Catching Up

So I was just discussing "TBOTE" yesterday with a friend, and was shocked to learn it has been almost a whole year since my last chapter. I suppose I could sit here making excuse after excuse, the least of which would be that since I actually was (past tense, mind you) corresponding with Kevin briefly I was a bit thrown off writing about the past... I was trying to forget it, actually... and dredging it up, even for the sake of fame and fortune, was NOT a good idea then. But now it seems I feel the need to put my thoughts to paper (or computer, as the case may be) once again. No "TBOTE" today, but more than likely soon.

Today, I am compelled to write about several events, both good and bad, that have occurred over the past few months, all of which relate to past posts. There probably aren't many of you left who have even read them, but for those who are and on the off chance there is a new reader out there, as well, I will add links. So let's begin.

First off - good things! Remember way back when I decided that I deserved a shower? Whether or not I got married? Well, guess what? I GOT ONE!! And it was wonderful! About a month before my big 4-0 (yeah - guess I ought to change my "30-something" profile write-up, huh?) I had the shock of my life when I walked into what I thought was my cousin's graduation party. All my aunts and cousins were there, and of course my mom and my grandma, too. Lexie was surprised, too, apparently it was decided she probably wouldn't keep the secret too well. I can't even tell you how touched I was and how special and loved I felt. MAJOR waterworks, people. I always have been a sap. But in a nutshell, it was wonderful and fun and the best shower EVER! And? Awesome stuff for my house!!!! (Sorry, Amber, no extra mixer - hopefully you got one at your REAL shower!) I highly recommend a shower to anyone who hasn't had one. Really. Best. Party. Ever.

And on to some sad news. Tandy? The old friend who I dreamt about on a regular basis? Well, a couple of months ago, I had another dream. And for the hell of it, I googled him. Lo and behold, I got a hit. But what I read made my heart drop. Apparently, he had been living in a shelter for quite some time. And one of the workers had written a nice paragraph about him on HIS blog - saying how Tandy was such a great guy, and had this contaigous laugh, and was really doing well.

But then, last weekend, he got a text message from a friend that said Tandy had died the night before.

There was a link to an article about him that I read with tears falling unabashedly down my face. Even though I hadn't seen him in over a dozen years, I still felt so much pain. Especially after reading the article. He was alone. He had nothing. He struggled with addiction and was moving forward - and was optimistic about the future. But he died. And I could've been there. He was right in the city, not twenty minutes away. All this time I had been looking for him, sending letters to every damn "Tryon" listed in his hometown of Terre Haute, IN for God's sake, and I wind up finding him five freaking months after he dies. It all just seemed so unfair. But I have to believe that there was nothing I could've done... and hope that maybe the dreams will now be happier and less desperate...

Finally, it looks as though it is only a matter of time before my beloved Poppops is... is what? I don' t even know how to say it eloquently. So I'll just say it. He's dying. And it has been scary how fast he deteriorated. Just a month and a half ago, he was still talking and laughing and just being Popppops, now he is in a hospital bed in his living room, with his head back, mouth open and eyes closed... He's not even Poppops anymore. I wish God would be merciful and just take him now. He can't be happy as he is. Although the loss will be difficult - hell, it will be almost unbearable, I really feel like he is already gone. And I already miss him terribly. Here and here are two links about him. God bless Popppops.

So that about sums up the major life issues of late. Sure, there are a ton of minor stories I could've (should've) shared, and I regret not doing so. But hopefully I'll keep my ass in gear and write more. Because I need to. And because I have a feeling 2009 will be bringing LOTS more to write about. So give me ONE more chance... ok???

Damn Counselors

So I am actually in a pretty funky mood. Have been for a while, lately. Of course, you wouldn't know this, since I haven't really talked about it, let alone blogged about it. It just seems as though nobody is happy anymore, that there is something wrong with EVERYONE, and in addition to this, the little things have really been annoying the hell out of me. Maybe because I'm already not in the best mood, but who knows?

For example, I came in to work extra early today since I have about a TON of work to catch up on (through no fault of my own, it's just nearing the end of the fiscal year), and on the train this woman sitting behind me was chewing her gum like a cow. A LOUD cow. And every disgusting smacking noise made me want to turn around and smack the crap out of her. The a man got on and sat across from me, and he smelled like he had just smoked a whole pack of cigarettes at once. And the topper? The guy across the aisle lets out a rip-roaring fart while he slept in his seat. I honestly thought I was going to turn green and do an Incredible Hulk on the entire population of the train car.

And Lexie is now a teenager, which doesn't mean a whole lot - other than she now uses that as her excuse for everything: "But mom, I'm a TEENAGER now - why can't I stay on the computer until 5:00 am??" "Sorry - I forgot to do my chores. But ALL teenagers do that." My patience with her is shot to shit, and my nerves are wound tighter than I don't know what. So her little attitude lately has just been setting me off more. She just doesn't seem to get that I work two jobs, last Friday between the two of them I put in 17 hours straight, and it would be REALLY NICE if when I got home her chores were actually DONE and she would listen to me when I talked to her, instead of tapping away at the damn computer keyboard. And? I bought her a really nice digital camera for her birthday a few weeks ago - which she dropped on the bathroom floor and broke a few days ago while taking pictures of herself in the mirror for f-ing MySpace. DEEP BREATHS. She gets all indignant with me when I get upset over things like this, since after all, it was HER camera she broke, why am I so upset about it? MAYBE BECAUSE I BUST MY ASS WORKING TO BUY HER NICE THINGS AND SHE TREATS THEM LIKE SHIT????? YOU THINK?????

Don't get me wrong - I love my daughter more than I love my own life. Which is why, when things STARTED getting tense, I decided we should go to a counselor to try to keep things on an even keel before it got out of hand. I mean, since there's no dad in the picture, there's no buffer. And I am guilty of overreacting at times, and yelling out of frustration, just as she is guilty of not doing chores and having MAJOR attitude. So I figured, third party - good idea. Talk to us both, help us keep communication open, make suggestions... proactivity. So we went to Schaumburg Youth Services - which is also called Spectrum. (I am deliberately putting the name in here so if people ever google it, they'll hopefully find this blog. You'll see why.)

Initially, Lexie was NOT very receptive to this plan. She informed me she was NOT crazy, and would not be attending. I patiently explained that nobody was calling her crazy, that we just needed to talk to someone to help us BOTH relate to each other better, and figure out why we tended to fight a lot, and help us work out our issues. She grudgingly went with me to the intake, then refused to sign the consent form since it referred to "mental health," and again - "I'm NOT crazy." At this point, I was ready to strangle the child right there, thus eliminating any further need for the counseling session, but instead I said through gritted teeth and a smile, "Sign the damn paper RIGHT NOW." Thankfully, she did. And know what? The intake went really really well. I explained that Lexie was really a good kid, but we were just having attitude issues, and she rarely did her chores. And that I know it seemed silly to be at counseling for this, but I wanted to make sure nothing ever DID get worse. The girl was super nice, and told Lexie she was no different than any other kid her age, that it was completely normal to butt heads with her mom, but that both of us needed to take a step back and look at the big picture. She talked to us both a little bit, individually and together, and after she had a full background on us (my past addiction, Lexie's absent addict father) she said it would probably be a very good idea to just come in for sessions for a while to talk things out. Which is what I was hoping for, because honestly? I kind of wanted Lexie to have someone to talk to about any "daddy issues" she may be having as well, since I know lately the very IDEA of him has been bugging her. And I know she doesn't feel that comfortable talking to me about him, even though I certainly would if she asked. Anyhoo.

So as I said, it all went well, and we were told that my insurance would be run, and as soon as a slot opened up, we would be called in for our next appointment.

Fast-forward a month and a half.

No one had called, so I called THEM. And asked if anything had opened up yet. I was told, "Oh, yes! Why don't you come in Thursday?" So we did.

This time, we met with a woman probably in her 60's. She seemed very nice, and asked Lexie a lot of questions about school, and how she felt about me, yadda, yadda. Lexie, again not thrilled to be there, answered as most barely-thirteen-year-olds do, "I don't know" and "I guess" and "sometimes." I told her how Lexie was a good kid, but she never cleaned the litter boxes, or picked up her pop cans, and I tended to yell a lot about that. I explained that all I wanted was some respect and consideration from her, and that I felt we needed to communicate more.

This woman nodded and took notes, and started out by making some really good suggestions - "Alexis, if you don't want your mom to yell, don't you think you should do your chores?" "Dasi, you need to separate yourself from the situation when she upsets you. If she doesn't do her chores, there should be consequences, since yelling doesn't help." Good thoughts - I was feeling like this may really help.

Then forty minutes in, she looks at Lexie point-blank and asks, "Do you have any medical conditions?"

Lexie looked confused, and replied, "Um, no..."

