Know what? You people are so awesome! I really appreciate all the kind words. I haven’t jumped out any windows, in thinking it over a little more I realized that with my luck I would probably wind up injured just severely enough to rack up some serious medical bills, but not enough to miss work for any length of time. And really? I’m not that big into pain.
It means a lot to have people listen (or read!) and understand, and give me the sympathy I am subconsciously looking for. I know I’ll manage, I’ve survived through a lot worse, but sometimes it really seems like I am repeatedly pounding my head against a brick wall, you know? Yes, you do, as evidenced by all your comments. And in response to those:
Network Geek: I’ll be (choke) 38 in November – but don’t feel that old, at least not usually. I guess being old is really a relative thing, though, to an 18 year old I may be old – to a 68 year old, I’m young. And the picture was taken last Christmas – and really? Classic pear shape, those damn Irish hips and thighs are my downfall – and those you will NEVER see in a picture. Unless I can photoshop it. ;) I’m anal about my bills because of the years when I really didn’t give a shit and had really messed up credit… I finally got it back at a decent level and drive myself nuts trying to make on-time payments. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I feel I have to prove myself to people (read: my father) and NOT wind up in the red on a permanent basis. So I borrow from Peter to pay Paul. Not the smartest thing, I know, but for now, at least, it is working…
Rick: “Don’t give up before the miracle…” (Grin) Haven’t heard that one in a while! But you’re right, I have to have faith that things WILL eventually go my way. I’ve busted my ass too long to straighten out my life and do the next right thing to give up and miss the boat… Thanks for the reminder!
Cheryl: Yeah, you would think a 46 year old man would be responsible enough to support his own child, but then again, beer and drugs are expensive too – obviously he had to choose between those and Lexie… Oops, my bad – I cannot say for certain he is still partying, wouldn’t want to defame his character or anything… ;) And, ummmm, Cheryl, I know you mean well – but cutting off my cable would be like cutting off my arm. My right arm. That I use all the time. Because if there is one thing about me that everyone knows, it is that I NEED my tv. HBO I can live without, FX (Nip/Tuck, Rescue Me & The Shield), VH1 (Flavor of Love & Surreal Life), Bravo (Queer Eye, Blow Out) are necessities. Not to mention the regular network shows as well. I know, it’s pathetic, really, but I have this unnatural need to watch other people’s lives – whether they are fictionalized or real!! And the land line isn’t so bad, it is also used for my internet and has unlimited calling for a reasonable price. I think I’d actually consider giving up the cell phone before the land line. Old fashioned, I guess! ;)
Linda: FINE. I am so used to your not even caring!!! (Obviously, I am SOO kidding!! I’ll call you soon!! But I can’t do tequila – trust me on this…)
Hope: First off – I MISS YOUR BLOG!!! Second – the government SUCKS. It is so unfair that hard working people get screwed while the rich and the LAZY poor (those who just refuse to work to collect aid, or those who scam the system) get all the breaks. If I sat down and wrote about all the issues I have had over the years, it would take FOREVER. One ridiculous thing that I KNOW you will appreciate (being a fellow kitty lover) when Baby was really really sick about six years ago, the vet basically told me I had to either have him hospitalized (yeah, right!) or put him down. They suggested calling the Anti-Cruelty Society because they offered pet health assistance to low income families. I figured I’d qualify as a single mom who was barely scraping by. But when I called to inquire I was told in order to qualify, you had to have a monthly gross income level BELOW $800. Now, call me crazy, but if you are grossing less than $800 a month – HOW THE HELL DO YOU AFFORD A PET IN THE FIRST PLACE??? As it turned out, though, I found a new vet who discovered Baby was allergic to penicillin and cured him much more cheaply. (Yay!)
There. If anyone else responds, I’ll write a new "thanks a lot" blog. Seriously, I really do appreciate all of you – even the regular lurkers who don’t comment. Some I know (like various cousins and friends and brothers (well, the one and only brother) and one pretty damn fantastic aunt who shall remain nameless but who knows who she is… Yes, you, Auntie Margie!!) and some I don’t, but regardless, just knowing people are reading boosts my ego every day. And at times like this, when I am feeling pissy and sorry for myself, I am so grateful to have people like all of you to haul my ass back up and remind me that I’m still ok.
Ok, I’m so done with the mushy crap. Bottom line: thanks guys. Now I’d better get back to my hellish job so I can continue to make some money to pay the bills until my book sells. Which it will, I know, because all of you tell me it will. ;)
Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
I Wanna Be Sedated - PERMANENTLY
I. HATE. THIS.
M has been gone for just over a week and already I am nearing my breaking point. Satan asked me yesterday if I was managing ok, and I told him that currently I was fine. But that I probably shouldn’t say that, because that’s when things pile up. He laughed, and I laughed.
Then he came out to my desk with monster file #1. And monster files #2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. On top of all MY work I had, AND the copies the other attorney needed, AND the faxes waiting to go out, AND the calls that needed to be returned. Oh, did I mention that he barely explained how to do the work on said monster files, but rather said “just look up the procedures. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
And? Lexie has been sick. She was home yesterday with a stomach ache and slight fever. By herself – since I can’t miss work right now. So I spent the day (in between attempting to get work done that I don’t know how to do) calling home to check on her. And I got to race home at lunchtime and spend four minutes with her – no more, no less, since it takes three minutes each time out of the office and to the parking lot and vice versa and ten minutes each way to and from the office – and I only get a 30 minute lunch. She said she was still sick today, yet she is eating fine and not doubled over in pain and has no fever, so I made her go to school grumbling anyway.
AND? I found out asshole has been working since May 9. MAY 9. Yet – have I GOTTEN any child support? Nope. SUPPOSEDLY they are hauling his ass into court in Florida on contempt charges for nonpayment – but I’ll believe that when I see it. So in the meantime, I am maxing out my credit cards to pay the bills and somehow survive. Oh, and did I mention that the lovely State of Illinois’ All Kids Health Program denied my application for health insurance for Lexie? That’s right. Not because I make too much money, but because I THOUGHT IT IMPORTANT TO KEEP HER INSURED. They won’t give me assistance because I manage to somehow pay the exorbitant premiums to Blue Cross to keep her covered, since asshole never has. And for that I am punished. Oh – but wait – it gets better – they told me if I cancel her insurance and leave her UNINSURED FOR A YEAR, then I can reapply and MIGHT get accepted. Did I mention that the website says illegals can get the health insurance assistance without being reported to INS, “because the health of ALL Illinois children is important to us!”
I am broke, stressed, fat, old, and tired. I have already cancelled my Curves (a women's workout place, for you men who don’t understand) membership, cut out my premium cable channels and have the lowest amount of monthly minutes possible for my cell phone. I can’t figure out how else to cut corners unless I just stop buying groceries or leaving the house at all – which actually doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
And in the time it has taken me to write this? Three more files on my desk from nice attorney.
Sorry for the rant, but I gotta let it out somehow. I think I’ll go jump out a window now.
M has been gone for just over a week and already I am nearing my breaking point. Satan asked me yesterday if I was managing ok, and I told him that currently I was fine. But that I probably shouldn’t say that, because that’s when things pile up. He laughed, and I laughed.
Then he came out to my desk with monster file #1. And monster files #2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. On top of all MY work I had, AND the copies the other attorney needed, AND the faxes waiting to go out, AND the calls that needed to be returned. Oh, did I mention that he barely explained how to do the work on said monster files, but rather said “just look up the procedures. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
And? Lexie has been sick. She was home yesterday with a stomach ache and slight fever. By herself – since I can’t miss work right now. So I spent the day (in between attempting to get work done that I don’t know how to do) calling home to check on her. And I got to race home at lunchtime and spend four minutes with her – no more, no less, since it takes three minutes each time out of the office and to the parking lot and vice versa and ten minutes each way to and from the office – and I only get a 30 minute lunch. She said she was still sick today, yet she is eating fine and not doubled over in pain and has no fever, so I made her go to school grumbling anyway.
AND? I found out asshole has been working since May 9. MAY 9. Yet – have I GOTTEN any child support? Nope. SUPPOSEDLY they are hauling his ass into court in Florida on contempt charges for nonpayment – but I’ll believe that when I see it. So in the meantime, I am maxing out my credit cards to pay the bills and somehow survive. Oh, and did I mention that the lovely State of Illinois’ All Kids Health Program denied my application for health insurance for Lexie? That’s right. Not because I make too much money, but because I THOUGHT IT IMPORTANT TO KEEP HER INSURED. They won’t give me assistance because I manage to somehow pay the exorbitant premiums to Blue Cross to keep her covered, since asshole never has. And for that I am punished. Oh – but wait – it gets better – they told me if I cancel her insurance and leave her UNINSURED FOR A YEAR, then I can reapply and MIGHT get accepted. Did I mention that the website says illegals can get the health insurance assistance without being reported to INS, “because the health of ALL Illinois children is important to us!”
