

Ciao!

Solar System Stupidity

Ok, I’ve heard of downsizing, but this is ridiculous. HOW THE HELL DO YOU “DOWNSIZE” THE SOLAR SYSTEM?? Apparently, Pluto is no longer a planet. WTF? How does this happen? I never thought of myself as an ignorant person, but all my life I have been taught that there are NINE planets in the solar system. All of a sudden, some bozos in Prague have decided that only the eight “classic” planets will be recognized as planets in our solar system.

I never even realized that poor Pluto wasn’t “classic.” And to add insult to injury, it will now be considered a “dwarf planet.”

Just imagine being one of the big dogs for all of your existence, some brazillian years (I still love that number…!), then all of a sudden you are a “dwarf.” Just like that. Kicked out of the Classic Clique.

BUT – there is a positive to all this, because unbeknownst to moi (apparently I missed a few issues of “Astronomy Monthly”) there are additional dwarf planets. Two, in fact: Ceres and 2003 UB313. And yes, I agree, “2003 UB313” is a stupid name for a planet, even a dwarf planet, but it seems its discoverer, Michael Brown, affectionately calls it “Xena.” Which I agree is a MUCH better name for it. Although I really don’t know what the purpose of having its “formal” name be 2003 UB313 is. Seems kind of silly to me, why not just name it “Xena” to begin with? I mean, really – do any of the “classic” planets have weird formal names? (Maybe they do, after all, I don’t seem to be as up on my astronomy as I thought I was. If anyone knows, please pass on this info.)

And while we’re on the topic of names, why is it that all murderers or child molesters or kidnappers are always referred to by their full name – including their middle name? You know, Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gacy, John Mark Karr… I actually heard an interesting theory about this on the radio this morning: when you are little, if you get in trouble, your mother ALWAYS uses your full name. Not necessarily your last name, but ALWAYS the first AND middle. That’s how you knew you were in big trouble. So it makes sense that the media uses the bad guys’ full names – because they are in MAJOR trouble. And this way, they know it. Just in case the handcuffs, jail time and possibility of frying in the electric chair didn’t pound the message home initially, hearing your FULL NAME used in all the newscasts will definitely do the trick.

Oh, my. I believe I’m thinking wayyyy too much today. Better stop all this nonsense and get back to work. Where I don’t have to think much at all. Although I doubt I’ll ever get over this whole Pluto fiasco. Eight planets, indeed.

The Beginning of the End, Part 35

Kevin came back grinning, and I knew that meant the “plan” was going into effect. All five of us piled into the old mustang once Kevin worked his magic underneath. Melanie was talking nonstop about how cool this was, how she was so excited that we would all see her house… almost like this was just a normal visit. But it was anything but.

I kept trying to convince myself that this wasn’t wrong, that in the long run it would actually help Melanie to get out of the motel and into an apartment, that we weren’t doing anything illegal. But my Catholic upbringing wouldn’t allow me to see this situation for anything other than what it was – breaking and entering, and robbery. Not to mention the fact that illegal drugs would also be involved.

I finally decided to try to concentrate on untying the knots in my stomach by blocking out the conversations around me and closing my eyes. I let the motion of the car soothe me and I tried to take deep breaths. It seemed only seconds later when I heard Melanie yell out, “HERE! This is it!”

I opened my eyes and blinked. Melanie had lived in a gorgeous, enormous house. This was obviously the “rich” part of town, and the fact that Melanie would even want to run away seemd ludicrous to me. As everyone exited the car and we stealthily made our way up to the front door, I stopped worrying and started wondering how bad her life could’ve been. I mean, in a house like this…?

Melanie unlocked the door and quickly rounded a corner to quiet the beeping that broke the silence. The rest of us stood in the front hallway gaping. I noticed I wasn’t the only one impressed with the surroundings.

“Had to turn off the alarm,” Melaine said, reappearing. “Let’s go upstairs.”

She led us through several large rooms before reaching the staircase, which rounded the living room before disappearing into another floor. As we went up the stairs, my heartbeat slowed to normal. I wanted to know more about the girl who lived here, and what made her leave. It suddenly became important to me to talk to Melanie, to convince her to stay here, to wait for her parents and apologize and leave Bobby and the partying behind…

She turned on a light in one of the rooms, and I blinked at the sudden brightness. “This was my room,” she said, almost sadly, I thought. “You guys wait here.”

“Should I call Polon?” Kevin asked. “I mean, how long will you be?”

“Just a minute,” she replied. “But wait until I see how much there is.”

We all sat down in various places in the room. It was decorated in pink and frills, a large canopy bed on one end, a desk and several filled bookshelves on the other. There was a small landing when you walked in, and then about three steps going down into the room itself. I chose to sit on one of the stairs, so I could examine every inch of her room.

I let my mind wander and pictured Melanie, talking on the princess phone while lying on her bed and laughing. I saw her sitting at the desk and doing homework, occasionally looking out the window that appeared to have a nice view of the backyard. There were dozens of dolls in a large curio cabinet against one wall, and I wondered how long she had been collecting them. Did her mother buy them all for her? Or had they been handed down through the generations? Some of them looked pretty old, but all were in excellent condition. Suddenly a thought struck me – the room almost looked like a museum display. Everything was perfectly in place, nothing was dusty, the pillows on the bed looked invitingly plump. It was almost as if the room were waiting for its owner to come back, as if her parents were saving it for her, hoping for her return…

“Two grand!”

