Harried ... But Not Hopeless

Drinking Tea in Heaven

2011-03-03T18:22:00.004-06:00

So to say I was a little freaked out when my cousin called to tell me that her adorable six year old autistic son had been drawing pictures of Aunt Dasi flying up to heaven to see Great Grandma & Poppops is an understatement. When she had the child himself leave me a message reiterating this fact, I got a little upset. I mean, really, who wants to hear that someone, ANYONE, keeps imagining you dead? Ok, so I'm sure throughout my not-so-perfect life there may have been occasions where certain people may have wished me dead, but I usually had done something to deserve the ill thoughts. Here was an innocent kid telling me that, at least in HIS mind, I would soon be drinking tea with Great Grandma in heaven. And I don't even LIKE tea. I guess I should be grateful at least that he saw me going up instead of down.

But then I had an epiphany. Maybe what he is seeing isn't really the death of dasi, per se - maybe it is the death of the OLD dasi. The dasi who hasn't been writing on a regular basis in years. The dasi who has allowed herself to gain weight and has gotten lazy with her workouts. The dasi who had become complacent, if not happy, with her routine of work, eat, sleep, work. The dasi who stoppped taking chances in life and preferred to stick with only what she knows.

I wouldn't mind at all if THAT dasi vanished.

Maybe this is a sign. I mean, think about it: Timmortal just published a book. So did Marissa. Cheryl is getting married. Linda GOT married. And Amber - married AND a baby. Alice is still writing - as far as I know. All my blogging buddies have been moving forward with their lives, and I seem to have come to a complete stop. I keep on telling people, "Oh, I know, I've been SO busy..." but really? Not so much. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, yes - raising a teenage daughter and working two jobs does count as being busy. But it never used to stop me before. And to be honest, as a teenager Lexie needs less attention than when she was younger (and she usually would prefer hanging out with her friends than with her mom!), so there is really no reason for this mental shutdown.

Just before I got my cousin's message, I bought myself a netbook. I told myself that having something to write with at all times would help me get my groove back. And guess what? Here I sit, on the train, writing. WRITING! And it feels good. I also did some half-assed exercises this morning. And packed a Lean Cuisine (which I hope hasn't expired) for my lunch, instead of checking to see if I had enough money for chicken Mc Nuggets. I re-hired my wonderful cleaning lady, and yesterday I came home to a spotless, beautiful house. Which funny as it sounds, really does improve your mood & general outlook on things.
Spring is in the air, and I am sensing a kind of rebirth. My next major step will be rereading TBOTE and trying to get that finished. One day at a time, I guess. But I have a really good feeling about this.

So thanks for the info Kar-Bear, I'm not as freaked out anymore. I know you meant no harm in telling me - and as it turns out, your instincts were right again. Tell my little guy he has inspired his Aunt Dasi to start moving forward again. And thanks.

Unless I get hit by a Mack truck while walking to work from the train station. Which I hope doesn't happen, because that would REALLY suck.

Who I Am

2011-02-06T01:47:00.003-06:00

So tonight I went out for drinks with a colleague from work. I was feeling a little down, had a fight with Lexie earlier (so what else is new) and plus had a bit of a cold. Add in a really busy night at the Lobster, and I was sooo ready to relax. And relax I did. To the point that my colleague (ok, FRIEND) recommended I “see someone.” Which even I have to admit is probably not a bad idea.

See, I have these “issues.” If you have been reading “TBOTE,” you may know a tad bit about them. But even that story is only the tip of the iceberg. Because my issues have gone waaaaayyy back… we’re talking to about the beginning of high school, maybe even earlier.

I have always had a need to be liked. Not just a regular need, but a NEED. And I was always quick to take the blame for any problems or worry about what other people thought about me. I would do or say anything to be liked, to be wanted, to belong. When I was in grammar school, this wasn’t a huge issue. I had my little group of friends, my best friend Ann, and Suzy, Dawn, and Linda. We were inseparable. I have the best memories of grammar school with them. Memories that I cherish to this day. But in high school things started to change. A new girl joined our group, Sheila. I liked Sheila well enough, but I must admit, I was a bit jealous of her as well. And at that time, I was also getting bored. I still loved my friends, but I wanted ADVENTURE. I wanted BOYS. I wanted to be a rebel. So I found a new friend, Marilee.