I am broke, stressed, fat, old, and tired. I have already cancelled my Curves (a women's workout place, for you men who don’t understand) membership, cut out my premium cable channels and have the lowest amount of monthly minutes possible for my cell phone. I can’t figure out how else to cut corners unless I just stop buying groceries or leaving the house at all – which actually doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
And in the time it has taken me to write this? Three more files on my desk from nice attorney.
Sorry for the rant, but I gotta let it out somehow. I think I’ll go jump out a window now.
Monday, September 25, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 38
I went into work as planned, but was hard pressed to concentrate. All day my mind raced with questions. Where was he? Was there a bond amount? Who should I call? What now?
I had no one to talk to about any of this, and I was scared to death. I considered calling Nancy, but decided that may not be the best way to go. This was something I would have to deal with on my own. So during my break, I looked up the Reno police department and made a phone call.
The desk clerk was gruff but kind, I suppose my trembling voice may have softened him a bit. It turned out Marc had been released on his own recognizance, unfortunately Kevin remained behind bars. Apparently when you are not a Nevada-born resident, the law decides you are a much higher flight risk. I listened as the officer rattled off the two charges Kevin was being held on: possession of paraphernalia, and something called “internal possession.” He explained to me that in the state of Nevada, if you have illegal narcotics in your system, it can be classified as a Class X felony. My heart fell. This was really serious.
I tried to take deep breaths and remain calm as he explained that Kevin was being held at the Washoe County Jail pending trial, or until bail was posted. And bail had been set that morning to the tune of $50,000.00.
I think I caught the officer off guard when I started to laugh. He continued with his explanation of visiting hours, directions to the jail, and how to post bail, albeit with a bit of confusion in his voice. I stopped laughing long enough to thank him, and hung up the phone.
Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.
I realized that I would only need $5,000.00 to get him out, but even that amount was ludicrous. I would be lucky if I could scrape up five hundred. I had no idea how bail bondsmen worked, but I was pretty sure I would need some form of collateral in order to get a loan. And obviously we had none. Even Kevin’s car wouldn’t be worth the price of the bond.
I finished my shift and went straight home without stopping for my usual drink at the bar. I wasn’t in the mood for socializing, and I wanted to get a good night’s sleep so I could get up and go down to the jail before work. I wanted to at least see Kevin, even if I couldn’t do anything for him. I thought it ironic that Marc had been released yet hadn’t even bothered to come by and check on me or let me know what had happened. So much for the care and concern he had professed to me in the past.
My sleep was restless, and I awoke in the morning feeling more tired than I had the night before. I showered and got ready, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. I looked again at the information I had scribbled on casino stationery last night, and wondered how long it would take to get to the jail. I hoped to God the car started easily, it hadn’t been giving us as many problems lately. With fingers crossed, I turned the key in the ignition and heard it rumble to life.
It was a sunny, beautiful day, and the drive was actually doing me some good. I had the windows rolled down, and the fresh air seemed to revive me from my zombie-like state. I pulled in front of the large, nondescript building about twenty minutes later. With a deep breath, I parked the mustang and walked inside.
I had never been inside a jail before, and I wasn’t at all comfortable in this one. There were plenty of other people waiting, mostly women. One at a time, we were ushered to the waiting area after submitting to a pat-down search and showing identification. My purse had been dumped out unceremoniously, and everything inside scrutinized. The pockets of my jeans were turned inside out, and even my shoes had to be removed for the search. I felt like a criminal myself. Funny thing was, technically, I guess I was… I just hadn’t been caught.
After sitting in the waiting area for about ten minutes, I heard them call out “Visitor for Kevin B, please approach the metal door.” I stood up and quickly weaved between the other waiting visitors until I reached the door. There was a loud buzz, and then I was in another, smaller room.
It was nothing like I had pictured. It was carpeted in a navy blue pattern, and was actually very quiet as compared to the waiting area. There were a dozen chairs lined up facing glass windows with the phones I had seen in prison movies along the dividers. I was led to an empty seat, and I picked up the phone and waited.
Kevin was led in by a guard and he smiled sheepishly when he saw me. His uniform wasn’t the orange jumpsuit I had expected, but instead a navy blue that seemed more like a work outfit. He sat down opposite me and picked up his phone.
“Hi, babe.”
My eyes filled with tears at the sound of his voice. I had so much I wanted to say, but my voice caught when I tried to speak.
“It’s ok,” Kevin soothed. “I’ll be out soon.”
“No you won’t!” I moaned. “Your bail is fifty thousand dollars. FIFTY THOUSAND, Kev! We don’t have that kind of money! And I doubt we could even get a bondsman to…”
“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “But there’ll be a hearing in a month or two, and hopefully with a first offense I’ll get probation.”
“A month or two?” I felt like I had been sucker punched. “What am I supposed to do? And what about my trial? What if it happens while you’re in here? I can’t do it alone! I need you!” The tears were rolling more freely now.
“Babe, just be glad you were at work. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I’ve already spoken to the public defender, hopefully things will move fast,” he reassured me. “And no matter what, I will be with you at your trial. No matter what.”
We talked a little while longer, about where Marc might be, about what to tell his boss (we decided the truth would be best – minus a few details), about changing our lives when he got out. He convinced me jail wasn’t so bad, county was actually very clean and very mellow – mostly nonviolent criminals who had just made some bad choices. He made me promise to not worry about him, to just keep working and keep living and be happy until he got out. That the time would fly by.
It seemed like we had barely started talking when I had to leave. It hurt so bad watching him walking back into the jail, knowing I was walking out alone. But I had to keep going.
The days blended together, and I visited Kevin two more times in the following week and a half. I explained to Kevin’s supervisor (and mine, for that matter) that Kevin had run into some “legal issues” and wouldn’t be returning to work. He didn’t question me, and I was glad. I had also spoken to Nancy, she was pretty sure my preliminary hearing would be taking place within the next few weeks. I didn’t tell her about Kevin, and realized that I may have no choice as far as dealing with court alone. I couldn’t imagine Kevin being released in time.
But I was wrong.
Another week had passed, and Kevin’s county visit was now up to almost three full weeks. I was working the 5 to 1 shift, and around 12:30 am my mouth dropped as I saw Kevin approaching me followed by a quite large black man.
“Hey, babe. Pay the cabbie – I owe him for the ride. And hurry home. When do you get off? Soon, right? We have to move. Tonight.”
I fumbled in my pockets and pulled out the tips I had made that night. My mind was spinning. Move? Tonight? Why? How did Kevin get out? What the hell was going on?
Kevin took a couple of bills from my hand and gave them to the man, who smiled and left.
“Kevin, what’s going on? How did you get out? Why do we have to move?”
He looked at me with eyes that seemed entirely too nervous for my liking. “Don’t worry, babe, I was released legally. Honest,” he said with a smile. But his expression turned serious when he added, “But we really need to leave tonight.”
“I’m done in half and hour,” I said dumbly.
“Good. Meet me at home. I’m going to start packing. I’ll explain everything then. Hurry,” he emphasized.
He kissed me hard on the lips, and took off, leaving me standing there in confusion. I looked at the clock and watched the second hand tick away, knowing the last twenty eight minutes of my shift were going to take forever.
I had no one to talk to about any of this, and I was scared to death. I considered calling Nancy, but decided that may not be the best way to go. This was something I would have to deal with on my own. So during my break, I looked up the Reno police department and made a phone call.
The desk clerk was gruff but kind, I suppose my trembling voice may have softened him a bit. It turned out Marc had been released on his own recognizance, unfortunately Kevin remained behind bars. Apparently when you are not a Nevada-born resident, the law decides you are a much higher flight risk. I listened as the officer rattled off the two charges Kevin was being held on: possession of paraphernalia, and something called “internal possession.” He explained to me that in the state of Nevada, if you have illegal narcotics in your system, it can be classified as a Class X felony. My heart fell. This was really serious.
I tried to take deep breaths and remain calm as he explained that Kevin was being held at the Washoe County Jail pending trial, or until bail was posted. And bail had been set that morning to the tune of $50,000.00.
I think I caught the officer off guard when I started to laugh. He continued with his explanation of visiting hours, directions to the jail, and how to post bail, albeit with a bit of confusion in his voice. I stopped laughing long enough to thank him, and hung up the phone.
Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.
I realized that I would only need $5,000.00 to get him out, but even that amount was ludicrous. I would be lucky if I could scrape up five hundred. I had no idea how bail bondsmen worked, but I was pretty sure I would need some form of collateral in order to get a loan. And obviously we had none. Even Kevin’s car wouldn’t be worth the price of the bond.
I finished my shift and went straight home without stopping for my usual drink at the bar. I wasn’t in the mood for socializing, and I wanted to get a good night’s sleep so I could get up and go down to the jail before work. I wanted to at least see Kevin, even if I couldn’t do anything for him. I thought it ironic that Marc had been released yet hadn’t even bothered to come by and check on me or let me know what had happened. So much for the care and concern he had professed to me in the past.
My sleep was restless, and I awoke in the morning feeling more tired than I had the night before. I showered and got ready, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. I looked again at the information I had scribbled on casino stationery last night, and wondered how long it would take to get to the jail. I hoped to God the car started easily, it hadn’t been giving us as many problems lately. With fingers crossed, I turned the key in the ignition and heard it rumble to life.