Melanie’s triumphant voice broke my reverie. Suddenly there was a flurry of action as Kevin made the phone call from the princess phone by the bed, Bobby took the money from Melanie and started counting, and Marc got up and paced. Moments later, Bobby, Kevin and Marc left, money in hand, and instructed Melanie to leave the front door unlocked so they could get back in.

“Ok, just lock it when you get back,” she replied, suddenly sounding a little nervous.

When we heard the front door close, I turned to Melanie. She was sitting next to me on the landing in her room, looking around it in much the same way I was.

“Do you miss it?” I asked quietly.

She looked at me with a sad smile. “Sometimes,” she admitted.

I scooched closer to her, and looked her directly in the eyes. “Then why don’t you stay?”

She sighed and shrugged. “I can’t,” she replied. “Too much water under the bridge. Besides, my life is with Bobby now.”

“But are you really happy?”

She looked at me in confusion. “Of course I’m happy!” she insisted.

“Really?”

Melanie looked away, and I wondered if it was to hide her true feelings. For a while, she remained silent, then she turned back to look at me again.

“Look, I know you mean well, Dasi, but I chose my life with Bobby. Living here – I never was able to make choices. I mean, look at this room!” she waved her hand toward all the frills. “It’s been the same since I can remember. They won’t let me grow up. They won’t let me live,” she said with desperation.

“Don’t you understand?” Melanie’s eyes were pleading with me.

I wished I could say I didn’t, but I did. Even though I knew she was wrong, I remembered being that young and feeling trapped in my parents’ home. What Melanie didn’t realize was that they sheltered her because they obviously loved her, and that she would thank them someday.

If she ever went back to them.

The sound of the front door opening caused us both to freeze like deer caught in the headlights. Quiet, determined footsteps ascended the stairs, and Melanie reached over and shut off the light.

“What the hell? Why are you sitting in the dark?”

We collectively exhaled as we recognized Bobby’s voice. Melanie turned the light back on and jumped up to greet him. Kevin and Marc stood there as well, both grinning like idiots.

“So?” I asked.

Bobby held up a bag with the largest amount of powder I had ever seen. It didn’t look real – there was just too much. My mouth fell open. “Holy shit,” I muttered.

“Party time!” Kevin laughed. He turned to Melanie. “Hon, where’s the kitchen? I’m gonna need some room to cook all this shit up.”

Melanie took him down to the kitchen with Bobby and Marc tagging along, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My stomach was churning in anticipation of that first hit, and with the amount of coke they had brought back I realized that this was going to be a very long night.
I just hoped we all survived it.

Deja Vu (Well, Kind Of...)

Ok, for those of you who have been around a loooong time, I got a strange phone call on my cell today. But the ringtone wasn’t “The Exorcist” theme, so I thought nothing of it. Whoever it was left a message – some guy who kind of garbled “Remember that drawing you signed up for? (Go Bears!) Well, SUCK IT!” At least, I think that’s what he said. In any case, I looked up the number (which was 847-828-4852, by the way, feel free to call this moron anytime) and it is a cell phone based in Hinsdale, IL. Which is on the south side. And who lives on the south side? MR. SOUTH SIDE!! Now, it may just be a strange coincidence, since Mr. South Side vanished just about a year ago. But to make sure, I called this number back from my switchboard-hidden work line, and the same voice answered. (Sounded kind of like a young drunk kid, actually.) And what did I say? Well, something like this (in a verrrry sweet voice):

“Hello. You just called my cell phone and left a, well, shall we say interesting and somewhat vulgar message on my voice mail? And, well, I just thought you should know that I really didn’t appreciate it. In fact, I called the police and told them about it and gave them your number. So when they call you, you might want to think of a reason why you are leaving inappropriate messages on strangers’ cell phones…”

There was dead silence, save for the (I think) tv in the background. So I knew he was still there. Oh, and? Obviously I didn’t REALLY call the cops. That would’ve been silly and a waste of time. Anyway, since the poor sap was still on the line, I figured I’d add:

“Well, alrighty, then! Just thought you should know. Bye!”

And I hung up. And laughed. I highly doubt it was Mr. South Side, probably just some stupid punk who was so drunk or high he forgot about caller id. But it still made me think if him. Sometimes I kind of miss the drama of my Mr. South Side Summer… NOT!!!!

Oh, and? If you click on the Mr. South Side link, you are only linking to one of many posts about the hijinks that ensued. So keep looking at old posts if he entertains you – Lord knows, he entertained Amber! (Holla, Amber!!!)

A Tale of Two Fathers

This is the story of two fathers. Both have a daughter, one also has a son. One tries hard to be a good father, the other, not so much. Both continually hurt their daughters – but one doesn’t realize it and the other doesn’t care. Which is worse? How does a daughter learn to live her life without the paternal recognition every daughter craves, whether she knows it or not? How can a father cause so much pain and not even realize it – or in one case, not even care?

Let’s begin with Lexie’s father. You all know the story – and you all know how it breaks my heart to see her desperately wanting to understand why her father isn’t here. She wrote a letter to him just about a month ago – in fact, I mailed it exactly a month ago today. This is the letter (you may have to click on it to enlarge it a bit):


Guess what? To date, she hasn’t gotten any response. And the letter didn’t come back “Return to Sender,” so he probably did get it, he just didn’t care. His daughter tries to make some contact, get some answers – reach out to the asshole, for God’s sake, and he can’t even be bothered. Ironically, her birthday came and went since she mailed him the letter as well. You’d think maybe a pang of conscience would make him at least respond and wish her a happy birthday. But his silence only proves what I’ve pretty much known all along – he is a heartless, cold bastard who cares about no one but himself and his drugs and booze. I’m just sorry that Lexie had to have her heart broken again waiting for a letter that will probably never come.