She pressed on. "Epilepsy? Diabetes? Asthma?"

"No..." Lexie said again.

"No, she's healthy," I added.

The woman started at Lexie and put her pen down. "Because I have to tell you, you looked stoned. I think you're stoned. Dasi, you'd better get her to the nearest hospital for a drug test, because she is definitely stoned."

I about fell out of my chair. WHAT?? How did we get from "she doesn't clean the litterbox" to "you look stoned?" "My daughter doesn't do drugs," I said with a nervous laugh. This was ridiculous!

She looked at me. "Most parents are blind to this kind of thing," she said - almost sympathetically.

I bristled. "Look, I am WELL AWARE aof 'this kind of thing,' having had an addiction MYSELF," obviously, this woman never even bothered to read our intake sheet.

"Then you know how important it is. I am just being HONEST. HONESTY is the most important aspect of therapy. She is stoned. Have her take the test. If she's not, well, everyone's happy. But I'm telling you, she IS."

I was shocked into becoming a babbling fool. "She never even leaves the HOUSE!" I stammered.

"Doesn't mean she can't still get drugs," she responded smugly. "Can I please talk to Alexis alone for a minute?"

I hate myself now for doing this, but I left my poor daughter alone with that woman. And ten minutes later, when she came out, she was crying uncontrollably. I jumped up and went to her.

"I'm NOT on drugs, mom!" she sobbed. "I'll take the stupid test!"

"I know you're not," I assured her. "Let's get out of here."

In the car, I had to convince my daughter that this was NOT the reason I brought her to a counselor, that I KNEW she wasn't on drugs. And that this woman was WRONG. What the hell?? What kind of counselor ACCUSES a thiteen year old girl of being stoned?? ESPECIALLY when the reason she was there had nothing to DO with drugs! she kept spouting about "honesty-" ok, fine - pull ME out in the hallway and ask if I felt there may be a drug issue. Do NOT smash a child's self-image by announcing they "look stoned." Unless a kid has a joint hanging out of their mouth or a needle stuck in their arm, NO ONE has the right to blatantly ACCUSE them of being "stoned." I was PISSED.

when I asked Lexie what happened after I left, she said this woman kept telling her to "tell the truth," to "tell her what she was on" since her mom wasn't there and it was all confidential. She said she couldn't help her if she "kept lying." Poor Lexie kept crying and telling her "I don't DO drugs!" to which this so-called counselor replied, "then why are you crying?" DUH!! You are accusing a kid of something she didn't do! And the kicker? After spending the whole time accusing her of lying and saying she had a drug problem, when she let Lexie out, she told her, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Alexis, I look forward to seeing you again next week." YEAH, RIGHT!!

I spent that whole evening convincing Lexie I trusted her, and that she did NOT look stoned, and that the woman must've been crazy, or just thought ALL teenagers did drugs. And that I loved her. And that I was sorry she went through that. And that if she ever DID do drugs, I wouldn't bring her to counseling, I would beat the crap out of her myself. Which made her laugh. And really? She probably won't trust another counselor for a LOOOONG time, and I can't say I blame her.

So the next day, I called Spectrum and talked to a supervisor. And BLASTED that stupid counselor and her method. I got apology upon apology, and was asked if we wanted to come back to talk to her again and tell her how we felt. Ummmm... NO. I think she damaged my daughter enough, thank you very little. AND? I expected my payment back, since I did NOT pay $100 to have my daughter accused of being STONED. (Of course, ma'am, of course!) I spent a good ten minutes ranting about how treatment like that could permanently damage a child's psyche and ego and who the HELL did this woman think she was making accusations like that with no valid proof, or, for that matter, no question by the parent about drug use? How many OTHER kids did she mess up? And how many MORE will she do this to? Funniest thing - the damn woman is a "Certified Addictions Counselor" as well - I'd like to know who gave her that certification, because she REALLY needs to work on her tact and compassion.

So to wrap this up, Lexie is fine now, she knows there is nothing wrong with her, and we will never go back to Spectrum again. And although I wanted to write about more in this post, apparently I have been writing way too long already and have to get to work (which was why I came in early in the first place!!). But if you DO take your child to Spectrum in Schaumburg, make sure you ask if the counselor plans on accusing your child of being "stoned" before you go.

And as far as the rest of the stuff on my mind - well, I guess I'll get to all that at a later date.

Been There, Done That... Kinda

So, lots of people (Ok, so only Cheryl and Alice - since I think they are the only ones who read anymore...) have been asking me lately about a comment I received on my blog from an author. A NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING author. Who wanted to know if I was interested in contributing to his latest book. I know, pretty cool, right?

Only, his books are kind of like the "Chicken Soup" books. And my writing tends to be a bit on the "un-sentimental" side, if you know what I mean. At least usually when I write about my daughter. And he was looking for touchy-feely mom-daughter stories. So, not one to pass up an opportunity regardless of how slim, I e-mailed him several of my posts involving my daughter. I think this one is the only one that may possibly be considered, but even that would be a stretch, what with the drug references and all. But who knows, maybe he's a good editor too and could tweak it to make it more appropriate... In any case, I haven't heard back from him yet, so it's not really looking good. But I didn't want any of you to worry about me, because you know what? It's ok. I mean, SOMEDAY I plan on getting my ass in gear and writing (and hopefully finishing) TBOTE. And in the meantime? Being published is soooooo old news. I'm not sure if any of you are aware, but I've already been published.

Twice.

Oh, yes, dear readers, you are reading a PROFESSIONAL. So what if my published works were done either a) anonymously or b) as part of a syndicated columnist's feature, thus being credited solely to her? The point is, I know I wrote them, and now THE WORLD will too. Heh heh heh. I am officially going public. See, I was originally afraid of the limelight the publicity from these literary works would shine on me, since I am a very private person by nature, but I feel I am able to handle it now that I am more *ahem* mature.

Ok, so they are somewhat dated material, however, I feel most things only improve over time. And really, all they prove is that I was creative and thoughtful and more concerned about killer dogs than children and enjoyed the drama of forbidden love triangles at work even way back when. Why am I tooting my own horn? Read for yourself and see:

Yes, "Feeling Sad in Chicago" was me. And see? Even Ann Landers thought I was "warm-hearted and bright." Never mind that I wanted a killer dog set free. I suppose I may kind of agree with Ann now that I am a parent, but the fact remains that even back as a teen I wasn't afraid to take a stand for something I believed in and write about it. I just wouldn't sign my real name. Come to think of it, I do believe I signed something more along the lines of "Pissed Off Teenager" or something, but apparently the Sun-Times felt their pseudonym was more appropriate.

So, on to published work Number Two:

Yes, you are talking to Rhonda. And just for the record, those names were not my choice. I would have made myself someone more creative and original - like "dasi." DEFINITELY not "Rhonda." But whatever. This was published in "Tales From the Front" in the Chicago Tribune, as you can see, only not under my name. However, I can assure you the entire article was mine, word for word. And "Mary?" She is still my best friend. "Bill," on the other hand, disappeared forever shortly after the article was published. Go figure. And? The whole scenario took place while I worked at RL in the old days. Now do you understand why I have such fond memories of the place? (heh) It's a lot different working for RL now that I am an old hag, though. Bummer.

So, there you have it. You are reading a "published author." And you have proof of it. So whether I hear back from that guy or not, I still feel pretty cool.

Wayyyyyyyy Too Early

Well, a very good morning to you all! It is 6:00 am Chicago time - and I am sitting at my desk, supposedly working, but obviously doing some much needed blogging instead. Why am I at work at the ungodly hour of 6:00 am, you ask? I'll tell you why. At 3:00 am, I rolled over in my sleep, and awoke to a strange feeling on my arm. A strange, cold, mushy feeling. That stunk. I yanked my arm away and turned on the light to confirm what I suspected: Baby had puked on my bed. GROSS!!!! Cat puke on my arm at 3 AM! Needless to say, I jumped out of bed, cursing the cat and began cleaning up the mess. And then I obviously had to throw the sheet in the wash. And scrub the mattress. And so now, I am wide awake, and decide to turn on my tivo to see if the Cubs won last night. Which they did. (That made me a little happier.) I debated going back to sleep, but since I had planned on coming in to work at 7:00 am anyway (too much work - not enough time) I figured as long as I was awake I would check the train schedule. The first train was at 4:41. AM. Which meant I could either try to sleep another hour on the dry side of my mattress, sans fitted sheet, which was in the wash - or watch a little tv, get ready, and make that 4:41 train.

I realized if I did try to sleep, odds are I would DEFINITELY not want to get up again in an hour. So I watched "Intervention," got myself dressed et al, and left home at about 4:15.

It was still dark out. Weird.