It was a sunny, beautiful day, and the drive was actually doing me some good. I had the windows rolled down, and the fresh air seemed to revive me from my zombie-like state. I pulled in front of the large, nondescript building about twenty minutes later. With a deep breath, I parked the mustang and walked inside.
I had never been inside a jail before, and I wasn’t at all comfortable in this one. There were plenty of other people waiting, mostly women. One at a time, we were ushered to the waiting area after submitting to a pat-down search and showing identification. My purse had been dumped out unceremoniously, and everything inside scrutinized. The pockets of my jeans were turned inside out, and even my shoes had to be removed for the search. I felt like a criminal myself. Funny thing was, technically, I guess I was… I just hadn’t been caught.
After sitting in the waiting area for about ten minutes, I heard them call out “Visitor for Kevin B, please approach the metal door.” I stood up and quickly weaved between the other waiting visitors until I reached the door. There was a loud buzz, and then I was in another, smaller room.
It was nothing like I had pictured. It was carpeted in a navy blue pattern, and was actually very quiet as compared to the waiting area. There were a dozen chairs lined up facing glass windows with the phones I had seen in prison movies along the dividers. I was led to an empty seat, and I picked up the phone and waited.
Kevin was led in by a guard and he smiled sheepishly when he saw me. His uniform wasn’t the orange jumpsuit I had expected, but instead a navy blue that seemed more like a work outfit. He sat down opposite me and picked up his phone.
“Hi, babe.”
My eyes filled with tears at the sound of his voice. I had so much I wanted to say, but my voice caught when I tried to speak.
“It’s ok,” Kevin soothed. “I’ll be out soon.”
“No you won’t!” I moaned. “Your bail is fifty thousand dollars. FIFTY THOUSAND, Kev! We don’t have that kind of money! And I doubt we could even get a bondsman to…”
“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “But there’ll be a hearing in a month or two, and hopefully with a first offense I’ll get probation.”
“A month or two?” I felt like I had been sucker punched. “What am I supposed to do? And what about my trial? What if it happens while you’re in here? I can’t do it alone! I need you!” The tears were rolling more freely now.
“Babe, just be glad you were at work. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I’ve already spoken to the public defender, hopefully things will move fast,” he reassured me. “And no matter what, I will be with you at your trial. No matter what.”
We talked a little while longer, about where Marc might be, about what to tell his boss (we decided the truth would be best – minus a few details), about changing our lives when he got out. He convinced me jail wasn’t so bad, county was actually very clean and very mellow – mostly nonviolent criminals who had just made some bad choices. He made me promise to not worry about him, to just keep working and keep living and be happy until he got out. That the time would fly by.
It seemed like we had barely started talking when I had to leave. It hurt so bad watching him walking back into the jail, knowing I was walking out alone. But I had to keep going.
The days blended together, and I visited Kevin two more times in the following week and a half. I explained to Kevin’s supervisor (and mine, for that matter) that Kevin had run into some “legal issues” and wouldn’t be returning to work. He didn’t question me, and I was glad. I had also spoken to Nancy, she was pretty sure my preliminary hearing would be taking place within the next few weeks. I didn’t tell her about Kevin, and realized that I may have no choice as far as dealing with court alone. I couldn’t imagine Kevin being released in time.
But I was wrong.
Another week had passed, and Kevin’s county visit was now up to almost three full weeks. I was working the 5 to 1 shift, and around 12:30 am my mouth dropped as I saw Kevin approaching me followed by a quite large black man.
“Hey, babe. Pay the cabbie – I owe him for the ride. And hurry home. When do you get off? Soon, right? We have to move. Tonight.”
I fumbled in my pockets and pulled out the tips I had made that night. My mind was spinning. Move? Tonight? Why? How did Kevin get out? What the hell was going on?
Kevin took a couple of bills from my hand and gave them to the man, who smiled and left.
“Kevin, what’s going on? How did you get out? Why do we have to move?”
He looked at me with eyes that seemed entirely too nervous for my liking. “Don’t worry, babe, I was released legally. Honest,” he said with a smile. But his expression turned serious when he added, “But we really need to leave tonight.”
“I’m done in half and hour,” I said dumbly.
“Good. Meet me at home. I’m going to start packing. I’ll explain everything then. Hurry,” he emphasized.
He kissed me hard on the lips, and took off, leaving me standing there in confusion. I looked at the clock and watched the second hand tick away, knowing the last twenty eight minutes of my shift were going to take forever.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Nose to the Grindstone
Well, it’s official. M is gone. And I am alone with Satan. Well, the other attorney is still here too, of course, but as far as support staff, I AM IT. Which is why you will have to be patient with me for the time being. I am already expected to do things I have no idea HOW to do, therefore it is taking me longer to get said things done. And in order to execute my Master Plan and get a HUGE raise and more vacation time, I must perfect the art of ass-kissing and figuring out how to do all this crap I am getting dumped on my desk.
Therefore, I will most likely be blogging less than usual (which I know is already sporadic at best). I realize, however, the importance of finishing “TBOTE,” especially after reading this. So I will try to work on that when I can, even if it has to be done (gasp!) in my own time at home. Believe it or not, I am actually pretty close to the ending of this book. “What?” you ask. “THIS book?” Yes, faithful readers, THIS book. Because everyone knows if you want to be a real novelist, you want to sign a two-book deal at least! (heh!) Besides, this is getting long enough. Rest assured, though, it will end on a cliffhanger (though nothing TOO extreme) so as to entice people to read the second book. And maybe a third, eventually. Who knows? Gotta dream big, right?
So that’s that for now. And since you are all officially informed, I must get back to the drudgery that is my 9 to 5 life – for now, at least!!
Therefore, I will most likely be blogging less than usual (which I know is already sporadic at best). I realize, however, the importance of finishing “TBOTE,” especially after reading this. So I will try to work on that when I can, even if it has to be done (gasp!) in my own time at home. Believe it or not, I am actually pretty close to the ending of this book. “What?” you ask. “THIS book?” Yes, faithful readers, THIS book. Because everyone knows if you want to be a real novelist, you want to sign a two-book deal at least! (heh!) Besides, this is getting long enough. Rest assured, though, it will end on a cliffhanger (though nothing TOO extreme) so as to entice people to read the second book. And maybe a third, eventually. Who knows? Gotta dream big, right?
So that’s that for now. And since you are all officially informed, I must get back to the drudgery that is my 9 to 5 life – for now, at least!!
Friday, September 15, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 37
As it generally does, life went on. Despite my concerns about Melanie, I forced myself to move ahead and start making some positive changes in my life. I hadn’t spoken to Nancy in quite a while, and honestly wasn’t in any hurry to do so. I had, however, called Gregg, and informed him that I thought it was best if I didn’t return to my job. Thankfully, he was very understanding and wished me well. Shelley had come by and hugged me tearfully and promised she would come by and visit. I had laughed and told her I wasn’t leaving the state – only the restaurant. But I knew that the Olive Garden was our only real tie, and without that we would probably lose touch. I watched her leave and wondered if it was for the last time.
Kevin had brought home an application for me from the casino where he worked, and I filled it out and walked him to work to hand it in personally. I was given an immediate “interview,” and walked out as an official casino change-person, that is, as long as the background check cleared and I got my sheriff’s card. I wasn’t too concerned about either, and didn’t have to be. I passed with flying colors and proudly walked in for my first shift as a bonded casino employee.
For a while, everything in life seemed to be falling into place. I enjoyed my new job and the people I worked with. I was developing some “regulars,” gamblers who frequented the section I worked in and knew me by name. The job itself was more fun than work, spending mid afternoon to mid evening handing out rolls of change and paying out jackpots… socializing with coworkers and customers… listening to the cheezy band music… and my favorite? Collecting tips. Paying out jackpots usually led to a cash tip from the winner – the larger the jackpot, the larger the tip. On a good night, I could walk out with anywhere from $100 to $200. My best night, I walked out with $500. And this was all on top of the dollar-over-minimum-wage salary. Which included insurance, vacation pay, and a free meal each shift. Life was good.
The only downside was that Kevin had been switched to the morning shift, which meant we didn’t have as much time together. He was usually just leaving work as I was starting, and when I got off there seemed to be more and more times he was nowhere to be found. My partying was slowing down a little, and I didn’t really miss it. Although when Kevin did meet me at work, or when we both had some time off, we made up for lost hits by going on long benders.
I had finally spoken to Nancy, and a preliminary hearing had at last been set. She wanted to meet with me again the day before the hearing to go over what could (and probably would) happen. I made a mental note of the date and wrote it on the calendar Kevin and I kept to keep track of our shifts. It was only three weeks away, yet I pushed it out of my mind for the time being.
The day after I spoke to Nancy, I tried to distract myself at work by talking more and pushing the looming court date out of my mind. Kevin had also been frustrating me lately, he had been disappearing more frequently and for longer time periods – and playing the innocent when questioned.
“Just meeting Marc, honey,” he would say, as if that explained everything. Which it kind of did, since I knew what their “meetings” were about.