She has a new favorite song now, too. Lindsay Loahn’s “Confessions of a Broken Heart.” She plays it a lot and knows all the words by heart. When I actually listened to the words, I felt a rage build up in me and wanted to go directly to Florida and find him and kill him. He doesn’t deserve her tears, or her heart. Yet he gets both, because daughters can’t help but want to have their fathers love them unconditionally.

Which brings me to my own father. I have said repeatedly in past posts how much I love my dad, and how grateful I am to have him in my life, and that is true. Yet he is the one person who has the power to make me feel like a loser and often does. The one person who can cause more pain with his words or actions than any fists ever could. And yet? I can’t imagine not having him in my life.

Ever since I was little, my dad had a plan for me. I was going to be and do everything he didn’t. Of course, things didn’t work out exactly that way. He expected perfection, in every area, and I failed miserably. I got a C in Honors Advanced Algebra in high school, and therefore he ignored all the A’s and B’s in my other honors courses. “Not good enough.” I wasn’t athletic, but my brother was. Dad coached practically every team my brother ever played on, and was at every game. In grammar school, I was in gymnastics – the only sport I really enjoyed. I wasn’t the best, but I tried hard. I’ll never forget the one gymnastics meet I ever participated in… I had worked hard and practiced for weeks, and on the day of the big event, my father showed up. I couldn’t wait to show him that I was good, too. But then? He left. He said he was tired of waiting, that it was taking too long.

He never saw me compete at all that day. And I never participated in another meet again.

One time, he had a coworker over for dinner. I must have been about 12 or 13, and my brother about 10. They walked in and this guy sees my brother and says, “So you’re Bob! I’ve heard so much about you! How’s the baseball/football/basketball going? Your dad talks about you all the time!” I stood there smiling, and then he turned to me. “Oh, and you must be Ray’s daughter,” he said casually. My heart fell. He didn’t even know my name. It was obvious who the superstar was in my dad’s eyes. And it wasn’t me.

I never felt “good enough.” Yet I busted my ass to make him proud of me. Still do, in fact. But I always wind up feeling “less than.”

During my drug years, we obviously drifted even further apart. (Heck, I drifted from everyone, though.) When my parents divorced, I hated him. Then I quit using and in recovery, I again reached out to him. He supported me, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes. Again, I had let him down. I tried to get past it, and built up a relationship again. We were closer than ever, but there was still the underlying current of disappointment and disdain.

The thing is, I love my dad. But he hurts me so much and doesn’t seem to realize it. Even at my age, I feel like a little girl every time I talk to him – when he mocks my choice in tv shows (“I don’t want to hear about that. Seriously. Don’t talk to me about stupid shows like that, I don’t care”), laughs at my “gullibility” (“Oh, come on! That dj was just doing a bit! You don’t really think he ‘just happened’ to call that person, do you? Yeah, dad! It was funny! God, how stupid are you? It’s all for ratings!”), or, as happened last night, makes me feel like a complete fuck-up ( “Satan had every right to be upset!! Come on, Dasi! You goof off and then when you get caught, you get upset? You’ve got a lot of nerve! If you were MY employee, I’d fire you! But dad, I wasn’t late! And did you even hear what I told you he said to me? Yeah, I did, and you deserve it! Of course, YOU are always right, and everyone else is wrong, right? I just don’t understand you! But dad, I work HARD, and I do a GOOD JOB! I don’t always goof off! And I don’t think I should be treated that way. No, you never do? Do you? Like I said, you’re always right. You’re a real piece of work”).

I cried. Because after that conversation, it occurred to me, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I am still trying to please my father, and he is still making me feel inadequate. The ironic thing is, I seriously don’t think he even realizes it. Like when he went over to my brother’s on Father’s Day (my sister-in-law went out with her sister and their father) after he told Lexie “No, I don’t want to go to Great America with you, it’s Father’s Day, which means I do what I want.” Didn’t even invite Lexie and me, or tell us about it until the day was over. And then had no clue as to why I was hurt. (Although that ignorant situation fell on my brother too, for not inviting us either.) Sure, he apologized, but he was still baffled as to why an apology was necessary.

Or when I brought him to the Cubs game in $150 seats that I really couldn’t afford (once again, trying hard to get his approval) – and he complained all the way back to my brother’s (who lives about a mile from Wrigley) about the fact that I didn’t park in a lot by the stadium and we had to walk. And when I tried to call a cab, told me to “Hang up the phone! What, are you stupid? You can’t call for a cab in this area! You just have to FIND one!” He called and apologized the next day, and thanked me for the day, but once again I felt like I had screwed up.

Or every time we go out to eat and he makes little comments (“Sure, Lex, we can order cheesesticks, as long as your MOM doesn’t eat them” or “Geez, Dasi, do you really need to get all that food?”), and when I tell him how I’ve been exercising he’ll be all like “Well, we’ll see how long THAT lasts.” I never considered myself obese, but apparently I’m not thin enough for dad.