Marilee took me on a roller coaster ride like no other I had experienced in my life. She was wild, she was beautiful, she broke the rules. She was cool - and I wanted to be like her. So much so that I got the same haircut, wore the same clothes, shared the same makeup. I drank, and I flirted, and I broke curfew. Ann and the rest of my old group fell by the wayside. I had found what I was looking for.

Or so I thought. During that time, I put up with hurtful nicknames, numerous putdowns, and a general sense of disdain. The rest of the crowd knew I was a phony - that I wasn’t one of them. But I still tried and tried, and kept a smile on my face the whole time. To her credit, Marilee was a great friend, but even she got tired of me pretending to be someone I wasn’t.

I started working at a kitchen in the hospital across the street from school - and continued my charade. I was pretty, and fun, and flirted with all the boys, but deep down was so insecure it actually hurt. I was an excellent matchmaker (still am, actually), but could never find anyone to love ME.

When I went to college, I thought it would be my new lease on life. But it was the same old story. Trying so hard to make people like me… only this time I had the added problem of mistaking sex for love. No one ever took me seriously, and no one knew how alone and lost I felt. I was always the good time girl, and when people tired of me, they made it known - whether it was with hurtful words, or fire extinguishers, or simply being frozen out.

You can read “TBOTE” to find out about my young adult years… and now? Not much has changed. I am a mom - and I’m not even sure I am a good mom. My daughter doesn’t think so. I’m not sure I do, either. I do my best, but I worry all the time that I may be doing the same things my father used to do to me, focusing on what I DIDN’T do instead of what I DID. I’m tired. I work two jobs, and I raise my daughter the best that I can - all by myself. I’m really not trying to sound all “poor me” here, but you know what? It sucks. And it’s hard. And I really wish I had a husband or boyfriend to help me out sometimes. Believe me, this is NOT where I thought I would be at 42.

Ha.

Not by a long shot.

I’ve been through a lot in my life, most of it brought on by myself, some of it not, but I’ve survived. Yes, I suppose I am a strong woman, but please stop telling me that. I’m tired of being strong. I need someone to lean on. I need to figure out why I am so unhappy with who I am, despite the fact that I am successful even without a college degree, and still somewhat attractive, and have plenty of “friends.” I need to stop feeling so inadequate when I look at or hear about other people’s lives.

I need to stop looking at pictures of Ann, and Suzy, and Linda and Dawn because it hurts so bad knowing that I let that go that I can hardly breathe sometimes.

But I think what I need to start doing most of all is loving myself - and making no apologies for who I am.

Blackout

2010-08-20T10:01:00.002-05:00

Now 15, my daughter is starting her sophomore year of high school. Which I am really having a hard time wrapping my mind around. Not just because she is almost halfway through her teens, and I still feel (ok, sometimes!) like I just completed them, but because I remember all the things I used to do starting in sophomore year. And it scares the hell out of me.

Her high school has a summer reading list, and this year I found two books I thought would interest her - one about teenage drinking, and one about teen suicide. I wound up checking both out from the library, and she picked (of course) the melodramatic “Thirteen Reasons Why,” about a girl who had offed herself. Since I had the other book as well, I decided to read it myself.

It is called “Smashed: Story of a Drunken Girlhood.”

Can I just start by saying that I cannot recommend this book enough? I am only 100-odd pages from the end of this 350 page book, and I started it yesterday. It is haunting, it is scary, it is real. I remember so much of my wasted (no pun intended) youth mirroring many of the events of the author’s life. Alcohol was the way for girls to “loosen up” and be “social.” And it was inevitable that eventually you would begin to become a bit too loose, and social to a fault. That you would begin to feel “less than” instead of super cool when you drank. That you would do and say things that you regretted but could never wipe away.