Once I was on the train, I realized I had forgotten to turn my alarm off - which was set to go off at 4:55. Apparently Lexie slept through it, since I didn't get a panicked call to my cell. I hope it stops ringing before I get home tonight...

And since I was mad at Baby, I deliberately didn't feed him. Ok, now stop with your judging! I realize that poor Ace had nothing to do with the cat puke, and that withholding food is a bit on the cruel side, but I was pissed. And besides, they still had food left from yesterday. They'll live. At least I didn't throw him out the window, which is what I REALLY wanted to do. (Just kidding, Alice - I would NEVER hurt my boys!!)

You know, the city is actually pretty neat at sunrise. All quiet, and comfortably cool. There aren't a brazillian people walking along with you down the street, racing to get to the office. The people that ARE awake and out are just kind of strolling, taking their time, enjoying the morning. It was nice.

But I still probably won't come in this early ever again. Cause I only just got here, and I am tired already. Which really sucks. I may just have to use my comp time to leave early and get some sleep. Which would totally defeat the purpose of comp time, which should be saved for a LATER date, not be used on the day you accrue it. And if I did leave early, I would probably not get the work done I came in early to do in the first place. Sigh. Good thing I have a lot of Diet Pepsi stashed here in the fridge. Gotta love that caffeine.

Anyhoo, Alice posted all about her Chicago trip on her blog. If I weren't so tired, I would add links and such, but since I AM tired, I will just tell you to check out "Alice's Wonderland" on my blogroll to see it. I'm glad she had such a good time, so did I! The bummer of it was that it was only a day, and now she is gone. Sniff! Cheryl (again- lazy- see "Places Never Planned") joined us later, and I swear to God, it was like meeting up with old friends. Although we had never met, as Alice pointed out, we have pretty much "known" each other since 2005 on our respective blogs. My brother was a little baffled at how we were all acting relaxed and normal ("Don't you feel a little weird hanging out with someone you don't even KNOW? Someone from the INTERNET?"), but as I pointed out to him, it wasn't like and Internet DATE, for gosh sakes, it was friends hooking up. I think there is a lot less stress when it is a friends thing - more specifically, a "girlfriends" thing. I mean, honestly if a male blogger buddy came to meet me, regardless of the fact that it would still be a "friends" thing, there is always some kind of tension with the whoel "guy-girl" thing, don't you agree? Anyway, bottm line, I was pleasantly surprised and thrilled that my notions of my cyber-pals were right on the mark - these people are truly friends, not just on the blog but in the "real" world too. There were no lulls in conversation, no uncomfortable silences or bored looks, actually, if I wasn't so tired, I would've stayed out all night!

I'm so glad we all got together. We'll definitely have to do it more often. Well, Cheryl and I can hook up sooner rather than later, both of us being in Chicago and all, but I hope Alice comes back soon, too! I'd give you more details on the visit, but Alice covered it pretty well, and I DO need to do some real work.

So although Alice already posted pretty much the same picture, I have to post one of my own, too. Proof positive connections can be built online! Wish me luck on staying awake today...!

Little Girl Lost

So I just did one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do as a parent... And it didn’t even involve my own child. Well, I guess indirectly, it did, since Lexie was the one who gave me the information. Information that gave me a cold chill down my spine. See, she had heard something about one of her old friends who was a couple years older than her. This girl had lived in our complex, and I knew her and her mother well. Her mom was a single parent like myself, also working two jobs and doing the best she could. She also had a son who is Lexie’s age, and he was the one who told Lexie - his sister was doing drugs. And he was pretty sure it was meth.

Lexie was really upset by this news. Although she didn’t see A as much as she used to, she was once a good friend, and Lexie was well aware (thanks to MY past life experiences) of how drugs could completely ruin someone’s life. She was really worried about her. And angry at her. And confused as to why she was using. And she asked me what I thought.

I thought I should tell mer mother.

Lexie answered with a resounding “NO!” as I was expecting, so I convinced her I wouldn’t tell anyone. But I knew in my heart that I HAD to. And that it wouldn’t be easy. No one wants to hear anything bad about their children, and to tell C her daughter was doing drugs? I really wasn’t sure how to go about this. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure I should even say anything. But then I started to think: what if it was Lexie? Would I want to know? Damn right I would. And what if, God forbid, I said nothing, and A OD’d? Or got arrested? Or wound up in the hospital? Could I live with myself knowing I could’ve maybe done something to stop her? No way.

Lexie wound up giving me more information, things she was hearing from other kids. And she showed me A’s My Space, as well as A’s new best friend’s My Space. A looked nothing like the girl who used to hang around our house two years ago. The girl I saw on the computer screen looked a little like the anorexic Olson twin - all huge eyes with lots of makeup and bony angles. And her best friend S was worse. Not so much in the looks department - but she openly posted “I Like BLUNTS!” and “Fuck Everything - I Don’t Care!” and “I like to party all night and I love girl fights!” Ooooh, that SO sounds like someone I would want MY daughter to be best friends with - NOT!

A bit more digging into A’s profile showed her current mood was “hungover” and one of her favorite things was “to smoke the reeeeeeefer! And anything else except cigarettes!” Did I mention this girl had just turned 15? Not even a sophomore in high school yet. It was breaking my heart.

I made up my mind that I would call C. And ask her to meet me so we could talk in person. Only, that’s not what happened. See, the only number I had was her work number, and I really didn’t want to tell her at work, so I left a chipper message saying I missed her and we should get together for dinner or coffee and talk. Like tonight. And to call me. I guess I was a bit TOO chipper, because right away, when she called back, she asked “What’s wrong? Is it the kids?”

I broke out into goosebumps and took a deep breath.

“Dasi, please! What is going on?”

I felt my eyes well up. I am a huge sap, and anything even remotely emotional brings on the waterworks. And THIS was emotional. I was about to tell this woman, my friend, that her daughter was in trouble.

“It’s A,” I told her.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “What did she do?”

In a shaking voice, I told her what no parent wants to hear. That I was pretty sure A was doing drugs. That her son told Lexie. That A’s best friend was ANNOUNCING her drug use on her My Space. And that I was worried to death about A.

“I had no idea,” she replied when I finished.

I felt horrible. For being the one who told, the bearer of bad news, the messenger who always seems to get blamed. But C continued on.

She said she had been working extra long hours, that things were really difficult financially, that they had been having issues with her ex-husband. That A had been going out all the time, and coming home only to go straight to her room and lock herself in. That she didn’t like A’s new friends, especially S, and she had been on A to find new friends. That A insisted S and the rest of the group were “really nice people.”

And she thanked me.

We talked a little more, I gave her passwords to get onto My Space and look at her daughter’s profile, as well as S’s, with the promise that she would tell A a coworker hacked her into the site. I obviously didn’t want Lexie to be brought into this at all. She swore that would never happen. And she told me how glad she was that I told her. That now she could talk to A and try to help her, try to get through to her. That now she would pay more attention and be there for her more.

Then I told her about one of the pictures on A’s My Space that solidified my decision to call her - it was of C and A, and the caption read “I Love My Mom!”

“Thank you,” she said again, more quietly.

I really believe that C can get through to A. I think A is just going through a really difficult phase. At least, I hope so. But I told C that we would still have to get together, because after all, she IS still my friend, even though we haven’t seen each other in a while. And that if she ever needed ANYTHING, to please call me. And to let me know how things go with A.

She promised.

And I hung up. Feeling a little sad about the little girl I knew who was now heading for disaster - and hoping it was somehow now diverted. But also feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, because I did the right thing, and now the rest was out of my hands.

Keep your fingers crossed for A, will you all?

Update...

YAY!!! New picture - and guess what?? I've lost 23 pounds in the last 2 months! I think I look thinner, don't you? AND?? RED HAIR!! Of course, it's in a ponytail under a Cubs hat, but you can kind of see it if you look closely...

So it's Saturday night and I just felt like making that change - I can't stay on long enough to post a REAL entry or my daughter will have IMW (Instant Messenging Withdrawal). Then again, apparently she can also use her phone for this, as evidenced by last month's $500 phone bill. Yes, FIVE FREAKING HUNDRED DOLLARS. Because silly me, I figured a limit of 5000 text messages a month would be PLENTY for an almost 13-year-old... who knew she was capable of texting 8300 times in a 30-day period????

Thankfully, the people at Verizon were nice enough to change us to an unlimited texting plan and also make said plan retroactive, thus crediting my account close to $400. Yay Verizon!! So yes, this post was just all about my new cute picture and the fact that my darling apparently has fingers of fire.

But just as a hook to keep you coming back, I will post a picture of Lexie she took of herself a couple weeks ago. I plan on waxing poetic on the fact that my once sweet and innocent baby is now 5'8" and LOOKS LIKE A FREAKING 18 YEAR OLD. (I am now also accepting applications for anyone willing to follow her around and make sure to tell any male who comes near her that she is ONLY TWELVE.) Remember to keep checking back for those fun stories about Lexie I am promising! And I'll also elaborate on some good news about "TBOTE" - it looks like I may need to get my ass in gear as an established author thinks it is GOOD ENOUGH to actually be PUBLISHED and recommends I find myself a literary agent asap!