He called me this morning to ask if I was still mad at him, and I told him I was. He laughed. He asked if I was going to stay mad forever, and I said, “Maybe.” So he told me to have a good day and said goodbye.

Maybe that is why I am still single. Because I honestly don’t feel “good enough.” I feel like a stupid, gullible, overweight person who can’t do anything right. Why would anyone want to be with a woman like me?

A tale of two fathers. I wish to God they both would wake up and realize how destructive their words (or lack thereof) can be to their daughters. At any age. Because little girls will always love their daddies, no matter what. It would just be a lot easier if it didn’t hurt so damn much.

"Confessions of a Broken Heart"

I wait for the postman to bring me a letter.
And I wait for the good Lord to make me feel better.
And I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Family in crisis that only grows older.
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?

Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I am broken, but I am hoping.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I am crying, a part of me's dying.
But these are, these are confessions of a broken heart!

And I wear all your old clothes your polo sweater.
dream of another you, one who would never.
Never, leave me alone to pick up the pieces.
Daddy to hold me, that's what I needed.
So,why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?

Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I don't know you, but I still want to.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me?
'Cause these are, these are the confessions of a broken heart!
Of a broken heart!

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I ...!
I love you!

Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I don't know you, but I still want to.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me?
Did you ever love me?
These are the confessions of a broken heart!
Ohh ... yeah

I wait for the postman to bring me a letter.

The Un-Post

So I'm sure if I were to post about Satan calling me a liar and telling me to "go back to your desk until you are ready to tell me the truth" about what time I came into work on Friday morning while he was on vacation because for some reason he believes I wasn't there until nine o'clock when I was there in the building at 8:30 (with witnesses on the floor) and admittedly did not unlock the office door until 8:40(but DEFINITELY before 9:00), making me feel like a reprimanded 5 year old instead of a grown woman... And if I were to also post that I confronted him and told him that I don't know where the time discrepancy comes in, but the fact that a little over a week ago I was sitting in his office while he told me what a great job I've been doing and how pleased he was with my work was kind of surreal considering the fact that now he was calling me a liar and expecting me to lie FOR REAL and say that I came in at 9:00 to placate him, which I wouldn't do... And if I were to also post the fact that I told him that I had worked for him for FIVE YEARS and always done a good job, but if he truly felt that I was being dishonest to do what he felt necessary because I would NOT change my "story..." And possibly even if I were to post about the tears that I TRIED to keep from flowing, except I couln't keep them in because I was so FRUSTRATED and ANGRY and HUMILIATED while Satan chose to instead focus on the fact that I unlocked the office a whole TEN FRICKIN MINUTES late and then had the GALL to use the bathroom before my coworker got in (despite the fact that she was a half hour late - apparently she can make her own hours since she "sometimes stays late when I need her, and you can't because you have a daughter") instead of the fact that I normally come in at least TEN MINUTES EARLY every day and bust my ass, with the exception of this ONE DAMN DAY...

Well, I'm sure if I posted all that I would just get a bunch of comments about how I should quit and shouldn't let myself be treated that way. So I don't think I'll post it.

Alright, Already!

Ok, I had another couple of really strange dreams the other night, and what better medium to share than my blog? I know, right? So here goes:

The first dream involved myself and the Beatles. I was somewhere outside, I don’t even know where, to be honest, but all the Beatles were there. Even the dead ones. Only they weren’t dead. There was like a concession stand right nearby, I do remember that. Otherwise, it was pretty empty. Hardly any other people except me and the Beatles. Paul was being especially nice, talking to me (about what, I have no idea – I just know we were talking) a lot, and George, John and Ringo would occasionally come up and join in the conversation. Then they would just kind of wander and hang out near this concession stand. But Paul and I, boy we really hit it off. He was super nice, and put his arm around me and everything. I felt really comfortable with the Beatles (even the dead ones), and suddenly it occurred to me that I didn’t have my camera with me. I remarked to Paul that I wished I had my camera so I could have some pictures of me with him and the rest of the guys, you know, to show my friends and family, and he was all “Well, I’ll take care of that!” And he took my hand and we walked up to the concession stand and Paul asked the guy for a disposable camera and two packs of Marlboro Lights. Now, I haven’t smoked in almost three years, but when Paul McCartney buys you cigarettes, you accept them graciously. Only thing was, they were in a really weird package, and then I realized that I was in LONDON, and I was all like “Wow, not only am I hanging out with the Beatles (even the dead ones), but I am hanging out with the Beatles in LONDON! Cool!” And then John took a picture of me and Paul, and Paul took a picture of me and John and George (the two dead guys – how odd), and Ringo was looking for someone to take a picture of all of us.

END DREAM ONE. Yup, just like that. Because then I morphed into Dream Two (I do that a lot, have several different really vivid dreams one right after the other in the same night, I just don’t always remember them).

So in Dream Two, I was on a train – more specifically the L in Chicago. There were several fellow bloggers on the train too, I recognized them from their pictures. We weren’t really talking, though, just riding the train and swaying back and forth with the movement of the train and bumping into each other because it was really crowded. Then the scene cut to me walking down the street to Wrigley Field (for those of you who have lived under a rock or just don’t know baseball, that is where my beloved Cubbies play). I got to the stadium, and I had to climb up this really steep cement hill to get to the other side, where apparently my seats were. Only it wasn’t a hill, it was more like bleachers at a little league field, with nothing but space between each row. And there were plastic chairs attached to the bleachers, but they didn’t look at all safe to sit on, since these bleachers were like 50 stories in the air. Yes, it was unusually high, and I was freaking out and having heart palpitations because I was really afraid I was going to fall, but I just kept moving up verrrrrry slowly and carefully because I knew it was really important to get to the top and over to the other side. (Side note: If I ever did go to Wrigley Field in real life, and had to climb 50 story bleachers with seats and nothing but air between the levels to get to my spot, I think I would just go home and watch the game on TV.) SO, I did get to the top, and was trying to catch my breath and start heading down the other side to my seat when I woke up.