Obviously, if you have read any of “TBOTE,” you already know that the bulk of my issues centered on drugs rather than alcohol, but oh I had my moments... Funny thing was, once I started using the alcohol always took a backseat. Of course, this was after the college year (yes, I only managed almost a full year at college) I spent at keg parties, and International drink nights, and buckets of beer during happy hour on Friday afternoons, and drinking a complete bottle of apple schnapps by myself before the Valentine’s bash - while writing down a toast for each and every shot. Back then, I prided myself on my “tolerance,” and the fact that I could usually drink anyone under the table. Not the thing that most good girls would normally be proud of, but I waved that fact around like a banner. In fact, my 18th birthday is carefully documented in my diary from the afternoon happy hour at which I downed untold amounts of Jack Daniels, tequila and Southern Comfort (all with beer chasers, mind you) - then continued the celebration at a frat house with friends by drinking copious amounts of champagne and eventually passing out.

The thought of those days actually makes me shudder. How young and stupid I was. How lucky. How ironic, though, that the thing that eventually curbed my drinking would also be the thing that brought me to my knees...

In any case, all those years of “partying hard” eventually took their toll. I quit drinking altogether when I first got involved in Cocaine Anonymous, then after two years decided I wanted to be able to drink socially again. I was scared shitless, since in the program you are basically told “if you are addicted to one thing, you are addicted to everything.” I truly felt deep down that I wasn’t addicted to alcohol - but I still made my friends promise to watch me when I sipped my first beer in two years to make sure I didn’t wind up going out to score or anything.

I didn’t, and I didn’t get wasted, either. What I realized was that I could drink responsibly. At 30 years old, I no longer had the desire to drink until I couldn’t drink anymore. I could have a few drinks at a party, or a wedding, or just while out with friends, and be fine. I could keep beer or wine or vodka in my house, and I wouldn’t chug the bottles and then go out looking for more. I wouldn’t always drink, mind you, in fact, I was usually the designated driver, so often I just let others imbibe. And it didn’t bother me at all. I turned into the “mom” drinker - I remember as a kid noticing that the younger crowd always drank beer, and the moms and aunts drank mixed drinks or wine. For whatever reason, about five or six years ago, I found I could no longer stomach beer. I had definitely become the mom drinker.

When I started waitressing and the younger crowd would go out, I would occasionally join them. But I never drank too much, in fact, sometimes I would just drink water. Even when there were times I would tell myself and others “This weekend, I am going to have FUN! I am not driving anywhere, so I can drink all I want!” I would usually end up stopping after a cool buzz, and switching to water. I just didn’t like the feeling of not being in control, of being sick, of not being me.

Which is why what happened Monday night still makes me queasy in the pit of my stomach.

I went out with some friends to a Cubs rooftop game. All you could eat and drink for a pretty sweet price. I informed my friend Gina that I was ready to have a good time, and forget about any issues about dealing with teenagers. She was with my 100%, but since she had school in the morning, decided to only drink root beer. I started drinking my little cups of chardonnay at 6:00. I ate, I drank, I was merry. I could feel the warmth of the wine, and was getting tipsy. I was chatty, and feeling good. I was socializing with anyone who would socialize with me, and in the Chicago Cubs atmosphere, that is usually pretty much everyone. It was a good night. I spoke to my daughter and my brother on the phone around 8:45, and definitely wasn’t drunk at that time. In the 7th inning, at around 9:30-ish, the cutoff time for serving alcohol approached. I told Gina I was going to get my last glasses of wine for the evening. By my count, (and hers, she told me later) I had finished 8 glasses and was going to get numbers 9 & 10. I know this sounds like a lot, but let’s keep in mind this was over almost 4 hours - and they were 5 oz wine glasses. Definitely enough to get me intoxicated, but not enough to cause what happened next.