“But can’t you wait for me to get off work?” I would complain. “Or can’t you party here?”
“Relax, babe, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” he would tell me. “You got an extra twenty or so before you leave? Maybe I’ll have something waiting when you get home…”
And like a fool, I would hand over the cash and go off to work, rushing home afterwards only to find the room empty again. I started hanging out at the casino bar after my shift, talking and flirting and drinking for a few hours before returning to the loneliness of my motel room.
And that was where I met Tad.
Tad had sat down next to me that night and I barely gave him a second look. He was a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline and cheesy bling. I continued to talk to the bartender who had become a friend of mine as well as a coworker, when Tad interrupted.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I looked at him with an amused smile and accepted. He seemed harmless enough, and actually, he was. He was friendly and entertaining and after several drinks, he invited me back to his room.
“Oh, I don’t think so, I have a boyfriend,” I told him with a shake of my head.
“Really?” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “So where is he?”
“Oh, he’s at home,” I answered casually. “Waiting for me,” I added quickly, just in case this guy had other ideas.
“That’s a shame,” he said pulling out a business card. He handed it to me and I looked at it.
“TAD JOHNSON” and a phone number.
I laughed. “Pretty generic card,” I commented. “So, what is it you do?”
“Professional poker player,” he said proudly. “Damn good, too. Honey, I could take great care of you – you could live on an island in the Caribbean and never work another day in your life.”
My eyes sparkled with amusement at his outlandish offer. “I’m sure you could,” I responded, “but like I said, my boyfriend is waiting.”
He finished his drink and stood up. “Just as well,” he shrugged. “The tournament is picking up again and I have to go. Final table.”
He took my hand and kissed it with exaggeration. “Hold onto that card,” he said as turned to leave. “I’m leaving in the morning, but my offer still stands. Call me whenever.”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded. “Ok,” I said with mock seriousness, then saluted him as he walked away.
I finished my drink and returned home. And once again found the room empty. I fell asleep alone and in the morning, Kevin was sleeping next to me. I had forgotten he had the day off, and I hadn’t even heard him come in the night before. I watched him as he slept and tried to remember that he had been so good to me, and that I loved him. It was just getting harder now, because I felt as though he was slipping away. I promised myself that I would force him to talk to me, when we were both straight, and that we would work things out.
As I walked to work, I noticed the marquee had been changed. When I read it, my jaw dropped.
“CONGRATULATIONS TAD JOHNSON – ONE MILLION DOLLAR TEXAS HOLD ‘EM WORLD SERIES OF POKER CHAMPION 1992”
I reached into my pocket and felt the card that I had forgotten to take out the night before when I changed. I pulled it out and looked at the name on it, then again up at the marquee.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered under my breath.
I continued my walk to the casino, and stopped at a trash can outside the front doors. As I crumpled up the card and tossed it in with the other garbage, I wondered if I had managed to make a huge mistake the night before… I mean, who doesn’t love the Caribbean?
But the bottom line was, I loved the jerk who was sleeping at home even more. Even when he pissed me off. I went through my shift on autopilot, and couldn’t wait to get home to talk to Kevin. At exactly eleven, I punched out and practically ran home, anxious to talk to him and make things like they were before.
I could see the glow from the lights in our room, and Kevin’s car was sitting in its spot in front. He’s home! I thought happily. I could hear voices coming from inside as well. Oh, well, if Marc is here, I can just ask him to leave for a while.
But when I opened the door, the room was empty. The TV was still on, which was the source of the voices I heard. All the lights were on, and the closet was opened, as well as the drawers on the dressers and the desk. All the pipes and cooking utensils were gone.
I shook my head in frustration and anger. Someone must have picked him up and taken him out to party. I closed all the drawers, shut off the lights, and sat on the bed, determined to wait him out. I knew he had to work at 8:00 the next morning, he couldn’t stay out forever.
I fought the exhaustion as long as I could, then gave up. The next time I opened my eyes, it was 11:30 in the morning. I looked around, and nothing had changed. Kevin had never come home, and as far as I knew, he was missing work. I was furious. I paced the room, went outside and checked to see if the car’s engine was warm – thinking maybe he had come home and used it at some point. But it was still cold.
Eventually I had to calm my anger and get ready for work. I could still feel the rage pulsing in my head at Kevin for partying all night without me and then blowing off work as I walked out the front door.
“Some night last night, huh?”
I turned to see one of the other motel residents sitting in a lawn chair outside his front door. He was an older guy, who seemed to know everything but pretty much minded his own business. I looked at him curiously.
“Why? What do you mean?” I asked apprehensively.
“Well, when those police people came and knocked on your door, I knew there was gonna be trouble,” he drawled.
Police? My mind raced. I remembered the open closet, the rifled drawers… the missing paraphernalia…
“Then when they brought out those boys in cuffs, well, your boyfriend and his buddy looked none too happy,” he finished.
“In cuffs?” I asked dumbly.
“Yep. Took ‘em away with sirens flashing. Got most everyone out of their rooms to see what was going on.”
I leaned against the wall of the motel for support. Kevin was in jail. And most likely, so was Marc. And I would’ve been, too, had I not been at work. And here I was, cursing him out for not waiting for me.
Ironically, last night he apparently had. It just happened to be a bad night to do so.
Kevin had brought home an application for me from the casino where he worked, and I filled it out and walked him to work to hand it in personally. I was given an immediate “interview,” and walked out as an official casino change-person, that is, as long as the background check cleared and I got my sheriff’s card. I wasn’t too concerned about either, and didn’t have to be. I passed with flying colors and proudly walked in for my first shift as a bonded casino employee.
For a while, everything in life seemed to be falling into place. I enjoyed my new job and the people I worked with. I was developing some “regulars,” gamblers who frequented the section I worked in and knew me by name. The job itself was more fun than work, spending mid afternoon to mid evening handing out rolls of change and paying out jackpots… socializing with coworkers and customers… listening to the cheezy band music… and my favorite? Collecting tips. Paying out jackpots usually led to a cash tip from the winner – the larger the jackpot, the larger the tip. On a good night, I could walk out with anywhere from $100 to $200. My best night, I walked out with $500. And this was all on top of the dollar-over-minimum-wage salary. Which included insurance, vacation pay, and a free meal each shift. Life was good.
The only downside was that Kevin had been switched to the morning shift, which meant we didn’t have as much time together. He was usually just leaving work as I was starting, and when I got off there seemed to be more and more times he was nowhere to be found. My partying was slowing down a little, and I didn’t really miss it. Although when Kevin did meet me at work, or when we both had some time off, we made up for lost hits by going on long benders.
I had finally spoken to Nancy, and a preliminary hearing had at last been set. She wanted to meet with me again the day before the hearing to go over what could (and probably would) happen. I made a mental note of the date and wrote it on the calendar Kevin and I kept to keep track of our shifts. It was only three weeks away, yet I pushed it out of my mind for the time being.
The day after I spoke to Nancy, I tried to distract myself at work by talking more and pushing the looming court date out of my mind. Kevin had also been frustrating me lately, he had been disappearing more frequently and for longer time periods – and playing the innocent when questioned.
“Just meeting Marc, honey,” he would say, as if that explained everything. Which it kind of did, since I knew what their “meetings” were about.
“But can’t you wait for me to get off work?” I would complain. “Or can’t you party here?”
“Relax, babe, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” he would tell me. “You got an extra twenty or so before you leave? Maybe I’ll have something waiting when you get home…”
And like a fool, I would hand over the cash and go off to work, rushing home afterwards only to find the room empty again. I started hanging out at the casino bar after my shift, talking and flirting and drinking for a few hours before returning to the loneliness of my motel room.
And that was where I met Tad.
Tad had sat down next to me that night and I barely gave him a second look. He was a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline and cheesy bling. I continued to talk to the bartender who had become a friend of mine as well as a coworker, when Tad interrupted.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I looked at him with an amused smile and accepted. He seemed harmless enough, and actually, he was. He was friendly and entertaining and after several drinks, he invited me back to his room.
“Oh, I don’t think so, I have a boyfriend,” I told him with a shake of my head.
“Really?” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “So where is he?”
“Oh, he’s at home,” I answered casually. “Waiting for me,” I added quickly, just in case this guy had other ideas.
“That’s a shame,” he said pulling out a business card. He handed it to me and I looked at it.
“TAD JOHNSON” and a phone number.
I laughed. “Pretty generic card,” I commented. “So, what is it you do?”
“Professional poker player,” he said proudly. “Damn good, too. Honey, I could take great care of you – you could live on an island in the Caribbean and never work another day in your life.”
My eyes sparkled with amusement at his outlandish offer. “I’m sure you could,” I responded, “but like I said, my boyfriend is waiting.”
He finished his drink and stood up. “Just as well,” he shrugged. “The tournament is picking up again and I have to go. Final table.”
He took my hand and kissed it with exaggeration. “Hold onto that card,” he said as turned to leave. “I’m leaving in the morning, but my offer still stands. Call me whenever.”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded. “Ok,” I said with mock seriousness, then saluted him as he walked away.