Ok, now comes the fun part. Lexie got a Dream Book for her birthday, and I looked up some of the key things from said dreams and this is what I found:

Dream #1:

The Beatles: “To dream of a band indicates happiness.”

Camera/Pictures: “Taking pictures indicates that the things you are doing at the present time will play an important part in building your future.”

Cigarettes: “To dream of tobacco in any form indicates that you should beware of reckless spending on frivolous objects.” (Clearly, though, this does not mean that I PERSONALLY should beware, since it was Paul spending frivolously... so I'll just ignore this warning.)

Being in London: “Travel, on the whole, indicates a restlessness within. This is a good dream, as travel indicates change.”

Dream #2:

Train: “To dream you are traveling on a train indicates an upset mental condition, or that you are trying to make a decision which will eventually lead to a change of some kind.”

Crowd: “To dream of being in a crowd where there is pushing and shoving indicates hard work in the future, or a struggle to accomplish something that is important to you.”

Climbing: “Climbing a hill and reaching the top indicates hard work with prosperity to follow.”

Chair: “To dream of a chair indicates financial, moral or spiritual support in time of need. This is a good dream.”

So there you have it. And the way I look at the interpretations may be way off, but I’m getting the impression that my dreams are trying to tell me to KEEP WORKING ON “TBOTE,” DAMMIT!! Because obviously finishing it will change my life for the better, and all you chairs (I mean, bloggers) are giving me the support I need, so I have to get a move on. Which, you may have noticed, I did do yesterday. But I need to stop with the looooong intervals and put my nose to the grindstone, I guess.

Bizarre the way the subconscious mind works, isn’t it?

Oh, and? My cell phone texted me the following horoscope this morning: “Do the research necessary to get your project launched; there are people who can guide you, you just need to find them!”

Thanks, cell phone. In any case, I guess I ought to end this blog and start churning out chapters and doing research then. I mean, I figure that’s what the Beatles and the Cubs would want too, right?

The Beginning of the End, Part 34

I suddenly felt better than I had in a while. I let the drug take me where I wanted to be – away from the fear and the pain and the anger. I took hit after hit and laughed with Melanie and relaxed for the first time in a long time. Bobby concentrated on cooking up rocks and keeping us happy, and watched us through the smoke of his own hits.

“You know what?” I asked lazily, feeling the need to express my newfound feelings. “You guys are the best. I mean it!” I insisted, as Bobby started to laugh.

“Only because we got the rocks,” he said with a grin.

“Not true,” I responded. “ I haven’t made many friends since I’ve been here. Only Marc. And no girlfriends at all.”

Melanie giggled. “I’m your girlfriend,” she said earnestly, giving me a hug.

Bobby shook his head at the two of us and rolled his eyes. Melanie’s hug felt good, and I almost didn’t want to let go. Human contact that wasn’t dirty, or violent, or evil… Just a good friend being there for you. I really needed that.

“You know, I feel almost like we’re sisters,” Melanie told me a minute later. “I always wanted a sister.”

“Me, too,” I agreed.

“You don’t have a sister either?” she asked with eyes wide.

“Nope,” I replied, exhaling from yet another hit. “Only a younger brother.”

“I have an older brother! Wow, see, we’re so much alike!” Melanie looked almost ready to start clapping her hands and cheering – almost. I had to laugh, she was so young, and so naïve… I wanted to tell her the last thing she should want was to be like me.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I felt my heart leap and my eyes widen as Bobby got up to see who it was.

The door opened and Kevin and Marc walked in, with Kevin looking a bit panicked.

“Jesus, Dasi!” he said when he saw me. “You had me worried! Thank God you’re here!”

“Wow, is it that late already?” I commented.

“Yeah, it is,” Kevin said pointedly. “Here Marc and I come home to find the place empty, and I had no idea…”

I went up to Kevin and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine,” I assured him. “Bobby and Melanie have been taking good care of me.”

“Until now,” Bobby chimed in. “My guy is dry. You got cash and a connect, bro?”

“Some,” Kevin said. “And yeah, Arturo or Polon should be doing business. I’ll need to make a call.” He turned to Marc. “You got cash too, right?”

Marc nodded. “Not a lot, but enough for a couple.”

Melanie suddenly sat up from the bed she had been laying on. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “I can get money!”

Bobby looked at her from under his ever present baseball cap. “You told me you had nothing,” he accused.

“Well, I don’t,” she admitted, “but I can get some. What time is it?”

I looked at the red glowing numbers on the digital clock. “Twelve thirty-eight.”

“And what day is it?”

Marc rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Friday,” I supplied.

“Perfect!” she said, jumping off the bed and rummaging through her purse.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

Melanie smiled triumphantly as she held up her prize: a very unassuming key.

“This is the key to my house. My parents thought I left it when I ran away, but I actually had a copy made. Billy is away at college, and usually on weekends my parents go to Tahoe. Sooooo,” she explained.