I went down a flight to get my wine, and found any empty bar with just one guy standing at the edge. I ordered my wine, then chatted with him. Now comes the stupidest thing I have ever done - I asked him to watch my drinks while I went to the bathroom. I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but I was feeling happy and buzzed and everyone was my friend.

Apparently not.

When I came back, I took my drinks, drank one of them, and that is the last thing I remember. Initially, my friends just thought I was incredibly drunk, as did pretty much everyone there. Only those who really knew me would realize that something was seriously wrong. I began vomiting uncontrollably and I vaguely remember being on a bathroom floor, unable to move. Completely unable. It was the scariest feeling I have ever felt. My mind wasn’t functioning properly, and my body was completely incapacitated. That is truly the only thing I remember after that last glass of wine - the feeling that I couldn’t move and was probably dying.

Thank God for Gina, who called my mom who called my brother to come and “rescue” me. I don’t remember anything about him being there, but according to Gina, he was wonderful. Of this, I have no doubt, because Bob has always been my hero. From what I was told, he managed to get me downstairs and into the car, and drove me back to his place to sleep. And my mother told me the next day that Bob kept checking on me all night to make sure I was ok. Apparently an ambulance had even been called, because I was that bad.

In the morning when I woke up, I felt fine. A little groggy, but not hungover. Definitely not wine-hungover, which I understand is the worst kind to have. What I did feel was dread and confusion. Bob filled me in on most of the evening, and together we figured out that I must have been drugged. Even he said that the last time he saw me drunk had been almost ten years ago at his 30th birthday party, and that I didn’t blackout like I had the night before. Additionally, he had spoken to me barely an hour before my mom had called him to help me. And how could I have remembered exactly how much I drank if I was so obliterated that I blacked out? There were too many things that just didn’t make sense. Gina had been my angel, and she even said she had never seen me like that - and that it was like one minute I was talking and the next a complete change came over me. I pretty much owe her my life - literally. It scares the hell out of me thinking about what could have happened.

But it was a lesson learned - and in a way it reminded me of who I never want to be. Despite the fact that what happened was not my fault, there were plenty of people who probably just saw me as a stupid drunk girl making a scene. And the fact is, I am a 40-something mother of a teenager to whom I am trying to teach the dangers of partying and leaving drinks unattended and drugs... I know it was stupid leaving my drink, and believe me it will never happen again. I quite enjoy being the girl who doesn’t drink much and may be silly at times but is never “plastered.” I hate not being in control and I hate the person who did this for taking my control away. I thank God for Gina and my brother for being my saviors, and I pray that my daughter never winds up in a situation like that.

It’s a scary crazy world out there - so watch your back.

RIP

2009-06-27T07:53:00.006-05:00

So like everyone else in the world, I was totally shocked by the news of the death of Michael Jackson. Initially, it seemed surreal, that this pop icon who had been gone from our thoughts and our realities for so long was now also gone from this earth. And then came the barrage of media stories, of extended Michael Jackson playlists, of memories of the King of Pop. And although I was saddened by his death itself, it struck me that I was more melancholy about something else - his death, to me, represented the death of a part of my youth.

As a teenager of the 80's, Michael Jackson played a huge part of my life. The music, the fashion, Bubbles the chimp, the Jordan/Jackson video, watching "Friday Night Videos" waiting for the newest video from MJ... being appalled by the fact that we were expected to PAY to see the full-length "Thriller" video at the movie theaters. I had a friend who could mimic the moves on the "Billie Jean" video like a pro - and we all worshipped him. I myself practiced for hours in front of the tv, rewinding the "Thriller" video over and over again so I could practice the moves of the zombies at the end and be as cool as everyone else.

My vision of Michael Jackson wasn't of child molestation and shame, it was of a breathy-voiced man-child who built an amusement park in his backyard. Who had a petting zoo with llamas. Who hired actual gang members to dance in his "Beat It" video. And who, rumor had it, rehabilitated these gang-bangers, some of whom went on to become profession dancers or actors - or so they said.