I finished my drink and returned home. And once again found the room empty. I fell asleep alone and in the morning, Kevin was sleeping next to me. I had forgotten he had the day off, and I hadn’t even heard him come in the night before. I watched him as he slept and tried to remember that he had been so good to me, and that I loved him. It was just getting harder now, because I felt as though he was slipping away. I promised myself that I would force him to talk to me, when we were both straight, and that we would work things out.
As I walked to work, I noticed the marquee had been changed. When I read it, my jaw dropped.
“CONGRATULATIONS TAD JOHNSON – ONE MILLION DOLLAR TEXAS HOLD ‘EM WORLD SERIES OF POKER CHAMPION 1992”
I reached into my pocket and felt the card that I had forgotten to take out the night before when I changed. I pulled it out and looked at the name on it, then again up at the marquee.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered under my breath.
I continued my walk to the casino, and stopped at a trash can outside the front doors. As I crumpled up the card and tossed it in with the other garbage, I wondered if I had managed to make a huge mistake the night before… I mean, who doesn’t love the Caribbean?
But the bottom line was, I loved the jerk who was sleeping at home even more. Even when he pissed me off. I went through my shift on autopilot, and couldn’t wait to get home to talk to Kevin. At exactly eleven, I punched out and practically ran home, anxious to talk to him and make things like they were before.
I could see the glow from the lights in our room, and Kevin’s car was sitting in its spot in front. He’s home! I thought happily. I could hear voices coming from inside as well. Oh, well, if Marc is here, I can just ask him to leave for a while.
But when I opened the door, the room was empty. The TV was still on, which was the source of the voices I heard. All the lights were on, and the closet was opened, as well as the drawers on the dressers and the desk. All the pipes and cooking utensils were gone.
I shook my head in frustration and anger. Someone must have picked him up and taken him out to party. I closed all the drawers, shut off the lights, and sat on the bed, determined to wait him out. I knew he had to work at 8:00 the next morning, he couldn’t stay out forever.
I fought the exhaustion as long as I could, then gave up. The next time I opened my eyes, it was 11:30 in the morning. I looked around, and nothing had changed. Kevin had never come home, and as far as I knew, he was missing work. I was furious. I paced the room, went outside and checked to see if the car’s engine was warm – thinking maybe he had come home and used it at some point. But it was still cold.
Eventually I had to calm my anger and get ready for work. I could still feel the rage pulsing in my head at Kevin for partying all night without me and then blowing off work as I walked out the front door.
“Some night last night, huh?”
I turned to see one of the other motel residents sitting in a lawn chair outside his front door. He was an older guy, who seemed to know everything but pretty much minded his own business. I looked at him curiously.
“Why? What do you mean?” I asked apprehensively.
“Well, when those police people came and knocked on your door, I knew there was gonna be trouble,” he drawled.
Police? My mind raced. I remembered the open closet, the rifled drawers… the missing paraphernalia…
“Then when they brought out those boys in cuffs, well, your boyfriend and his buddy looked none too happy,” he finished.
“In cuffs?” I asked dumbly.
“Yep. Took ‘em away with sirens flashing. Got most everyone out of their rooms to see what was going on.”
I leaned against the wall of the motel for support. Kevin was in jail. And most likely, so was Marc. And I would’ve been, too, had I not been at work. And here I was, cursing him out for not waiting for me.
Ironically, last night he apparently had. It just happened to be a bad night to do so.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Sexyback
So I am trying to figure out when exactly I became a dirty old lady. Ok, so maybe the "dirty" part has always been hidden somewhere in my psyche, but the "old" part really snuck up on me. Cause I certainly never felt that old, but when I consider the fact that I was going to junior prom when current 21 year olds are taking their first drink (well, first legal drink, anyway), crap I feel ancient!
And today I went out and bought the new Justin Timberlake CD. Which is why I totally feel like a dirty old lady. Because women my age should not be having the kind of thoughts I have been having about my boy Justin. Now, I know Cameron does, and gets to act on them as well (lucky girl!), but she is four years younger than me - hence less than a decade older than Justin. And really? Kudos to her. Think about it - when she first started dating him, everyone was like "Oh, my goodness! Cradle-robber! And he's such a baby!! Such a young looking boy!!" Because really? He totally was. He was still a geek when they started dating. And Cameron ignored the trash-talk and hung on to her boy-toy and now?? Homegirl is laughing her ass off at all of us. Because she's got a man. A HOTT (notice the two "T's"), SEXY as HELL man who can MOVE and SING his tight little ass off. Damn.
I saw him on the VMA's, and ummm... is it getting warm in here? Give me a minute to catch my breath... That boy had me considering illicit bedroom acts that I blush to even think about. Which is just sooooo wrong!!! I mean, you all know me! Nice, sweet, innocent dasi! Pure as the driven snow! Why does this man-boy affect me so? HE IS THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME!!! I was entering my teens when he was born!! When I became legal, he was only FIVE!!!! I must regain my composure here. This is utterly ridiculous.
And yet... I just... can't... seem to... help myself....
Even his singing. Why does he have to sing such blatantly sexual songs?? I mean, ok, so the CD does have an "Explicit Content" label on it, but I thought that mean some swear words or something. I didn't realize it meant "don't get drunk with strangers while listening to this CD or you may wind up in bed with them while fantasizing about Justin Timberlake." Did any of you know that?? Although I seem to be addicted to the music which seems to be having a very odd effect on my loins... AAAAACK!!! STOP IT!!!!!!! This is so not me!!!! Back in the day, when I was a Prince fanatic, his songs never did this to me - and he was pretty damn explicit too... then again, Justin isn't four feet tall... and Justin does have those sexy blue eyes... and Justin...
HELP ME!!!!
You know, I used to think all those so-called "studies" about women reaching their sexual prime when they were a tad bit older - more around the age I am at now - were a load of crap. But now I have to wonder if there is some merit to them after all. Of course, the only sucky thing is that I would like to enjoy my prime with someone THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME. Who just happens to be famous and already dating Cameron Diaz. Mother of all that is Holy, what's a girl to do???
I think it's time to turn off the CD and take a cold shower. Sheesh.
And today I went out and bought the new Justin Timberlake CD. Which is why I totally feel like a dirty old lady. Because women my age should not be having the kind of thoughts I have been having about my boy Justin. Now, I know Cameron does, and gets to act on them as well (lucky girl!), but she is four years younger than me - hence less than a decade older than Justin. And really? Kudos to her. Think about it - when she first started dating him, everyone was like "Oh, my goodness! Cradle-robber! And he's such a baby!! Such a young looking boy!!" Because really? He totally was. He was still a geek when they started dating. And Cameron ignored the trash-talk and hung on to her boy-toy and now?? Homegirl is laughing her ass off at all of us. Because she's got a man. A HOTT (notice the two "T's"), SEXY as HELL man who can MOVE and SING his tight little ass off. Damn.
I saw him on the VMA's, and ummm... is it getting warm in here? Give me a minute to catch my breath... That boy had me considering illicit bedroom acts that I blush to even think about. Which is just sooooo wrong!!! I mean, you all know me! Nice, sweet, innocent dasi! Pure as the driven snow! Why does this man-boy affect me so? HE IS THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME!!! I was entering my teens when he was born!! When I became legal, he was only FIVE!!!! I must regain my composure here. This is utterly ridiculous.
And yet... I just... can't... seem to... help myself....
Even his singing. Why does he have to sing such blatantly sexual songs?? I mean, ok, so the CD does have an "Explicit Content" label on it, but I thought that mean some swear words or something. I didn't realize it meant "don't get drunk with strangers while listening to this CD or you may wind up in bed with them while fantasizing about Justin Timberlake." Did any of you know that?? Although I seem to be addicted to the music which seems to be having a very odd effect on my loins... AAAAACK!!! STOP IT!!!!!!! This is so not me!!!! Back in the day, when I was a Prince fanatic, his songs never did this to me - and he was pretty damn explicit too... then again, Justin isn't four feet tall... and Justin does have those sexy blue eyes... and Justin...
HELP ME!!!!
You know, I used to think all those so-called "studies" about women reaching their sexual prime when they were a tad bit older - more around the age I am at now - were a load of crap. But now I have to wonder if there is some merit to them after all. Of course, the only sucky thing is that I would like to enjoy my prime with someone THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME. Who just happens to be famous and already dating Cameron Diaz. Mother of all that is Holy, what's a girl to do???
I think it's time to turn off the CD and take a cold shower. Sheesh.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Creepy Crawlies
Ok, I know Halloween is still over a month away, but I have been living a horror story over this weekend, and I felt compelled to share. Now, this story is not for the faint of heart, so BE WARNED!!!
Ready? Brave people only, here, right? Ok - those of you who are faking, don't say I didn't warn you!!!
On Friday morning, Lexie and I were leaving the house to go to school and work, and we walked out to the car like we did every morning. Only this morning, Lexie let out a bloodcurdling scream. I jumped, and my heart stopped. My daughter stood a few feet away from our car, clutching her backpack to her chest and staring with wide eyes at THIS:
Ready? Brave people only, here, right? Ok - those of you who are faking, don't say I didn't warn you!!!