Bobby smiled. “I like the way you think,” he said, grabbing her and kissing her hard.

I wasn’t so sure. Was she talking about robbing her own house? What if her parents weren’t in Tahoe? What if she had nosy neighbors? My high was suddenly disappearing rapidly.

“So, what are you saying?” Kevin asked, reading my thoughts. “That we go and rob your own parents?”

“No, silly!” Melanie scoffed. “Not rob, borrow. Besides, technically they owe me for the college money they won’t have to spend. Daddy has a safe that he keeps cash in for emergencies. I think this is an emergency, don’t you?”

They guys were already nodding in agreement, but I still felt uneasy.

“He thinks I don’t know the combination, but I do. Always have. I used to take money from it sometimes, just little bits, and he never knew.” She turned to Bobby with excitement. “We can get enough to buy a ton of shit and then sell a bunch to make more money and get that apartment we want! And still probably be able to party ourselves! It can work, I know it can!”

Bobby chewed his lip. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” He turned to Kevin. “Can your guy get quantity?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin replied honestly. “It’s not like I ever had any reason to ask.”

“How much cash does your dad keep there?” Bobby asked Melanie.

“Usually a few grand,” she said, eyes lit up. “You know, a lot of money!”

Bobby turned to Kevin. “Call your guy and see how much he can get tonight. Tell him you got a big deal.”

“I can do that,” Kevin said.

“Then we drive out to Melanie’s,” Bobby continued. “In and out, just in case.”

Melanie shrugged. “We don’t have to be in and out,” she said. “I mean, think about it, a safe place to party for a while…”

Marc finally chimed in. “But what if they come home?”

“They won’t,” Melanie said confidently. “If they’re not there now, they won’t be home at least until tomorrow afternoon. Margaritas with the Tahoe neighbors keeps them busy on their Friday nights.”

“Melanie, are you sure about this?” I asked nervously.

“If she says she’s sure, she’s sure, babe,” Kevin crooned, putting his arm around me.

“I’m sure,” Melanie insisted. "Besides, it's not illegal to go into your own house with a key, is it?"

Kevin pulled his arm away. “I’ve got a phone call to make,” he said, heading for the door. “Back in a flash.”

“And then it’s time to roll,” Bobby said as Kevin left.

Melanie, Bobby and Marc smiled and laughed as they talked about the big score, but I sat on the bed with the familiar knot forming in my stomach. This just didn’t feel right. But I knew that regardless of my feelings, it was going to happen. And that I would be a part of it.

PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP ON ME...

...I promise there will be a new chapter of "TBOTE" posted by the end of the week. I have no excuses, I have just been lazy and unmotivated. But I wanted to make sure it was known that I have not abandoned my writing - simply shelved it for a tiny little bit.

Again - I PROMISE - no later than Friday afternoon!!!!!

Happy Birthday!

Today is my baby's birthday. She is eleven years old and 5'3 1/2" tall. She is blonde and gorgeous and smart and funny but still can drive me crazy. I love her more than I ever thought I could love anyone, and I thank God for her every day. (Even when she is getting on my last nerve.) But I have a hard time believing she is eleven already... where does the time go?

What happened to my little angel with the tattoos on her face??? Cherish every moment - and take LOTS of pictures!
Happy Birthday, Lexie!! (Although you aren't allowed to read my blog - I'll make sure to tell you a million times in person!)

The Blogger's Court

DUM DUM DUM!! (Imagine cheesy “People’s Court” music here) This is the Plaintiff, Dasi. She states that Mr. X purchased baseball tickets from her on E-bay, then never paid. She is suing for recognition that she is right and he is an asshole. DUM DUM DUM!! This is the Defendant, Mr. X. He states that he had every intention of paying for said tickets, but before he could do so, Dasi reniged on the deal and sold him cheaper seats instead. He is being charged with being an asshole and stringing Dasi along.

(Insert bongo drums here.) The participants in this case are not actors. They are real people who have a cyberspace case pending in an E-bay court. Both parties have agreed to dismiss this action and have their dispute settled here… in our forum… THE BLOGGER’S COURT!!!

Ok, so now that we have had the introduction... obviously, Mr. X is not present, so this will pretty much be my word against what I say his word was, however, this is my blog and I can do what I want. That said, let me set the scene:

Back in February, I purchased four Cubs tickets for the 7/29 Cub-Cardinal game. These were awesome seats, and VERY expensive. Thankfully, I had plenty of available credit and was able to cough up the $150 per ticket so I could bring my Dad as a Father's Day gift, and sell the other two on e-bay. Admittedly, I made my first mistake right there. I never should have bought the extra two tickets with the intention of selling them and hopefully making a buck or two. But you know what they say about hindsight...

Anyway, July finally rolls around, and I figure I ought to list the tickets before it's too late. So on July 2, I posted them for $325.00 - plus $14.40 overnight shipping. A week later, on July 9, the auction ended, and Mr. X was the sole bidder, winning the pair for the $325.00. I was happy they sold, despite the fact that I really only broke even (once you considered the handling fees I paid). So I send out the little e-bay invoice, and wait for an e-mail from Paypal saying "you have received a payment from Mr. X." Unfortunately, it never came. On July 12, three days after the auction ended, I sent a friendly reminder to Mr. X. Following are actual e-mails chronicling what happened from there. Mr. X's e-mails are in blue, mine are in red (just to stick with the Cubbie theme):

Date: Wed, 12 Jul 2006
Hi, I am going to pay for these ASAP. I'm taking my identical twin bro, so you know, I'm rock solid, I just need until next week. We're huge Cub fans, and these ticks are SO sweet. Thank you.