Without further adeiu, heeeeeeere's LEXIE!

Long Overdue

See, so I read other peoples' blogs, and then I feel guilty about mine... It's a good thing this blog is an inanimate object, otherwise I'm sure I would be proscuted for neglect and probably have all blogging privileges terminated. And THAT would be sad. Because neglectful as I am, when I want to write, I WANT TO WRITE, and faithful blogger is always there waiting for me to do so. So I'm sorry (again) blogger, and I won't even bother saying I'll write more frequently, since I probably won't (but MAYBE I will...!) and I despise liars. Anyhoo...

There are several things I could write about today, and I have decided that because of this, I will not write a long, rambling post on one subject, I will instead try to cram all those things in. Which may make it long and rambling anyway, but at least there will be diversity.

First of all, Kevin. Yes, I am still writing him, and so far he hasn't threatened to kill me or proposed marriage. So I feel pretty safe. His last letter actually made me laugh out loud, he told me when he wasn't in church or in meetings (of the AA/NA variety) he stayed in the dayroom and played Scrabble. And that he was the Scrabble King. But only because none of the other players knew how to spell anything longer than three letters. Kevin always had a great sense of humor. He also asked me to contact his sister, which I did. We had a great talk - and I reassured her that I had no intentions of seducing or being seduced by her brother. (And I swear I still don't, if you are reading this now!) Actually, I am enjoying corresponding with him and feeling that maybe in some weird way I am helping him get on the right track. But 12 years is a long time, and like I said, I am pretty happy with my life how it is right now. HOWEVER, his sister is an amazing woman and I am really glad we talked. She asked for the link to this, so hopefully she won't be too upset by TBOTE... Then again, I'm sure she knew more of what was going on than we thought she did. But shout out to you, E, and thanks for not hating ME.

In the spirit of "helping" Kevin, I also recently had a heart to heart with a cousin of mine who is STILL using. Oh, wait, that's right, no she's not. She insisted that she has been clean for "almost a year now." With NO help or rehab. After about 30 or so years of using. (What-Ever!) She has 3 kids, one son in college, a 15 year old daughter, and a 5 year old daughter. I don't know why I deceided to confront her NOW instead of earlier in my dozen plus years of being clean, but as it turned out, she agreed to go to an NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meeting with me, which she had never done before. And which I personally hadn't done in almost 10 years (not something I would recommend, but different strokes for different folks, and although I know I am not "cured," I have been doing well on my own. But without the meetings for the first three, I NEVER would've made it. But I digress...). I was a little freaked out, first that she agreed to go, second that I was actually going to a meeting again. I called a friend of mine who is still religious in the program, and his comment? "Yeah, dasi? Remember the 12th Step? To help others? It usually doesn't take TEN YEARS to do that...!" Thanks, Mike! It turned out really well, though - she cried a lot, and I think the seed has been planted. It was good for me, too, to be reminded of where I came from. Being around people with so short clean time really jars you when you've been there yourself. I can only pray though that she continues, for her sake AND for her kids' - because as they say, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. Well, I led. Start drinkin, cuz.

Lexie is making me totally insane - she will be 13 in August (I KNOW! I will be the mother of a TEENAGER! GASP!!!) and suddenly knows EVRYTHING. And TELLS me constantly. "I KNOW I am right! YOU are WRONG, and you KNOW it!" I have learned to ignore her. Arguing back only makes it worse. Basically, she is a good kid, but geez, the ATTITUDE!!! And her WHOLE life? AIM on the computer. Which I told you about before. And that punk-ass Lester?? I would tell you what he recently wrote to her, but it would make you all blush. Let's just say he implied he "needed help with his sex ed homework" and all she would have to do is (um...) orally pleasure him (my words, he was much more crude) and sign a piece of paper. I KNOW!!!! HE IS TWELVE!! Well, maybe 13, but WTF????? Thankfully, my daughter told him it looked like he was going to fail and promptly signed off. So like I said - good kid at the core, but making me crazy as hell and nervous too. I trust her - I just don't know about all the other kids in this world. *sigh*

AND THE CUBS!!!! YAY CUBBIES!!! Ok, so right at this precise moment we are getting slammed by the Rockies (shut up, Kendra & Amber) but you can't win them all. JUST MOST OF THEM!!! Tee hee!! This is OUR year, I am telling you. AND? I won two tickets for a rooftop party on June 12th. For those of you NOT blessed to be residing in the Chicagoland area, the rooftops are buildings right across the street from Wrigley Field where people can go on the roof and watch the game. Just like being there, but better in ways - since there is FREE FOOD AND BEVERAGES THROUGH THE ENTIRE GAME. Oh, joy! My friend Rene and I are planning to have a helluva time!! And I am SERIOUSLY contemplating dropping a huge chunk of money on a trip to Orlando with Cubs players in December. I have already been justifying the trip in my head, although in all honesty I shouldn't do it... but then again... Can you tell I am a die-hard Cubs fan???

Work here is awesome - I really enjoy what I do. Something about taking people's money for criminal debts is really fun. And also? Investigating people's backgrounds and assets and busting them for trying to cover up money they don't want us to know they have? HELLO? FUN AS HELL!!! A press release was just issued on one of our debtors who owned a hospital and was committing fraud and had to pay like $65 MILLION in restitution. This was like 5 or 6 years ago, and he HAS NOT PAID A DIME. But guess what?? Turns out he has offshore accounts in the Bahamas which he CLAIMED he had no control over... LIAR!!!! So now he is facing even more charges and the government will most likely take every dime he has to pay back the innocent people he scammed. See? FUN!!!

Finally, my old buddy Chef Scatzman stopped by my house the other day - he was the other attorney in Satan's office. The NICE one. Who now has his own practice (need a lawyer in the Chicagoland area? For ANYTHING? Call Jeff Saltzman (847) 397-6030 - shameless plug, there). I have referred a couple people to him, and we keep in touch, because he is a great lawyer, and an even GREATER person. So he stops by and gives me this really cool plant, and a Thank You card which almost made me cry, and several gift cards - more than I deserve! Basically, he let me know it meant a lot to him that I always was concerned about his family and his business, and I was a good friend, and he was proud of me for getting my new job. Awwww, Chef! Seriously, the guy is awesome. And now I can get some new clothes!

Heavens! Look at the time! I have to get back to making the bad guys pay. But at least now you're all updated!

****POSTSCRIPT - Did I say the Cubs were getting slammed by the Rockies?? How about coming back from an 8-run deficit to take the lead in the 7th???? GO CUBS!!!!!!!!

Am I Nuts???

Seriously. I was just wondering. Because, you know, I did something that was probably NOT the smartest thing in the world to do. HOWEVER, I am one of those ridiculously nostalgic people who have a tendency to relive the past in their minds and occasionally look up old phone numbers or e-mails just to see how the friend I had in sixth grade is doing...

Yeah. But. THIS, this can of worms I opened up... This may be right up there with the time I thought holding my yet-to be-declawed cat while wearing a short sleeved shirt and trying to take him on the balcony would be a good idea. Although, the gashes in my arms DID heal eventually...

So, are you all dying of curiosity yet? (Those of you who still read my blog, I mean!) Fine. I am loathe to admit it, but here goes. AND? As I know for a fact that my brother, mother and father NEVER read this, I would be much obliged if those of you who know them would keep this to yourself for the time being.

Yes, it's THAT bad. See, last week I was doing my routine check of all the jails in the Illinois area, and guess who landed in County Jail on St. Patrick's day? I'll give you a hint: he is the male lead in "TBOTE." Yup, none other than my tragically lost Kevin. And probably because I was feeling nostalgic, and life has been a bit overwhelming, and maybe because I am a bit of a fool, I wrote him a letter.

And mailed it.

When I told a select few friends, they all asked, "You didn't put a return address, did you?" To which I replied, "Of course I did - how else would he write back?"

Duh. Yeah, I mean, Kevin had been harmless in the past, but this is like his second or third stint in jail, and it's been like twelve years, and the charges weren't listed, and...? I have a tendency to overlook anything bad and just remember good things. It never really occurred to me that he could show up on my doorstep with a gun and a smile and kill me in my sleep. Ok, so that is a bit extreme, but if I was really being honest with myself I would have to admit that I really didn't know him anymore. And just because he would never have hurt me in the past didn't mean that he was still a basically nice guy with some issues - he could now be some drug-crazed, brain-addled psychotic.