On Friday morning, Lexie and I were leaving the house to go to school and work, and we walked out to the car like we did every morning. Only this morning, Lexie let out a bloodcurdling scream. I jumped, and my heart stopped. My daughter stood a few feet away from our car, clutching her backpack to her chest and staring with wide eyes at THIS:
(SEE?? I WARNED YOU THIS WAS SCARY!!!!!) This HUGE, (pretty much actual size, this picture is...) UGLY, GODAWFUL spider had built an enormous web from my car antenna to the front windshield, and was nonchalantly sitting smack dab in the middle, obviously waiting to catch a small bird or something for breakfast. It wasn't moving, Mr. Stupid Spider, just sitting... waiting... but making me freak out nonetheless. I am SO not big on spiders. Well, good mother that I am, I told Lexie to just get in the car really fast and try not to bump the spiderweb. She did, and when we were both securely in the car, I turned on the windshield wipers.
Which did pretty much nothing. Apparently, Mr. Stupid Spider wasn't that stupid, because his web was far enough away from the wipers to not even be touched. BAH!! Lexie and I watched anxiously as the creepy-crawly slowly started climbing upwards on the web. Apparently he had noticed that there were intruders in his midst and decided to head for higher ground. Well, I took that opportunity to put the car in reverse and backout of my driveway a tad bit quicker than normal. Then I SLAMMED on the brakes and lurched forward, heading down the block. I tried to see if my mission was successful, and was relieved to see that the web had been blown away to kingdom come. HA!
"MOM! Look!!"
The little (excuse me, GINORMOUS) booger had skittered up to the top of my car's antenna, and there he remained, all eight ugly legs wrapped tightly around the top. I tried to pump the brakes, jerking the car repeatedly until my daughter claimed whiplash (can't have that, working for a PI attorney and all...) then just gave up. He wasn't going anywhere.
I came to Lexie's bus stop, and she informed me that she wasn't getting out of the car. Because, you see, the antenna was on her side, and she was afraid of the actions of our stowaway now that we had stopped. But I poo-poohed her fears, and told her she had to get out. Which she did, but in her panic she left the door wide open, causing me to scream, "CLOSE THE DOOR! DO YOU WANT TO GET YOUR MOTHER KILLED???"
Ok, so she shut the door, and ran to the safety of the bus stop. Leaving me alone with the arachnid from Hell. So I drove to work, every few seconds peering over at the top of the antenna, hoping maybe he was gone. But he never was. All the way to work, he hung on relentlessly. I parked next to a pretty blue Lexus, thinking maybe he would prefer to move to a classier car. Then I went inside.
When lunchtime rolled around some five hours later (I take a late lunch), I had an errand to run. When I got to my car it was still there. I thought maybe, hopefully, it was dead, but then I saw it stretch out one long, ugly leg almost in greeting. I hopped in my car and slammed the door shut, convinced that my errand which consisted of driving on the highway at speeds in excess of 80 mph may dislodge his grip. Guess what? That mo-fo is STRONG!!! He held on the entire ride, and when I arrived at my destination, I watched in horror as he scrambled down the antenna and disappeared under my hood.
I got out of the car and cautiously looked at the place where he disappeared. He was gone all right... but to where?? I took care of my business and returned to the car. Still no spider. But NOW I was worried that the damn thing was going to pop out of my air conditioner vents at any moment... which he didn't. The return to work was uneventful, and after work he still was nowhere to be found. Satisfied that he had permanently relocated (maybe to the pretty Lexus), I allowed myself to breathe easier.
The next morning, Lexie and I left for her bowling league. And waiting at (or should I say ON) the car, almost in eight-legged defiance, was the SAME DAMN SPIDER. Another huge web, same spot... and Retard the Spider sitting in the center again. He must have waited patiently under the hood until dark and then made his move. This time, Lexie and I were less anxious and more aggravated. Obviously, we DESTROYED his web last time, for crying out loud, he built it on a MOVING thing, yet he was too stupid to go build somewhere else. We drove to bowling, and watched in disgusted fascination as once again its web was destroyed, and once again it scrambled up the antenna.
At bowling, we told others of our dilemma. Thankfully, a friend and her two sons were less wimpy than Lexie and me. After bowling, one of the boys, Nick, flicked the antenna, causing Retard to fall... unfortunately, he fell once again under the damn hood. I thanked Nick halfheartedly, but wondered how long it would be before I saw it's ugly thorax again.
We drove out to my mother's and spent the rest of the day there. When we left, no spider. Sunday morning was gloomy and chilly, and we went to my grandparents' in the afternoon. Again, no spider. I finally was able to relax and try to rid my mind of the horrific images of those legs clutching my antenna.
This morning it was pouring rain. Buckets. And buckets. The wind was whipping the rain around, and it was an absolutely miserable morning. I dropped Lexie off at the bus stop, and headed to work. On my way, I called my mother. I was sitting at a stop light and had just finished the conversation, so I closed my phone and turned to put it back into my purse.
(Insert classic horror film music here)
THE SPIDER WAS CLINGING TO THE OUTSIDE OF MY PASSENGER WINDOW!!!!!!
In the POURING rain with the GUSTING wind, the damn thing was desperately trying not to lose its grip. I screamed as I watched its legs scrambling to get a better hold and move to a safer location. It seemed to have spun a mini-web to hold on as well, because it was bouncing off the window as the wind blew. Then, it happened.
The light turned green, and I turned left. As I did, the mini-monster lost its grip and flew toward the back of my car. But now here's the thing: I think it's gone, but I have thought that before... Granted, with the rain and the wind and the force of my turn, it stands to reason that it fell completely off and is lying dead on Golf Road, but this spider is no ordinary spider. As we all know. In fact, I still have this queasy feeling that it managed to land near my trunk and somehow find refuge in there, until I am parked in my driveway again and it is time to build a new web...
GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! I HATE SPIDERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyone want to buy an infested Saturn??
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Tough Questions
The other night, I had a conversation with my daughter that I wasn't exactly prepared for. I mean, since the day she was born, I wrestled with exactly what I would tell her when (or if) she ever started asking questions. Because the long and short of it is, her birth came at a time in my life that wasn't exactly all hearts and flowers. Basically, I was still involved with drugs (see "TBOTE" for that backstory) and her "father" was a rebound relationship I had no intention of continuing. I had actually gone so far as to contact an adoption agency, and there was a couple in Georgia who was thrilled at the prospect of adopting my unborn child. But once she was born, everything changed.
First off, her "father" wanted to give her to his sister in Michigan. Ummmm... NOT! I wasn't exactly receptive to the thought of my child being raised by someone I would most likely have contact with. Then there was the whole maternal instinct thing. When I held her, I cried. She was so beautiful and perfect, and I couldn't imagine my life without her. Then again, I was also terrified that I would be the World's Worst Mother, since I wasn't quite ready to give up the partying and be a responsible adult. Basically, I wanted things to both change and stay the same.
In the end, I kept my daughter, broke a Georgia couples' hearts, and never looked back. She saved my life. For real.
So when she started talking about her "father" (he did finally write her back, albeit over a month later) and asking questions, I kind of had that sick feeling in my stomach. I answered the easy ones honestly ("How come he never tried to find me before?" Because he was sick, sweetie, I can't think of any other reason. "Does he love me?" I'm sure he does, in his own way.) and then came the question I knew would lead down a verrrrry slippery slope: "Mom, was I wanted?"
I took a deep breath, and looked her in her big blue eyes. "All my life, I have wanted you, baby."
"Ok, but did you plan to have me? Or was I an accident?"
She wasn't about to make this easy. And honestly, I couldn't blame her. She had a right to get some honest answers. I thought for a minute, and measured my words carefully.
I explained to her that no, she wasn't planned. That at the time I was pregnant, I was terrified and didn't know what to do. But that somewhere deep inside, I always knew that she and I would be together forever.
I told her I considered adoption, because I wasn't sure I could be a good mother. She asked if I was doing drugs and drinking when I was pregnant (we've already had that talk, you see, she knows about my checkered past) and when I admitted I had, she let out an astonished "MOM!" I explained that it was partially because of that fact that I knew we had to stay together. That even though we don't go to church, I believe in God (as does she) and I also believe that HE took care of her in my stomach until the day she was born. That I truly believe she was put in my life to save my life, because that is exactly what she did.
Her eyes were teary, but so were mine. I could feel not disappointment, but rather love radiating from my little blonde beauty. "You were my miracle," I told her. "And everyone else's too."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
I explained that no one, no one in our family even knew I was pregnant. That only her grandparents and Uncle Bob knew, and when I brought her home it sent shock waves through the entire family. But that everyone came to see her, and fell in love, and never judged or looked down on me. That she was showered with gifts and kisses and so much love it made my head spin. She was that special.
"So you stopped doing drugs then?"
It broke my heart to admit to the truth, but I knew it had to be done. I told her that initially I didn't, that she was three months old when I finally got help, but that it was because of her that I did. That I wanted to be everything she needed, and I wanted her to grow up proud of me. So I worked hard and I followed the rules and I quit drugs forever. Her father, unfortunately, didn't, and I insisted he be clean to be with her. Because I never wanted her to be exposed to a life like that... ever.