Sent: Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Hey - sorry to bother you... but it's been a week since our last e-mails... you DO still want the tickets, right? Because the auction ended ten days ago and the game is next Saturday... if there is a problem, let me know so I can re-list them in time. Thanks!

Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006
No worries at all. Yes! I do still want the two tickets. I'll have the money to you on Saturday, Monday the latest. I promise I won't hang you out to dry on these tickets. Is this ok? If you're concerned about the transaction getting fulfilled, I understand. You don't know me from Adam. I don't want you to re-list the tickets, but I would understand. Just let me know. Thanks!

Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006
Ok, against my better judgment - I'll trust you...! After all, you ARE a Cub fan, and besides, I have your name, e-mail and cell # and come from a family of Chicago cops. lol (Although I'm NOT kidding...!)
I'll overnight the tickets as soon as I get the $, so make sure you give me an address where there will be someone that can sign for them (it will be USPS express - and I'm not sure whether or not they require a signature).

Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006
Hi Dasi, I appreciate your patience. Thank you! I won't let you down :) I'm going to include my address now, so you have that too ;) I work out of here, so I'm here all the time. Unfortunately :( Although, it's a nice view.
Thanks again

So by now, it has been ten days since the auction ended, and still no money. But I figure I’ll give the guy a break, and try to be a little more patient. After almost another full week goes by, and I still haven’t heard from him, I decide to relist the tickets. And file an Unpaid Item dispute, so I can get my final value fees back, which were about $12 - $15. Upon doing so, e-bay forwards the below to Mr. X:

Jul-25-06 at 11:32:41 PDT
An Unpaid Item dispute has been opened for the following item: **CUBS V. CARDINALS - BULLPEN BOX - SAT 7/29** (#120004230588) Reason given for Unpaid Item: The buyer has not paid for the item.
Buyer actions reported by seller: The buyer's payment has not been received.

I also decide to drop a more personal note to Mr. X, which set this little back-and-forth in motion:

Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
So, I'm assuming you no longer want the tickets... I really wish you would have told me sooner, since I may not be able to sell them at all at this late date... Oh, well - live and learn, I guess. Thanks anyway.

Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Hey Dasi! I do want the tickets!! Please don't get rid of them. I promised you. Nobody trusts anyone anymore. Damn!

Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Ok, ok… I'm not angry with you, in case my last e-mail came across bitchy - actually, I was very relieved to hear from you... I'm just stressing because I don't want to be out the $$.

Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Hi Dasi! You don't sound bitchy at all. I'm in Grad school right now, so I understand totally. In every way. Believe me. It's just that I would never screw you over. Not ever. It's not in me, I promise. I'm sorry I'm making you STRESSED!

Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. JUST GET ME MY MONEY!! Oh, AND you owe me a beer now, too!

Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I'm buying your Dad one too! And a dog. Cuz, well, for obvious reasons...

Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
See now, I am SO enjoying our repartee - I am hoping I don't have to hunt you down or anything after the game if I wind up with two empty seats next to me... remember - the game is S A T U R D A Y... tickets will have to be mailed by T H U R S D A Y... so you get them on F R I D A Y... capisci??

Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I'm all in Dasi! Thank you for everything. I only take my bro (and myself) to one game every year, and this is the game I reverse the curse of that damn goat and black cat! Do you know where I can get their bones? Jk ;)(kind of)
And like a fool, I again put my trust in him and take down the relisting. Which brings us to our final e-mail reportoire:

Sent: Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Ok - all kidding aside - as much as I like you through e-mail, I have to point out that it is 3:00 pm on Wednesday and I still don't have payment... The mail leaves our office at 3:30 pm, and I don't leave until 5:30, which means I can't stop at the post office to drop off an overnight letter myself. Soooo, today is out for shipping, and if I don't have the tickets ready to ship by 3:00 tomorrow, they definitely won't get to you by game time. PLEASE. Let me rest easy tonight!!! I am putting it all on the line here, and trusting you are as nice and as honest as you seem by not relisting the tix. But for God's sake at least tell me WHEN exactly I can expect an e-mail from paypal saying "payment received!"

Sent: Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Rest easy D. Tomorrow afternoon. It's in the 11's for the Cubs right now. If they sweep their home stand (11 games), their record would be even. The way I see it, they have nine losses to go 92-70. That could get 'em in to the dance. I'm making pacts with the baseball g-ds.

Sent: Thursday, July 27, 2006
You said nobody trusts anyone anymore... this is why. The mail has gone out, and I haven't gotten paid for the tickets, so now I am out over $300, money I can’t afford to lose. I don’t understand why you couldn’t just tell me up front if there was a problem getting the money, or that it turned out the seats were too expensive for you. I could’ve relisted the seats and sold them to someone else. Now I am stuck with the tickets and out the money.
Thought you were one of the good guys – looks like I was a fool.