Who I just wrote a letter to telling him how disappointed I was to see him in jail again and that he should really think about getting help. Because I still thought about him (true) and still cared about him (well, the "him" I knew, anyway), and because look how awesome MY life turned out when I straightened up. Oh, and that I was sorry about his mother. Since she died and all.

Yes, I was lecturing an ex that I hadn't seen in over a decade who was now in jail and probably wouldn't appreciate my "concern." Maybe it WASN'T such a great idea. But it was too late.

Then - SURPRISE! I get a letter. A SEVEN PAGE letter. From Kevin. Who still cares about me. Who still talked about me - most recently to his cellmate, just the other day. Who couldn't believe how strange it was that just when he had been talking about me, he gets a letter from me.

I have to admit, I cried. It really hurt reading his words and thinking about the past - the good times with Kev. Because despite everything, there were a LOT of good times. The big problem was the drugs. And? In his letter Kevin said the same thing. Said that for the last 8 years, he has been trying to stay clean. That his sister had been helping him out. That he was so glad I was living a happy life.

In fact, he pretty much told me everything that happened that led to this most current arrest. Apparently, he had been doing really well, had his own place, a good job, was clean and doing meetings daily - then he found out his dad had cancer. And he sat at home and got really drunk. Alone. And broke into a garage and stole a bike with a flat tire (my favorite line? "I know - I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box sometimes." Because to hear him admit that when I've known it all along... at least when it comes to getting into trouble. We're talking about a guy who got busted stealing a snowblower at 3 AM in the middle of July - and trying to say he was just borrowing it from a friend.) And he called an ex-girlfriend who also was an addict who came over and they got high and long story short, she took the bike out, got arrested, and got Kevin arrested too.

Since then, he has been in treatment in jail, and his sister has hired an attorney and he plans to live with her again and start all over. Which is good. He sounds so optimistic about everything, and even though I could be a sucker for this - I believe him. I really think he can make this work. He thanked me for my letter, and for the constructive criticism, and said he was glad I was happy. And he asked if I could write again, and maybe send some pictures. And you know what? I just did. This time, I told him to hang in there, to keep focused, to get better. And I told him that it would be nice to be friends again if he were to stay sober.

The thing is, I feel pretty confident in myself that after all this time, I would never fall back into old habits. I have too much good in my life now, and can't even imagine going back down that road. Not even Kevin can bring me back there, because I am not the sheltered 22 year old girl he used to know. I am strong, and independent, and happy. I know Kevin has a long way to go in his life, and I am under no illusions that he will have an easy time of it, but it's really hard to just write off someone you loved so much. So maybe I am crazy, but in a way I feel a bit happier knowing that for now, he's ok. And that I really meant something to him. And that maybe my writing to him could help him too.

I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Snoop Dog...

Lexie has a boyfriend. I KNOW!! She is only 12, soon to be 13, and has a boyfriend. But before you get all judgmental on me for allowing this, let me just fill you in on a few things: First of all, a “boyfriend” in junior high is pretty much just a status symbol. There is no real dating, or kissing (however, from what I understand, there IS minimal hugging, and only between classes in school if no teachers are looking), and certainly no one-on-one time. At least, not in person. Junior high relationships are pretty much conducted online, from what I’ve learned.

See, in order to “go out” with someone, they first have to ask you. Either over AIM (AOL Instant Messaging, for those of you not that computer-savvy) or in person, but usually over AIM. Then you change your profile to show the whole AIM world that you are a couple. You know, by saying things like “I LOVE SO-AND-SO” or whatever. Then you spend ungodly amounts of time sending IM’s to the tune of “I love you!” “No, I love you MORE!” “U R AMAZING!” “No, UR AMAZING!” And THOUSANDS of smiley-face icons. Those are important, apparently.

How do I know this? Because I read her AIM log. Does SHE know I do this? HELL NO. Because then she would probably figure out a way to block the log and how can I be a good mother if I can’t read about what is going on in her life?? I realize that if I were 12 again, I would be furious that an adult (especially a parent) would stoop so low as to invade a girl’s privacy like that, but I am a mother now, and privacy is a moot point. I am much more concerned about protecting my daughter to the best of my ability and making sure she is staying out of trouble. I mean, I trust her of course, I just don’t trust anyone else. Especially Lester. Her new “boyfriend.” And, yes, laugh away, but be advised that the little rhyme I am sure you are associating with Lester is EXACTLY the reason I need to monitor her. Or him. Or both of them. Even though it is just a junior high “romance.” Sure, he seemed nice enough online, but lately he has been saying some things I am none too happy about. For instance:

“After lunch a friend of mine asked if I was goin out with u so I said yes, she said I had bad taste in girls”

and

“People say that I’m stupid bc I’m goin out with u even people I never talk to but w/e”

and

“They said that u were stupid especially since u were going out with me and that I was too good for u and that u r just using me”

Of course, he always then adds things like “But I don’t care because I LOVE YOU” and “I really don’t believe them anyway” and “You are totally not stupid.” HOWEVER - I really don’t think it is very nice to bring those things up in the FIRST place! My poor baby!! Making her feel all insecure and not good enough!! STOP DOING THAT, LESTER!! Part of me wants to sign on to AIM myself and tell HIM a little something-something. Like my daughter is WAYYYY too good for YOU, and COME ON, you are only 12, what could she POSSIBLY be using you for??? And STOP telling her “I love you” and then adding “but people tell me ur stupid.” KNOW WHAT, LESTER??? U R STUPID!!! And STOP USING THOSE MORONIC ACRONYMS!!!! AND? WHY DON’T YOU GO BY YOUR MIDDLE NAME INSTEAD OF LESTER??? IT HAS TO BE BETTER, RIGHT??

Sheesh. Sorry about that. I guess being the mother of a pre-teen with a “boyfriend” is kind of stressing me out. But seriously? He’d better watch his step. Because anyone who hurts my angel will wind up hurt themselves. GOT THAT, LESTER????

Let me tell you, it is hard reading these things and not confronting her about it. I really want to sometimes, and actually, I have on one occasion by subtly bringing up the subject while watching TV. There was a girl she was chatting with from another school who was complaining about how “Everyone thinks I have anorexia just because I don’t eat and am 5'4" and 94 pounds and I am so like WHATEVER, I am SO not anorexic!!” Ummmm, sweetie? Hello?? YES YOU ARE. So Lexie and I managed to have a talk about being too skinny (she “just happened” to ask me if being 5'4" and 94 lbs was too skinny - but of course, she doesn’t KNOW anyone like that, she was just ASKING - ha! Little does she know!) and I think I convinced her she is perfect at just the size she is. See, it’s little things like that that make reading the logs worth it. And just for the record, if she had a journal or diary - NEVER would I snoop. EVER. Unless I feared for her life or something. But IM logs? Hey, they’re in cyberspace, right? And anyone can read them, so.... Fair game.

Speaking of cyberspace and anyone reading, let’s hope Lexie isn’t reading this... If she is - hey sweetie! I wasn’t talking about YOU! And I NEVER read your IM logs, that was just a JOKE! But watch your back with that Lester guy...

HELP!!

Why is my sidebar at the bottom of the blog now?? Does anyone know??? I WANT IT FIXED!! And if anyone can help me, I promise to post more often. Well, TRY to, at least... ;)

No Love Lost

At RL yesterday, Eva was reading palms. I never knew she could do this, but Eva is a very versatile person. I shouldn't be surprised. She wasn't like lining people up or anything, she just was looking at Justin's palm and told him a few things while we were standing around between lunch and dinner shifts. So I stuck out my hand.

"What does mine say?" I asked, like an eager child.

She took my hand palm side up and ran hers across it. She tilted it to one side, then the other. Her brow furrowed as she pulled it closer to her face. Then she let go.

"Well, you won't be getting married again," she said.

"Again?" I replied. "I haven't even been married at all yet. Are you saying I'm never getting married?"

"Well, if you do, it won't be for love. You have no love line."

Silly as it sounds, I wanted to cry. Wait! I wanted to say. I must have a love line - just look a little closer! It has to be there!

Instead, I let out a little "oh."

"Sorry, hon, I have to get to my table," Eva said, running off.

Justin was gloating. "Cool - I'm gonna marry into money!"

And I wasn't going to marry at all. All this time, I wondered if something was wrong with me. Now I know it is just fate. The fates must have decided long ago that this was one tough cookie who didn't need anyone. That she could make it just fine on her own. That love was really only found in fairy tales.

HA! Scoffed fate. This girl needs NO ONE!

But I do, thought the little voice inside me. I DO need someone...

I know that palmistry isn't an exact science - but she also told me something she couldn't have known - a very personal fact about my past. So I couldn't help but be kind of rattled. No one wants to be told there's no chance, that the game is over before you even got to play.

Iwant a love line.