And guess what? She smiled at me. She understood. She still loves me, even with my imperfections. She asked me how I thought of her name, and I told her I had read a book, ironically called "No Greater Love," and the little girl in it was named Alexis, and called Lexie, and I just adored that name. She wanted to know if I had thought of any other names, and truthfully? I hadn't. "No boy's names?" she asked. "Nope," I told her, "because I knew you were a girl. And I knew you were going to be Alexis Ann, and you were going to be my miracle. And you were."
So now there are no more secrets. I told her I was sure that someday, when she is an impossible teenager, she may throw this information back in my face. That she may accuse me of not wanting her, of not loving her. Then I told her that I was saying this on the record for when she does say that: "I have always wanted you, have always loved you, and always will. You are my miracle, baby girl, and without you, I would probably be dead. You are my world, and you bring me joy every day. No matter how scared I was initially, I always knew that you were meant to be. And I am so grateful that you are my daughter, and that I am your mother."
"I'm glad you told me, mom," she said, smiling through her tears. "And I'm glad I'm your daughter. 'Cause I don't think I'd like Georgia."
I had to laugh. Only my Lexie could make light of something so serious. So we crossed a huge hurdle together, and guess what? It wasn't that bad. Because I am learning that my daughter is made of strong stuff, and honesty is always the best way to go. I only hope that we stay as close as we are forever - although I have a feeling we may get even closer as she gets older...
First off, her "father" wanted to give her to his sister in Michigan. Ummmm... NOT! I wasn't exactly receptive to the thought of my child being raised by someone I would most likely have contact with. Then there was the whole maternal instinct thing. When I held her, I cried. She was so beautiful and perfect, and I couldn't imagine my life without her. Then again, I was also terrified that I would be the World's Worst Mother, since I wasn't quite ready to give up the partying and be a responsible adult. Basically, I wanted things to both change and stay the same.
In the end, I kept my daughter, broke a Georgia couples' hearts, and never looked back. She saved my life. For real.
So when she started talking about her "father" (he did finally write her back, albeit over a month later) and asking questions, I kind of had that sick feeling in my stomach. I answered the easy ones honestly ("How come he never tried to find me before?" Because he was sick, sweetie, I can't think of any other reason. "Does he love me?" I'm sure he does, in his own way.) and then came the question I knew would lead down a verrrrry slippery slope: "Mom, was I wanted?"
I took a deep breath, and looked her in her big blue eyes. "All my life, I have wanted you, baby."
"Ok, but did you plan to have me? Or was I an accident?"
She wasn't about to make this easy. And honestly, I couldn't blame her. She had a right to get some honest answers. I thought for a minute, and measured my words carefully.
I explained to her that no, she wasn't planned. That at the time I was pregnant, I was terrified and didn't know what to do. But that somewhere deep inside, I always knew that she and I would be together forever.
I told her I considered adoption, because I wasn't sure I could be a good mother. She asked if I was doing drugs and drinking when I was pregnant (we've already had that talk, you see, she knows about my checkered past) and when I admitted I had, she let out an astonished "MOM!" I explained that it was partially because of that fact that I knew we had to stay together. That even though we don't go to church, I believe in God (as does she) and I also believe that HE took care of her in my stomach until the day she was born. That I truly believe she was put in my life to save my life, because that is exactly what she did.
Her eyes were teary, but so were mine. I could feel not disappointment, but rather love radiating from my little blonde beauty. "You were my miracle," I told her. "And everyone else's too."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
I explained that no one, no one in our family even knew I was pregnant. That only her grandparents and Uncle Bob knew, and when I brought her home it sent shock waves through the entire family. But that everyone came to see her, and fell in love, and never judged or looked down on me. That she was showered with gifts and kisses and so much love it made my head spin. She was that special.
"So you stopped doing drugs then?"
It broke my heart to admit to the truth, but I knew it had to be done. I told her that initially I didn't, that she was three months old when I finally got help, but that it was because of her that I did. That I wanted to be everything she needed, and I wanted her to grow up proud of me. So I worked hard and I followed the rules and I quit drugs forever. Her father, unfortunately, didn't, and I insisted he be clean to be with her. Because I never wanted her to be exposed to a life like that... ever.
And guess what? She smiled at me. She understood. She still loves me, even with my imperfections. She asked me how I thought of her name, and I told her I had read a book, ironically called "No Greater Love," and the little girl in it was named Alexis, and called Lexie, and I just adored that name. She wanted to know if I had thought of any other names, and truthfully? I hadn't. "No boy's names?" she asked. "Nope," I told her, "because I knew you were a girl. And I knew you were going to be Alexis Ann, and you were going to be my miracle. And you were."
So now there are no more secrets. I told her I was sure that someday, when she is an impossible teenager, she may throw this information back in my face. That she may accuse me of not wanting her, of not loving her. Then I told her that I was saying this on the record for when she does say that: "I have always wanted you, have always loved you, and always will. You are my miracle, baby girl, and without you, I would probably be dead. You are my world, and you bring me joy every day. No matter how scared I was initially, I always knew that you were meant to be. And I am so grateful that you are my daughter, and that I am your mother."
"I'm glad you told me, mom," she said, smiling through her tears. "And I'm glad I'm your daughter. 'Cause I don't think I'd like Georgia."
I had to laugh. Only my Lexie could make light of something so serious. So we crossed a huge hurdle together, and guess what? It wasn't that bad. Because I am learning that my daughter is made of strong stuff, and honesty is always the best way to go. I only hope that we stay as close as we are forever - although I have a feeling we may get even closer as she gets older...
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 36
It didn’t take as long as I thought it would, considering the amount. Melanie and “the three amigos” returned laughing and talking. Melanie held two large ziploc bags, one with a large amount of cooked rocks, the other with an equally large amount of powder. She tucked the powder package into the waistband of her jeans, and opened the bag of rocks.
We circled around her like hungry vultures as she doled out nice sized chunks to each of us. “Now, we’re not going to do ALL of this,” she reminded us. “And Bobby, you need to find people who want to buy.”
But Bobby was already busy filling his pipe and taking the first hit of the evening. Melanie sighed and sat down next to me. I was breaking off a smaller piece of the chunk she had given me, I wanted to make mine last. I looked over at her and saw that she was just watching me.
“You ok?” I said, pausing in my little ritual of getting high.
She shrugged. “I guess. It’s just that sometimes…” She looked around the room at Bobby, Marc and Kevin. Bobby and Kevin had already done their first hit, and Marc was busy preparing his rock to slam, needle in his mouth as he worked diligently. All three seemed to be in their own worlds, with Melanie and I just observers. I felt a chill as I realized that once I did my hit, I would be the same zombie they were. But it wasn’t enough to stop me.
I looked down at the pipe I was holding, and avoided Melanie’s eyes. “Just take a hit, you’ll feel better.” I hated saying that, hated the fact that even though I wanted to tell her to run, to get out, to start over, I knew that the bottom line was that tonight was supposed to be “party night.” And I didn’t want her to ruin my rush.
“You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said with a shake of her head, following my lead and loading up a pipe of her own.
As I lit my pipe and tilted my head back to inhale, I closed my eyes and just let go. Let go of all the thoughts swimming in my head – let go of me. When there was no more smoke to be had, I lowered the pipe and held my breath. The longer you held the smoke in, the better the rush. I looked at my watch and decided to time the hit, to hold it for as long as I could. I could feel my heart pounding, and my head started to throb as well. I think I could be popping a blood vessel in my brain, I thought crazily. I could be killing myself right now… then woosh – I exhaled in a coughing fit that brought tears to my eyes.
Kevin came rushing over to my side. “You ok?” he asked nervously.
Between coughs, I laughed. “Yeah. Too big of a hit, I guess.” But the truth was I had just held it too long. Thirty seconds. And the craziest part? I wanted to do it again. And again. I wanted to deprive myself of the oxygen that kept me alive to hold in the smoke that could kill me. I wanted to throw my life into the hands of fate, to see just how far I could push the envelope..
I looked around and noticed Marc was gone. I wondered if he was wandering around the house or had actually gone outside. I hoped he hadn’t left and drawn attention to himself, but then again, a part of me didn’t care. Bobby was leaning close to Melanie and kissing her cheek as he subtly reached into the bag of rocks she was holding. She didn’t even seem to notice the maneuver.
“I’m going to make some calls. Melanie wants to sell some of this shit, and I think I can get her some buyers,” Kevin informed me.
“Are you leaving?” I asked with surprise.
“No, no,” he reassured me. “She told me to just have people come on by.”
“Are you sure that’s smart?” I wondered aloud, thinking that a line of junkies at a ritzy house may cause some alarm.
“It’s not that many people. Just a couple of guys I know from around.”
I rolled my eyes. Whatever. It wasn’t my business. Whatever happened, happened. I did another hit and again timed it. Thirty seconds again. It was amazing how much stronger the rush was.