Sent: Thursday, July 27, 2006
Dasi! HI! Please call me. Xxx-xxx-xxxx c or xxx-xxx-xxxx (I'm actually out at my Mom's place in Naperville). I'm getting the $ in my account tomorrow AM. I am paying you for the tickets, even if you can't get them to me. That's the way I am. I'm an honest man. Good and decent. I'll pay you tomorrow AM, and I'll find a way to get the tickets from you. I AM one of the good guys. You'll see when you meet me. I think. I love people too much to ever mess with them. Maybe they ARE too expensive for me, but I take my bro to the best game I can each year. Last year was Sandberg's #23 retirement game against the Marlins. I'm sorry to be standing on your last nerve on this one. I am truly sorry to cause you STRESS!

After receiving that, I did call Mr. X. I finally got a hold of him on Friday, the DAY BEFORE the game. NINETEEN DAYS after the auction ended. He swore up and down he still wanted the tickets, he had just gotten the money, and I gave him the option of coming to my job with the money in exchange for the tickets. No, he suggested, how about I Paypal the money tonight, and meet you before the game tomorrow to get the tickets? I told him that would be fine, since I was already planning to meet my dad at a bar before the game, but the money had to be IN MY ACCOUNT by this evening, or no tickets. Period. He promised it would be done.

Guess what? I checked my e-mail AND paypal account when I got home Friday night around midnight, and nada. I went to bed frustrated and angry, out over $300.

At 7:00 am Saturday morning, game day, no less, my phone rang. It was him, apologizing up and down, telling me that his brother had a seizure because he had a head injury from a few months back and couldn’t make the game, but he STILL wanted the tickets and was going to bring his stepdad. He said he didn’t pay because… well, to be honest, I don’t remember what his excuse was this time. In any case, I felt caught between a rock and a hard place, and agreed to still meet him at the bar at 2:00 (the game was at 3:05) so he could buy the tickets.

I had a really bad feeling about the whole thing, but at this point, I felt stuck. Until my brother called. I told him what had transpired, and he told me that he and his buddy would take the extra two tickets, and I should call Mr. X, tell him I sold them to someone else, but that I had two upper deck box seats (my brother’s seaon ticket seats) that he could have for face value, $40 each. I kind of hesitated, and my brother stated that he didn’t trust this guy, that he could possibly show up with a check that would bounce or way less than what he was supposed to pay, and I would wind up being scammed. He made sense, my brother, and seriously, I didn’t know this guy from Adam. Besides, he had made promise after promise to pay and never had, so I swallowed my guilt and called him.

He was thrilled. He said he only wanted the other seats for his brother, and since he couldn’t go, he really couldn’t afford them. But he would meet us at the bar for the $40 tickets.

He DID meet us, although not at the bar, and not at 2:00. He kept calling and calling (“the Metra is late, sorry!” “now the red line is late!!” “I’m RUNNING! I’ll be at the front gate!”) and we eventually met him right at the moment the first pitch was thrown, at 3:05. He paid the $80, gave me a hug (ew) and told me to watch my e-mail because he was going to send me some rookie Cub baseball cards (he had mentioned Kerry Wood) for all my trouble. Yeah, whatever. I wouldn’t take money from my brother, I couldn’t, he always gives me his tickets to use free of charge. It hurt eating the $250 (I did keep the $80), but we had a great time anyway.

Seemed like all's well that ends well, except for me being out the money. But I still had to close the dispute with e-bay to get my final value fees back. So this is what happened (all sent through e-bay):

Jul-29-06 at 19:36:37 PDT
Although we've resolved the matter, you need to respond to this dispute so I can get a final value credit and you won't get a nonpayment strike against you. Please respond indicating that we have mutually agreed to cancel the transaction so I can close the dispute. Thanks!

Aug-01-06 at 05:14:18 PDT
PLEASE respond... for your sake. Otherwise, tomorrow I will be closing the dispute to get credit for the final value fee, and you will have an unpaid strike against you. With this, I CANNOT wait, because fees are paid monthly, and I can't afford to lose an additional ten or so bucks on top of the $300 when it can be prevented...

Aug-01-06 at 05:41:00 PDT
I have already paid for this item. Payment details are as follows:
Payment type: n/a
Amount: $325.00
Payee: Dasi
Payment date: Jul-29-2006
Additional comments: DONE!

Aug-01-06 at 06:41:25 PDT
DO NOT mess around with me. You know you never paid me the $325. I am not trying to screw you - the only way to resolve this amicably is to agree that we settled the transaction without you purchasing the seats THAT WERE UP FOR AUCTION. If you continue to insist you paid the $325 (which you didn't) I will have no choice but to pursue this as a contested dispute, where you will have to show proof of payment & get a nonpayment strike. Let me at least get my final value fee back.

He didn't respond, so I closed the dispute, thus issuing him a nonpayment strike. And since I was po'd, I left him this negative feedback, a bit cramped due to space constraints:

Wtd 3 wks for pmt,got screwed.Heboughtcheaper tix at game time- left me out $250

His response?

Sent: Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Nice writing skills! Wait until you see my response. I had the money for those tickets on Saturday AM. YOU gave me the option for the cheaper tickets, and that is all I'm going to say about it. On E-Bay anyway. I guess I don't have to send out those rookie cards to you for Lexie. It's so funny how people can be so, well, like you, and don't even see it in any way other than how you see it. hahahahaha sucks to be you

Well, I refuse to respond to him, but I submit it all to you, Blogger's Court. What do you think? Am I a total bitch? Or is Mr. X an asshole?? Do you believe that he was still planning to pay? Or do you think I was being scammed?? The comments section is wide open!!

(And as for my writing skills, Mr. X, just WAIT until I publish "TBOTE!!!")