I wonder if that means that I've never really loved in the past, either... Kevin, Corry, Dave, Brad... were all those just crushes? Was Kevin a six-year fling? Kind of sad, really.

Oh, hell. What do you do. I guess I'll just have to find some young studs and "hang out" once in a while - you know, since there'll be no love lost.

Anyone know where I can get an old house and a couple dozen cats?

NO WAY!!!!! SERIOUSLY?!?!?!?!?!

Yup, look below. A NEW CHAPTER!!! And for those of you unfamiliar with "TBOTE", I suggest starting with the Chapter links to your right. For those of you who are familiar, you may need a refresher too. ;) I know I did. I apologize for the delay, and will try to update the chapters more often. At least, more often than once a year...!

Hope you enjoy getting back into the story!!

The Beginning of the End, Chapter 40

When we finally pulled up to our new "home," I had managed to wipe away my tears and focus on unloading the car with Kevin. He hadn’t even noticed me silently crying in the car as we drove the last few blocks. Apparently he had a lot on his mind as well.

Schmauser made a beeline under the bed, and I wished I was small enough to join him. I was suddenly so tired of everything, tired of my "adventure" in Reno, tired of partying, tired of life. I dragged in a couple of bags, and was just about to collapse on the bed…

"Kevin?" I asked, staring at the queen sized bed. "Isn’t something missing here?"

The bed was stripped clean. Thankfully, the mattress seemed relatively new, and devoid of any remnants of past users, but there was not a stitch of linen to be found.

"Oh, yeah, Ken warned me about that. Wait – I took the sheets from our old place."
He ambled back in carrying everything from our old bed, right down to the pillows and cheesy bedspread. With a flourish, he tossed them on the mattress where they landed with a "whoomph." I heard Schmauser complain at the intrusion.

"Don’t you think they might be a little upset that you took those?" I inquired tiredly.

"Ah, who cares?" Kevin shrugged. "They probably have a ton more. Ken told me bedding wasn’t included – towels, either. I hope you don’t need to shower, I forgot to grab those," he added sheepishly.

Honestly, all I really wanted was to go to sleep. For a long, long time. The whole experience had left me exhausted. But first I needed to make up the bed. As soon as I had the last blanket laid down, Kevin collapsed on the bed with a sigh.

"Babe, that was really messed up," he said.

I laid myself next to him, and snuggled up as he put his arm around me. "I know," I murmured. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

As we laid there, savoring the silence, we both jumped at the sound of a knock at the door.

I looked at Kevin with fear. "You don’t think they followed us or had us followed, do you?"

His eyes were glued to the door. "I’m not sure," he said quietly. "I thought we got out ok, and I was promised my back was covered..."

"Hey, just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood," a girl’s voice called from the other side of the door.

I stared at Kevin in confusion. "Do they have girls working with them?" I whispered.

"Not that I know of," he responded, looking as baffled as I felt.

"You aren't asleep already, are you?" the voice asked. "Cause I can see the lights still on..."

I cautiously walked to the door and opened it a crack. Standing there was a girl about my age, hands on her hips, looking annoyed. I couldn't help staring.

"So, you inviting me in or what?" she asked.

Startled, I pulled the door open wider and motioned for her to come in. She surveyed our room, and her eyes settled on the bed. She sucked her teeth and laughed.

"You got those from another motel, didn't you?" she accused, motioning at the linens.

"So what if we did?" Kevin replied defensively.

"Hey, I don't care," she said, shrugging. "I just recognized them." She turned to me and stuck out a surprisigly well-manicured hand. "Name's Tanya. Nice to meetcha."

I shook her hand with a smile. "Dasi," I said, "and that's Kevin." It had been a while since I had a "real" girlfriend, I had lost touch with Shelley and it seemed my only female friend lately was the State's Attorney. Tanya had a friendly smile and a strong grip, and judging by her unexpected "welcome-to-the-neighborhood" visit, a pretty strong personality as well. I liked her already.

Kevin seemed more skeptical. "You live here yourself?"

She gave him a once-over. "Yeah, so?"

He shrugged. "No reason. So no boyfriend, nothing?"

"He split. A while ago. Why are you asking so many questions? You five-oh?" she asked suspiciously.

I laughed out loud at her query as to us being cops. Even Kevin cracked a smile.

"Hardly," I answered, still giggling. "Actually, he just got out of-"

Kevin cut me off. "Work. I just got out of work. And we needed a new place to crash." He glared at me.

I felt like a child who had just been reprimanded. "Yeah, the last place wasn't working," I added meekly.

Tanya nodded. "Whatever. It's cool." She continued to scrutinze the room. "Soooooo..." she began, testing the waters. "You guys party?"

I felt my stomach lurch. Suddenly I wasn't tired anymore, and it seemed like a hit would make everything better again, especially with a new friend. I pushed back all my earlier fears and worries and looked at Kevin with a question in my eyes.

"Depends," Kevin answered cautiously. "If you're supplying..."

She chained the door and reached into her bra, pulling out a baggie that was gloriously familiar. "I got the favors if you're up for a party," she said smugly. "Like I said, welcome to the neighborhood."

Kevin magically produced a pipe and lighter. "Welcome, indeed."

And the three of us spent what was left of the night, and a good part of the morning as well, partying on Tanya's dime.

"You know, you're a hell of a neighbor," Kevin managed as she squinted in the sunlight as she opened the door to leave.

"Yeah, thanks," I added, still feeling the buzz, but suddenly feeling pretty tired, too.

She smiled and turned around. "No problem," she said. "Hey, dasi, we'll have to do a girl's night out sometime, kay?"

"Definitely," I answered.

She nodded, still smiling my way, like she knew something Kevin didn't. The problem was, neither did I. And my new friend Tanya had secrets of her own that I would find out in a horrible way.

Whale of a Tale

As I stood at the service bar waiting for a table at RL the last Sunday, I overheard the bartender and a couple servers discussing their night out. And? It sounded like fun. And it occurred to me that I haven't really been "out" since my birthday, which was two months prior. Which isn't any big deal, really, but all of a sudden it struck me that I missed having fun. Not necessarily getting wasted, mind you, but going out with people and having fun. So I made an announcement right then and there: "You know what? I hereby resolve in 2008 to have more fun. To go out more. To be a bit more IR-responsible!" I puffed out my chest. "Yup, and I'm gonna lose a bunch of weight too so I can look good doing it. AND? I'm gonna loosen up more too!"

"YAY!" came the chorus from my fellow RL crew.

Yesiree, Bob, this was gonna be my year. Fun fun fun. Although I plan on staying away from the South Side this time. We all know what happened then. Pathetically, though, that was the last time I "hung out" with anyone. Oy, what a sad, sad person I have become!!

In my resolve to be fun and more daring, I bought something I never thought I would: several pairs of thong underwear. See, it just never occurred to me that someone Sir Mix-A-Lot used for his inspiration while writing "Baby Got Back" should ever wear a thong. Plus, I always wondered why, if I was constantly trying to pull underwear out of my crack, I would ever buy underwear that deliberately goes there. Seemed like I would go insane wearing them. But guess what? I didn't! And although I need a bit more work for anyone to see me in only a thong, the reality is that with no panty lines, my ample ass doesn't look half bad, actually. And the comfort level? Pretty darn good. I came to realize there is a big difference between a small piece of material deliberately placed in your crack and a huge chunk of material inappropriately wedged there.

So on Saturday night, I started asking around. "You going out tonight? You going out tonight?" As it turned out, Ashley and John were going to have people over for drinks and Cranium. YAY!!! Drinks and Cranium!! What FUN!! Although I had never actually played Cranium, I was sure it would be a good time. So I told Ashley I had to check in with the boss (that would be Lexie), but that I would try to make it.

I left work at 11:15 pm, and called Lexie on my way home. Not surprisingly, she wanted me anywhere but home so she could keep playing Habbo online and talk to her BFF on the phone while doing so. Apparently having your mother in the direct vicinity takes the fun out of junior high conversations. I stopped home to make sure that was all she was doing (although I have a pretty good kid, so I really didn't doubt her) and took a quick shower. After pouring the remainder of a probably five year old bottle of raspberry vodka into a little sports bottle (about enough for three drinks) I smooched my angel and headed out the door.

I picked up some pink lemonade on my way over, and when I got there, I was ready for some Cranium. Bring it on!! Everyone was surprised to see me, but I reminded them that I was the fun dasi in 2008, so they shouldn't be surprised. And we split into four teams of three and played Cranium. Which, by the way, is really fun. Especially when you've had just a smidgen of alcohol. Ashley kept creating new shots for us to try, but I had to limit myself as I was driving. (Even irresponsibility has its limits, you know.) After we finished the game (which my team lost on a technicality), I was leaning over looking up something on their computer, and that's when I heard it:

"LOOK! Dasi is wearing a thong!!"