My entire adolescence was played out with Michael's songs as the background music. From skating at the roller rink to "PYT" feeling like hot shit, to jamming to the the beat of "Smooth Criminal," there was something about his songs that always made you feel good. And the videos - there will never be anything like them. Ever. Almost every one told a story, in a sense, and always sucked you in with the amazing dance moves and irresistible beat. The morphing faces on "Black and White" showed us that were actually all the same person. And do I even need to get into "We Are the World?" Probably the most amazing song AND video of that era. Who back then didn't have fun trying to figure out who was singing what line, and then laughing with glee when you saw the video and found out you were right?

When I think about Michael Jackson, I think of those days, of my teenage years. I weep not so much for the passing of a talented, yet sick and lonely man, but for the loss of my youth. Because the memories that flood back in my mind are so bittersweet, of a time when I thought I knew everything but now realize I knew nothing. A time when my biggest concern was trying to figure out how to get my curfew extended. Or how to afford the designer jeans I wanted. Or whether or not the cute guy at the roller rink would ask me to skate couples only on Friday night.

I guess it's kind of ironic that the memories I have when I hear of Michael are so innocent, when he turned out to be anything but. It broke my heart to hear all the accusations, but I always knew deep down that they were true. I have no doubt that he did what he was accused of, but the sad part is, I also have no doubt that he truly did not feel it was wrong. Michael Jackson was a very sick person, one whose psyche was so damaged beyond repair that he chose to remain in his own world, where he had no way to differentiate between improper sexual contact and love. I never thought of him as gay, more as asexual - someone who truly had no concept of physical love between a man and a woman. He felt safe with children, he was more or less a child himself, so he saw nothing wrong with what he did.

Unfortunately for him, society did. And I did. And even though the world did too, he got acquitted. Which probably didn't help him so much as harm him, by allowing him to flee the country and the spotlight and never get the help he needed. I heard it said that Michael Jackson seemed to be a Benjamin Button-esque type person, having to be an adult and responsible at such a young age while in the "Jackson Five," then slowly regressing to regain a lost youth as he aged physically. He started as a man, and ended as a child. A lost, chemically dependent child who only wanted to help people and make people love him. He hated the paparazzi, but loved to be adored. And in his death, he is getting the adoration and love he craved so much in life.

His story is a sad and tragic one, and I am sure we are only beginning to hear all the details surrounding his sudden death and the last months of his life. He will always be remembered as an icon, the King of Pop, but there will also always be the stigma of what he eventually became in the later years.

To me, he will always be remembered as the soundtrack of my youth.

TWO IN THREE DAYS!!

2009-04-04T08:54:00.003-05:00

Wow - can this really be happening? TWO posts in three days?? Hasn't happened in like, forever, no? But there it is. I think it may have something to do with sue, a new reader who made me feel really good - but pretty guilty for neglecting "TBOTE." Not that the rest of you haven't of course. But the rest of you are like family, practically, who (no offense) I can kind of shrug off and tell "yeah, yeah, it's coming along" and I know you'll deal with it. But if there are new people out there... Oh, the pressure!!

And I also want to say how happy I am to see my old pals commenting still. Alice - I'm going out on a limb and saying yes, you will probably meet sullen teen this summer. Although you may wish you hadn't. (Just kidding, of course - she really is a great kid - just a typical teenager!) And Ranger Tom and Network Geek - so good to see you both!

Anyway, sue pointed out to me that it has been over a year since I have posted a chapter. And I am actually aware of that. And I know I have been promising and promising... I do have the best intentions - in all honesty, I can't really say why I am so stuck. I mean, hell, I lived it, right? It's not like I don't know what is going to happen next. In fact, I've always known exactly where this book would end - and how it would leave you hanging just enough to want to read the sequel. I know, I know - pretty arrogant to discuss a sequel when I can't even get through the first one, but that has always been my plan. Only one sequel, though, my life got pretty boring pretty quick after I had my daughter. But in a good way - trust me!