The night seemed to blur as people started filing in and out, and I watched as Melanie passed out rock after rock, but seldom took in any money. She had given me a substantial amount, and I had retreated to a corner and enjoyed my buzz by myself as I occasionally watched the others. I saw her pass the bag of powder to Bobby and Kevin at one point, and it was only when I had run out myself that I noticed she was crying.
The so-called “customers” had long since gone, and Bobby, Kevin and Marc were tweaking on the other side of the room. I could feel my jaw moving back and forth from the drug and I still was feeling my last hit as I moved over next to her. The sunlight was pouring in the windows and I realized it was morning, and probably had been for the past few hours. I had no idea how much coke I had smoked, how much all of us had smoked, but I knew it had to be a lot.
“Hey,” I said uncertainly, “You ok?”
The tears rolled silently down her face as she anxiously patted her waistband, her legs, her back pockets. “It’s all gone,” she said with disbelief.
“What?” I asked, not sure I had heard her.
She looked up at me with despair in her eyes. “It’s all gone. All of it. And I only have…” she pulled out some crumpled bills and counted to herself. “Twenty-two dollars?”
Wow. We had gone through two thousand dollars worth of drugs. In one night. We couldn’t have… could we? Just the five of us? But then I remembered the parade of people, the laughter, the drug-induced generosity of Melanie, the subtle swiping by Bobby…
“This was supposed to be our ticket to a new place,” she moaned sadly. “We were going to start over. Bobby said we could have a better life, that tonight would be the last night of partying.” The tears fell more freely now.
I felt my heart aching for her. Because I knew. I knew exactly how she felt. I knew she really believed deep down that Bobby loved her, that this plan would work. That they could party all night one last time and then start over. Because I used to believe it too. But it never happened that way. Just like me, she had caught herself in a trap that was nearly impossible to escape. Only she was just sixteen.
Silently, I went up to Kevin and motioned toward Melanie.
“What’s wrong with her?” he whispered.
“It’s all gone. And she didn’t make any money.”
His eyebrows went up in shock. “You’re kidding!”
I shook my head. “I think we ought to get home now. All of us. Please Kev, get us out of here.”
Kevin rounded up Marc and Bobby, and I went and took Melanie’s hand. My high was rapidly disappearing, and I didn’t care. Melanie was still crying and I just wanted to leave and pretend everything was ok. Because I was getting very good at pretending.
We locked up the house and drove back to the motel in silence. When we arrived, Marc went home and Melanie and Bobby disappeared into their room. Kevin and I spent the rest of the day sleeping in spurts, since he was off work and I was technically now unemployed. I had decided to go in with him the next day and apply for a job at the casino. He seemed to think I had a good chance of getting it, and I wouldn’t have to deal with any people who knew. I tried to concentrate on my new beginning, and forget the tear stained face of Melanie from that morning.
But I never got that picture out of my head, and we never saw Melanie or Bobby again after that day. I only hoped that she had decided to go back home, to be a teenager again, but my gut told me otherwise. And my gut also told me that I needed to move on – that a job at the casino could be just what I needed.
We circled around her like hungry vultures as she doled out nice sized chunks to each of us. “Now, we’re not going to do ALL of this,” she reminded us. “And Bobby, you need to find people who want to buy.”
But Bobby was already busy filling his pipe and taking the first hit of the evening. Melanie sighed and sat down next to me. I was breaking off a smaller piece of the chunk she had given me, I wanted to make mine last. I looked over at her and saw that she was just watching me.
“You ok?” I said, pausing in my little ritual of getting high.
She shrugged. “I guess. It’s just that sometimes…” She looked around the room at Bobby, Marc and Kevin. Bobby and Kevin had already done their first hit, and Marc was busy preparing his rock to slam, needle in his mouth as he worked diligently. All three seemed to be in their own worlds, with Melanie and I just observers. I felt a chill as I realized that once I did my hit, I would be the same zombie they were. But it wasn’t enough to stop me.
I looked down at the pipe I was holding, and avoided Melanie’s eyes. “Just take a hit, you’ll feel better.” I hated saying that, hated the fact that even though I wanted to tell her to run, to get out, to start over, I knew that the bottom line was that tonight was supposed to be “party night.” And I didn’t want her to ruin my rush.
“You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said with a shake of her head, following my lead and loading up a pipe of her own.
As I lit my pipe and tilted my head back to inhale, I closed my eyes and just let go. Let go of all the thoughts swimming in my head – let go of me. When there was no more smoke to be had, I lowered the pipe and held my breath. The longer you held the smoke in, the better the rush. I looked at my watch and decided to time the hit, to hold it for as long as I could. I could feel my heart pounding, and my head started to throb as well. I think I could be popping a blood vessel in my brain, I thought crazily. I could be killing myself right now… then woosh – I exhaled in a coughing fit that brought tears to my eyes.
Kevin came rushing over to my side. “You ok?” he asked nervously.
Between coughs, I laughed. “Yeah. Too big of a hit, I guess.” But the truth was I had just held it too long. Thirty seconds. And the craziest part? I wanted to do it again. And again. I wanted to deprive myself of the oxygen that kept me alive to hold in the smoke that could kill me. I wanted to throw my life into the hands of fate, to see just how far I could push the envelope..
I looked around and noticed Marc was gone. I wondered if he was wandering around the house or had actually gone outside. I hoped he hadn’t left and drawn attention to himself, but then again, a part of me didn’t care. Bobby was leaning close to Melanie and kissing her cheek as he subtly reached into the bag of rocks she was holding. She didn’t even seem to notice the maneuver.
“I’m going to make some calls. Melanie wants to sell some of this shit, and I think I can get her some buyers,” Kevin informed me.
“Are you leaving?” I asked with surprise.
“No, no,” he reassured me. “She told me to just have people come on by.”
“Are you sure that’s smart?” I wondered aloud, thinking that a line of junkies at a ritzy house may cause some alarm.
“It’s not that many people. Just a couple of guys I know from around.”
I rolled my eyes. Whatever. It wasn’t my business. Whatever happened, happened. I did another hit and again timed it. Thirty seconds again. It was amazing how much stronger the rush was.
The night seemed to blur as people started filing in and out, and I watched as Melanie passed out rock after rock, but seldom took in any money. She had given me a substantial amount, and I had retreated to a corner and enjoyed my buzz by myself as I occasionally watched the others. I saw her pass the bag of powder to Bobby and Kevin at one point, and it was only when I had run out myself that I noticed she was crying.
The so-called “customers” had long since gone, and Bobby, Kevin and Marc were tweaking on the other side of the room. I could feel my jaw moving back and forth from the drug and I still was feeling my last hit as I moved over next to her. The sunlight was pouring in the windows and I realized it was morning, and probably had been for the past few hours. I had no idea how much coke I had smoked, how much all of us had smoked, but I knew it had to be a lot.
“Hey,” I said uncertainly, “You ok?”
The tears rolled silently down her face as she anxiously patted her waistband, her legs, her back pockets. “It’s all gone,” she said with disbelief.
“What?” I asked, not sure I had heard her.
She looked up at me with despair in her eyes. “It’s all gone. All of it. And I only have…” she pulled out some crumpled bills and counted to herself. “Twenty-two dollars?”
Wow. We had gone through two thousand dollars worth of drugs. In one night. We couldn’t have… could we? Just the five of us? But then I remembered the parade of people, the laughter, the drug-induced generosity of Melanie, the subtle swiping by Bobby…
“This was supposed to be our ticket to a new place,” she moaned sadly. “We were going to start over. Bobby said we could have a better life, that tonight would be the last night of partying.” The tears fell more freely now.
I felt my heart aching for her. Because I knew. I knew exactly how she felt. I knew she really believed deep down that Bobby loved her, that this plan would work. That they could party all night one last time and then start over. Because I used to believe it too. But it never happened that way. Just like me, she had caught herself in a trap that was nearly impossible to escape. Only she was just sixteen.
Silently, I went up to Kevin and motioned toward Melanie.
“What’s wrong with her?” he whispered.
“It’s all gone. And she didn’t make any money.”
His eyebrows went up in shock. “You’re kidding!”
I shook my head. “I think we ought to get home now. All of us. Please Kev, get us out of here.”
Kevin rounded up Marc and Bobby, and I went and took Melanie’s hand. My high was rapidly disappearing, and I didn’t care. Melanie was still crying and I just wanted to leave and pretend everything was ok. Because I was getting very good at pretending.
We locked up the house and drove back to the motel in silence. When we arrived, Marc went home and Melanie and Bobby disappeared into their room. Kevin and I spent the rest of the day sleeping in spurts, since he was off work and I was technically now unemployed. I had decided to go in with him the next day and apply for a job at the casino. He seemed to think I had a good chance of getting it, and I wouldn’t have to deal with any people who knew. I tried to concentrate on my new beginning, and forget the tear stained face of Melanie from that morning.
But I never got that picture out of my head, and we never saw Melanie or Bobby again after that day. I only hoped that she had decided to go back home, to be a teenager again, but my gut told me otherwise. And my gut also told me that I needed to move on – that a job at the casino could be just what I needed.
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