Catcalls and snickers followed, and I very nonchalantly responded, "Yes, I am! It is part of the new and improved dasi, thank you very much. My very first thong, by the way."

"Don't fix it," I was told, "it's called a whale tail. And it looks sexy." This from the not-quite-21 year old who looks like Marissa Tomei and is sweet as hell, especially since she thinks I am cool. So I took her advice and fought the urge to adjust my unmentionables which had suddenly become quite, well, mentionable.

"Hey, I like it," one of the guys added.

I wanted to giggle. But I didn't. Because I am a grown mature woman and grown mature women don't giggle. Then again, they probably don't have whale tails or play Cranium on Saturday nights after midnight. So I settled for feeling a little smug and kind of sexy too.

I think maybe being grown and mature is overrated. At least some of the time.

Yay 2008!

FYI

This whole "do everything at lunch" thing is harder than I thought. I still don't have time to read everyone's blogs, and comment, and write on my own. Obviously when I worked for Satan I slacked off a lot more than I realized... Hmmm. Who would've thought? But now that I am a FEDERAL employee, working for the DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE, I need to do actual work during work hours. Which I do. And honestly? It is really interesting work. And I enjoy it. Plus, it is really cool to watch people's faces when you tell them you work for the US government. Especially when I have customers at RL ask me if I am a full-time server. "No, I work for the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT," I tell them nonchalantly. Makes them wonder if I am really a CIA agent posing as a waitress or something. Tee hee! In any case, one hour is not enough time to blog and read and comment, plus on occasion I do get invited to lunch, so if I am sporadic with my postings, be patient. I will return, I promise.

My daughter Lexie is also very impressed that I have a cubicle. Go figure. I guess to a pre-teen a cubicle is cool. Now, I think it is cool that I have a boombox in my cubicle and can listen to whatever I want to, and I have a real nameplate. Just in case anyone forgets my name. Like you-know-who. What's funny is that I took a picture of my nameplate with my cell phone, to jokingly show off to my family, and my brother showed me his nameplate. Which he also took a picture of with his cell. Only, the reason he took the picture was this: Instead of reading "Bob Coolbrother," it said "Bobo Coolbrother." HIL-arious!! Actually, he kind of looks like a Bobo. Like Bobo the Clown. Maybe I'll make Lexie start calling him Uncle Bobo. Of course, she would never do that. Oh well.

So the point of this post was to let you all know that I will not renege on my promise, I will post as often as I can. But now I am going to read some other people's blogs. Which I had forgotten just how much I miss and enjoy. And if I get a chance, I am going to have to update my blogroll - some of you have vanished (boo hoo!). And post a new picture. We'll see how time goes.

Hasta la vista!!

Take Me Out to the Ballgame (Then Watch Me Get Kicked Out)

As I was walking from the train to work in the balmy 7 degree Chicago temperature, I decided I would battle the cold with mind over matter, picturing myself sweating in the bleachers at Wrigley Field... and subsequently decided to share this story about my night with the RL crew at the Cubs game. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed my evening.

It was sometime in August that I decided it would be fun to go to a Cub game in the bleachers with some fellow RL employees. I went online and saw that there were an abundance of available tickets in the bleachers for the September 5 night game against the Dodgers - and it was Derrek Lee bobblehead day, no less! - so on a wing and a prayer, I ordered 8 tickets.

The next night when I went in for my shift, I started asking around, hoping I could get the other 7 tickets sold. Turned out, it was easier than I thought - as a matter of fact, I wound up getting 8 more tickets. By the week before game night, there were 16 of us going (yes, they all paid me) and it was shaping up to be the RL event of the summer (shut up, I know September isn't technically "summer," but who cares?).

Chris approached me one night as I walked in: "DASI! So do you know the plan??"

I laughed at his enthusiasm. "No, why don't you tell me the plan, Chris?"

He looked at me seriously. "We get there REALLY REALLY early, get REALLY REALLY drunk, and sit in left field."

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed.

Now for those of you not familiar with Wrigley Field or their infamous bleachers, it should be noted that if you want good seats (and obviously left field right behind Alfonso Soriano are choice), you need to line up well before the gates open. WELLLLLL before. And the gates open two hours before the game. So I always plan on an additional two hours (at least) before that. My plan was to leave work at 12:30, get organized, and go. So Chris' plan was fine by me, although I didn't think I would be doing the whole "really really drunk" thing...

The next day, Rick approached me. "Did Chris tell you the plan?" he asked.

I reiterated Chris's plan to Rick.

"Yeah, but we're taking the train, and we're probably leaving at like 11:00," he added.

I raised my eyebrows. "You do know it's a 7:05 game, right?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, but we need to start drinking early. And it's too expensive at the game."

I was pretty sure it was just as expensive at most of the Wrigleyville bars, but I said nothing. Hell, at least they were taking the train.

"So, you in?"

I laughed. "Hell, I'm not even leaving work until 12:30," I said. "But hopefully I'll be there at around 3:00 to get in line."

"You're getting in line at 3?" he asked, stunned. "We weren't going to get in line until about 5!"

I had to explain to him the whole "get in line early" thing, and promised him ( and the rest of the posse) that I would save them a place, but that they had better be there by 4:45.

One of the younger girls, Ashley, asked if she could ride with me. She didn't plan on drinking excessively, and didn't want to ride the train. I told her that would be fine, in fact, I would enjoy the company. So on game day, I left work and went home to do my ritual.

See, Rick was right about one thing: alcohol at Wrigley was expensive. So I always snuck in my own. I usually brought 6-12 water bottles methodically filled with Mike's Hard Lemonade, or Bacardi Razz, or some other clear malt beverage. Because you were allowed to bring in soft sided coolers, and any bottled non-alcoholic beverages under 1 liter. And they never checked the bottles too closely. This time, however, I spent extra time carefully filling 28 bottles - and each bottle held about 18 oz. So you do the math as to how much alcohol I was smuggling. Suffice it to say, it was a lot. I also brought about 6 regular waters, for me to chill out near the end of the game.

So anyway, I'm just about to leave, when Kelly calls.

"Dasi? It's Kelly. Look, we're on the train to the city, and Kristine and I forgot our tickets. Could you print us new ones?"

Ok. See, I could, in theory, but the problem was I had no idea what ticket numbers they had. The only solution, besides sending thm back home to get them, was to print ALL 16 tickets and match up everyone's ticket numbers in line, and give the remaining two to Kelly and Kristine. Which is what I had to do.

"Thanks, dasi!!" she said happily, as she hung up the phone.

So by now I am running a little later than I had hoped, because I had to print out all the tickets, and then I went to pick up Ashley. She was ready and waiting, thankfully, and we were on our way. I had on some classic rock music, and mentioned to her that this may not be her kind of music, but I felt like listening to it and it was, after all, my car. Her response?

"That's ok, my mom listens to it all the time too."

Gee, thanks, Ashley. She felt bad right after she said it, and kept telling me how her mom had her really, really young (like at 8 or something, I think) and I shouldn't take it the wrong way. To coin a phrase from my daughter, 'what-ever.'

We actually made it in pretty good time, and were third in line at the gates. We struck up a conversation with the guy in front of us, and told him we were expecting a pretty large group. He didn't seem to care, since he was in front of us. I mentioned my secret stash in the cooler, and he thought that was a great idea. I did, too, and figured I'd might as well imbibe as long as we were just standing around.

Then my cell rang.

"DASI?????" I heard, over the background yelling.

"Hi, Chris," I said.

"YOU THERE YET??"

"Yes, Ashley and I are third in line."

"KELLY AND KRISTINE HAVE NO TICKETS!!"

"I know," I replied. He was obviously already quite trashed, and from the background noise, whoever he was with was as well.

"SO WE'RE COMING BY NOW!!"

I didn't want to cause a scene this early - not in line. We still had an hour before the gates opened. "That's ok - wait a half hour!" I yelled into the phone.

"SO WE'LL SEE YOU IN A FEW MINUTES!"

And he hung up.

I turned to Ashley and our line buddy. "They're on their way - and they're wasted," I said with a grin.

I don't think our line buddy realized what he was in for. Suddenly Kristine and Colin were approaching, swaying together happily.

"I don't have a ticket," Kristine slurred.

"I DO!!" Colin pronounced happily. He pulled out his piece of paper. "Right here!!"

I matched up the numbers on his ticket to the ones I had. With my ticket, Ashley's, and Colin's, we only had 13 possible tickets left. This would be hell.

Kristine sat down and leaned against the wall. I had to pee, so Colin offered to go with me to the bar across the street. When we returned, Kristine was drinking a "water."

"This doesn't taste like water," she commented, "but it sure is GOOD!"

"I thought I gave her a regular water," Ashley apologized in a whisper.