I've been really trying to figure out what has been keeping me from not just TBOTE, but from the blog in general. I mean, I used to LOVE to write. When I began this blog, I had to post every day. And I enjoyed it. A lot. I always managed to find the time while working for Satan. However, things have changed. At home, the computer has been hijacked by a tall blonde who says she's my daughter. I am lucky to sneak in for two minutes to check e-mail while she walks the dog. In fact, even now, I am only able to write freely since it is 9 am Saturday morning and she is still sleeping. So if I am struck with an idea, or feel the urge to write at home, I generally have to try to hold onto it until the computer is free. And inevitably, by the time it is, I have either forgotten or lost the impulse.

At work, it is a lot harder to find the time. I mean, I work for the government now, people. You can't slack off when your boss is the President of the United States. Ok, so there may be a number of people who can, but I am not one of them. I really do enjoy my job - collecting money owed to victims of federal crimes from criminal debtors. There is nothing more satisfying than finding a criminal who hasn't paid his restitution in YEARS and garnishing his wages. Or seizing his bank account. And finally giving back to the victim. Awesome stuff. Plus, since my position is within the office of the United States Attorney's office, it has some pretty cool perks - like getting to attend the sentencing hearings of Chicago mobsters James Marcello, Joseph Lombardo, and most recently (and notoriously) Nicholas Calabrese. I love my job. Never thought I'd say it, but I really do. And as such, I am usually too busy making sure to get things done to slack off and write on my blog.

Plus, and maybe I am being paranoid here, there is something else. Logically, it seems ridiculous, since it is still a free country and all... and really, it is probably just some random stranger and not big brother or anything, but still - this kind of freaks me out. I probably shouldn't even write about this in case they are reading this too, but I'm going to anyway. See, I've had statcounter for quite some time now on my blog. To see who's been visiting, what the numbers are - you know. And ever since I started the interview process for my job at the USAO right up to today, someone from Washington, DC has been checking my blog every single day. EVERY DAY. Weird, no? But I mean, really - if they were going to use this against me to get rid of me or anything, I would think there is already plenty of ammo that I've posted. Of course, I have never said anything about the government itself, or my job in detail, or about Obama - but really, I probably wouldn't anyway. I just can't help but wonder what would happen if I did. Would men with dark sunglasses suddenly appear at my desk and escort me into a little room and demand I disable my blog? Would I ever be seen again?? Scary stuff, I tell ya!

Finally, and I've said this before, I got kind of smacked in the face by a roadblock of my own doing regarding more chapters when I decided to contact Kevin. Yes, I haven't written him since I explained to his sister that I was glad he was doing well (despite being in the Illinois Dept of Corrections) but I realized that my curiosity about him was satisfied, and I really didn't think it would be healthy for me to continue communicating with him. Of course, he replied with a pretty nasty letter saying I couldn't just decide to stop writing, that I was just being a big baby and I should suck it up and give him a chance, and that when he got out in August (yes, THIS August) he was going to come find me and prove to me he had changed. Yikes! I asked my friend if I could borrow her husband (who is a big bear of a man) for the day when that happens. I mean, if that happens. Lord know if there's one thing Kevin has always been, it's inconsistent. Consistently inconsistent. Kind of funny, actually. But bringing your past back to the present in a way other than writing about it has a strange affect on a person.

I really think the only way I will get back to the story is if I sit down, re-read the whole thing myself again, and try to really force myself to churn it out. It's ridiculous, really, this shouldn't be such a chore. But it has become one, and I really don't like that feeling. It used to be a catharsis, and I really used to enjoy knowing that other people liked my writing. And it also made me really feel that my dream of being a published author was a possibility - not just a fantasy. I'm not going to sit here and make more promises, you all know me well enough by now to know that although I really mean every word of them, I just don't want to lead you all on. You know the reasons and what I want to do, just know that someday it will be done.

Oh, and? After my last post I had a nice chat with my cousin for an hour, the wine helped me sleep, and although I still do have those feelings, I felt MUCH better in the morning. A bit tired, perhaps, but emotionally better. In case you cared. About a drunken dasi, I mean. Ok, best get going so my darling has the computer warmed up and ready for her when she wakes up. Until later, then!

Fuzzy Observations

2009-04-02T22:48:00.002-05:00

Wow - it's been a long time since I posted something while somewhat - er- "under the influence." And the funny thing is, it was only to watch the finale of "ER" and unwind. But somehow I found myself bawling like a baby at practically every scene -including the "pre-show" interview special.

But in my defense, there was really valid reason for my reactions. ER always has very moving storylines that hit home. Tonight was no exception. They had one that involved a 17-year old with alcohol poisoning. Who was playing "I Never." And won. First of all, I used to play "I Never." I usually didn't win, because by the time I would be able to drink at every statement, I was too old to really play the game anymore. But this girl won. And nearly died. I couldn't help but look at Lexie and say "PLEASE promise me..." to which she sneered, "MOM - I wouldn't!" Of course, if I were to go by her MySpace posts, I would know that she has already at least TRIED alcohol. Which scares the hell out of me because I always thought I would be the cool mom who knew everything, who my daughter would always talk to. And she isn't. Instead, I find things out by sneaking onto her MySpace web page. And I don't want her to wind up like me. I don't want her to drink to be cool, to do drugs because her boyfriend does, to escape because she is uncomfortable in her own skin. I always thought I would be the cool mom, the one who she told EVERYTHING to - but alas, it seems I was way off.

My daughter will ALWAYS think of me as the enemy, the "old" person, the one who "doesn't know anything." And GOD, I wish she knew. I wish she knew all the hell I went through in high school, the suicide attempt in college, the ridiculous number of guys I slept with in college and beyond to prove I was WORTH something.... the hopelessness I felt while using, the shame and fear I felt after being raped, the inadequacy I STILL feel on a daily basis, no matter how succcessful or mature or old I become.

I am TERRIFIED that no matter what I do, my daughter will wind up going down the same path I did - and all I will be able to do is watch helplessly. I have nightmares that my little girl will suffer and hurt and cry as much as I did for so many years - and that she will cut herself off from me and isolate herself as I did. I know she is only 13, I know I didn't get into anything until my 20's - but what if I did it?? What if I gave her the gene to make her like I was? What if it kicks in early? What then????

I am scared, and alone, and all I do is work my ass off and make money and be strict with my daughter and watch tv and sleep... I have no time for me, or for fun, or for a significant other... and you know what? It really sucks. I HATE being 40 and and alone and so damn tired. I hate that every waking minute I am either working or bitching at my daughter. I hate bitching at my daughter - but all that is, really, is a manifestation of my fear. My fear that I am not a good enough mother, that I am not there enough, that I am not involved enough to make a real difference in my daughter's life. That I will let her down, like I let down my father, and mother, and brother, and hell - everyone who has ever been close to me.

And then there was the backstory on ER about the couple who had been together for 72 years - and the wife was dying. One word - Poppops. I think I pretty much manage to convince myself that he's still around... it's only when I really think about it that it hits me - he's gone. Oh, shit, this sucks. Now I remember why I don't drink. Because it brings to light everything about my life that I try to ignore when I am sober.

Like that fact that I am a loser. And I do a pathetic job of pretending I am still young and hot and cool (see that? Is "cool" even an acceptable term nowadays?). And although I am desperately lonely - I would rather leave people guessing as to my sexualuty due to my lack of relationships that make any kind of effort to find the man of my dreams (yes, man, that part of my life is not in question). I don't know. I really don't. I wish I did - it would make thing so much easier.

All I do know is that I am probably one of the better actresses in this country - only I waste my talent working for the US Attorney's office. Because I have everyone convinced I am this amazing, strong woman who has this awesome life. Yeah. That's me.

How about we go out for a drink? After a few, you may take off those rose-colored glasses.