I had to hush up Kristine to keep my stash a secret. No easy feat, I can assure you. And as I was doing that, the rest of the crew arrived. Well, most of them at least. And they all were in a similar state of drunkenness. I admit it was entertaining, but it was also a bit insane. Trying to get a bunch of drunk people organized is no easy feat, and we still had to figure out which two tickets Kelly and Kristine could use to get in.

It seemed that Rick was sick, and wasn't coming after all, but he gave his ticket to our old bartender Carl. Who was going to meet us there.

"And I have his ticket," Chris informed me. "So when he gets here, he will call me and I will drop it over the edge to him down on the street."

O-K. "Chris," I said carefully, "his ticket is a piece of paper. Do you really think it's a good idea to drop it over the wall?"

"Yup," he replied confidently. "He said he'll catch it."

"Why not just meet him at the gate and hand it to him?" I suggested.

Chris looked at me with amazement. "Good idea!"

Then we found out that Aggie and her husband were meeting us there once the game started, and so was Elsa. Which meant that if we picked the wrong tickets to give to Kristine and Kelly, one (or two) of them wouldn't get in. And try as we might, we couldn't reach any of them by phone.

The rest of the group didn't seem that concerned, they were too busy laughing and swaying and harassing some poor guy walking down the street to give us a sign (which, by the way, he did). Ashley and I, the only sober ones, tried to use logic to figure out the ticket numbers, and crossed our fingers as we gave Kristine and Kelly each a ticket and put away the remaining three.

"PICTURES! How about a picture for the Cubs website?" a guy stood there holding a camera, looking at our group with amusement.

There was an outcry of assent, and we posed as best as we could. This was the end result. If you look carefully, you can see Kristine's arms holding up the sign.


(That was right before the gates opened, when all was still good with the world. (And? That's me in the back with the sunglasses. I don't look like an old lady, right??) If you look on the left, you will see Colin with his arm around Nick. And they both have very cute, content smiles on their faces. I actually blew up that part of the picture, and changed Nick's shirt to say "The Joy of Colin." They both credit me with taking the gayest picture of them in the world. And? They're totally not gay. Too funny. Chris is on the right, Ashley's in the white Cubs jersey, Kelly's in the blue with the shades, and then there's Michelle and Greg. Hey, that only makes nine of us... and with four more coming, that's thirteen - oh, yeah, Dan and his girlfriend met us there too and there was one unused ticket. Ok, back to the story.)

So finally, the gates are opening. Security checks my coolers, and I am cleared to go in. We all got our bobbleheads, and those of us who were able ran up the ramps to get seats. Chris and Kristine both wiped out on the way up, and there was blood. But I don't think either of them cared too much. So we managed to get a nice block of seats right behind Alfonso, and all of a sudden, it starts to POUR. I'm talking HUGE raindrops coming down in sheets.

Did we move? Did we run for cover?? HELL NO!!!! We may have been wet, our bobbleheads may have been ruined, but we had awesome seats and we were going nowhere!!! Plus, there was still two hours to gametime, and we were sure the rain would pass.

In the meanitime, my "water" supply was being depleted. And everyone was getting drunker. Kristine lit up three different cigarettes and was told three different times by security that there was no smoking. The rest of our group arrived (and amazingly, we gave the right tickets to Kristine and Kelly so everyone got in no problem), and things got louder, and more animated, and by the time the rain stopped and the game started security was watching us all like hawks.

The Cubs were playing an amazing game, and I was loving every minute of it. I had only had two or three "waters," and had switched to real water. It was the top of the fourth inning, and I only had four "waters" left from the original 28. And that's when it happened.

A HUGE Mr. T type on steroids walked over to Michelle, Elsa, and Kristine. "Lemme see those water bottles," he growled.

I almost choked. And very nonchalantly nudged the remaining four "water" bottles under the bench I was sitting on. Next thing you know, the three of them are being led out by Mr. T.

Which was not a good thing. Colin very gallantly offered to leave as well, to go find the girls and stay with them at a bar until the game was over. No one else made a similar offer, so he went off like a drunken knight in shining armor. The rest of us just sat there somewhat meekly, a bit more mellow now that things had taken such a serious turn.
We still had fun, though, and it was an awesome game. Security kept their eyes glued on us, and it was a bit unnerving. At one point, in about the eighth inning, Nick turned to me.

"Dasi - got any more of those waters?" he asked.

I smirked. "I've got four, but they're really watching us," I warned.

"Eh, I'm ready to go anyway," he shrugged.

So I kicked a bottle his way. He picked it up, took a swig, and - "LEMME SEE THAT WATER!"
Mr. T had returned. Nick smiled, shrugged, and said "See ya, dasi!" As he handed over the bottle and strolled out followed by Mr. T.

I couldn't help but laugh.

The game ended in a win for the Cubbies, and as we all sang "Go Cubs Go" I was busily texting our outed pals trying to find out where to meet up. We managed to find them at one of the bigger bars, and there were cheers and hugs all around.

Kristine was wearing Colin's jersey, and when I inquired as to why, she launched into detail about her "wrongful ejection."

"I was so mad I just went EEEEYYYYAAAAHHHHH! And ripped my shirt right open, like the Hulk!" she said, demonstrating in the air.

"She did," Michelle said solemnly. "I thought she was going to get arrested. She yelled and ripped her shirt, but I just cried."

"So when I found her, I gave her my jersey," Colin added matter-of-factly.

Suddenly Nick came up and gave me a bear hug. "That was like the BEST game EVER!!" he said gleefully. "Thanks, dasi!!"

I was glad everyone had enjoyed themselves so thoroughly, but I looked at Ashley and motioned towards the door. I had had enough. We snuck out with hardly anyone even noticing.

And the next day at work, the night had already become legend. With another game outing planned for the next season.

Although I think I'll leave my "water" at home if I go with those crazies again.

Whiff of the Past

One of the wonderfully fun things (and I say that somewhat sarcastically) afforded me by my new job is riding the train downtown every day. Actually, it really isn't that bad on the whole, but sometimes the person sitting next to you makes the experience, shall we say, somewhat unpleasant.

This morning, for example, a woman boarded the train on the stop immediately following mine, and sat herself down right next to me, rather than the plethura of other single riders in the car. (I still haven't figured out why 90% of the time people choose ME to sit next to rather than anyone else, I think I have to work on my "don't sit by me" aura) This meant that for the next 45 minutes, I had to press myself against the wall of the train and scrunch in my elbows while I read my book. That in itself was bad enough, but then I got a whiff of her.

She was an obvious smoker, and had most certainly put out her last butt milliseconds before she boarded. Being an ex-smoker, the smell of cigarette smoke on others really bothers me. Literally gags me. I still have a hard time believing that I myself used to smell just as bad. (I would apologize to any smokers out there, but I feel I have earned the privilege of soapboxing since I quit cold turkey about four years ago.) So now as well as trying to avoid physical contact with my seatmate, I was also trying to avoid olfactory contact as well. This proved to be very difficult, as I am nursing a cold, and in order to prevent the embarrassment of nasal mucus dripping onto my lap, I had to sporadically sniff mightily. The sniffing prevented the nasal drip, but also invaded my senses with that stale cigarette smell.

After about the fifth sniff, I realized that the yukky smell wasn't only cigarettes... there was, in fact, something oddly familiar about it. Not that the smell was any less unpleasant, but it reminded me of something. I closed my eyes and reluctanty sniffed again, trying to pinpoint what it was.

Suddenly it came flooding back. The smell was that of cheap perfume mixed with the cigarettes. Could've been any perfume, really, but what it reminded me of was hanging out at a smoky corner bar. In this day and age of "smoke-free" zones, I haven't smelled that in a long time. It was a smell that used to cling to my clothes when I smoked myself and had come home from bar-hopping with friends. It was a smell that made me think of partying, and irresponsibility, and one-night stands (not that I ever had any of those, of course...). Made me think of TBOTE, as well. I can't say it was a welcome flood of memories, but regardless, there it was. The longer I closed my eyes and inhaled that nauseatingly sweet yet acrid smell, the more memories came. I almost expected to hear Kevin's voice next to me. I almost expected to open my eyes and find myself in P's again, with a Miller Lite in front of me. Or worse, at an old "buddy's" house, waiting for the pipe.

I opened my eyes again and tried to concentrate on somehow not inhaling while still preventing my nose from drippping. This was done by putting my mittened hand beneath my nose and trying to just block all air (and whatever else) from entering or leaving my nasal passages. When I snuck a look over at my seatmate, curious about the owner of this smell that caused such discontent, I almost laughed. It was a woman in probably her 50's or 60's, black short hair sprinkled with gray, wearing Harry Potter glasses and shaped like a pear. Nothing like what I expected. But still, that smell...

I can't tell you how glad I was to get off that train. Even in zero degree weather. Those kind of memories I can do without, thank you very much.