The Good Old Days

2009-03-24T06:02:00.000-05:00

Remember when I used to write about my daughter...? Cute little anecdotes about a kid full of spunk and fun? Things that made you chuckle or smile? Remember the pictures of a sweet little girl with super blonde hair and an angelic smile? So do I. Which is why I am struggling to figure out -

WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED???

Where did my little darling go? Who is this sullen, attitude-filled punk who is now living in my house? Who is this tall, lanky teenager who spends hours - no, DAYS - at a time on the internet or cell phone, texting and IM'ing and living in a virtual world while ignoring the real one??

What happened to the sixth grader who got straight A's? Did this creature who consistently gets C's & D's because of late and/or missing assignments (but "don't WORRY about it, Mom!) take over her body?? Where did the child who used to listen to me and cry if I reprimanded her go? I really don't like this young woman who sneers and ignores me, and laughs when I threaten her.

Can it be possible that THIS is my daughter? This dishwater blonde creature with braces and eyeliner who "forgets" to do her chores, leaves pop cans and dishes all over the house, drops her clothes in the hallway, ignores the dog she begged for until the poor thing pees on the rug...?

No way. I raised MY daughter better than this. MY daughter has respect for her mother. MY daughter cares about school. And her dog. And her chores. MY daughter ENJOYS spending time with her mother.

Doesn't she??

You know, every once in a while I see a little glimpse of that blonde angel I used to know... during a talk in the car, or while watching tv... not often, but SOMETIMES. So I know there is still hope.

So I guess I'll just hang out here and wait for her to come back.

Deer Me

2009-03-03T06:03:00.002-06:00

71 hours is too much work for any normal person in one week. But then again, I never claimed to be normal. And there I was this morning again, up at 3:30 am to exercise, shower and (hopefully) make the 4:41 train to get to work for some overtime. I stopped at the 7-11 to pick up a Mega Millions ticket - because how cool would THAT be? For ME to win $212 million? Great personal interest story, I must humbly admit - single working mom, busting her ass, picking up a lottery ticket at 4 am on her way to work... Anyway, I digress.

So obviously, I have been under a tad bit of stress lately, between working so many hours, and the usual financial bs, and raising a teenager and trying not to come down on her just because I am tired, and of course, last Friday was Poppops' birthday so he's been on my mind... But in the wee hours of the morning, I was blessed with a very calming, peaceful sign. At least, I think it was a sign. In any case, it was probably the most beautiful thing I have seen in a long time.

As I was parking my car in the empty train station parking lot, lit by soft streetlights, there was snow falling. Not the yukky slushy kind, either - the big, fluffy soft flakes. It looked really pretty in and of itself, but then I saw something moving.

It was a deer - and she was walking slowly toward the parking lot from a grassy area right in front of me. Not running, not walking apprehensively, just casually strolling through the quietly falling snow. I got out of my car and just watched her as she continued her walk across the lot to the woods on the other side. And it was the strangest thing - I really felt a sense of peace. Like everything I have been doing isn't for nothing. Like no matter how down or frustrated I got, there was still beauty in the world - I just had to slow down to look for it sometimes.

So now I am at work, sorting through the stacks of files and papers I need to get through - but I'm ok. I can only do so much, and I'll get done what I need to. And when I get home, I'll make dinner and sit with my daughter and just relax and enjoy being with her. And really, just enjoy being. Because even though life is short, sometimes you just need to stroll through the predawn snow and take it all in.

It Is What It Is

2009-02-22T08:49:00.002-06:00

You know what? I AM A GOOD MOM. I may not be perfect, and therefore, neither is my daughter, but I do a damn good job. And I am sick and tired of judgmental people telling me everything I am doing wrong - mainly, "not being there enough."

Yes, I work two jobs. Do you want to know why?? Because I have these little things called bills. And a mortgage. And a car payment. All that I pay ON MY OWN. Without MY parents' help, without a husband, without public aid, and without child support. I spend as much time with my daughter as humanly possible, and we talk every day. But hello? SHE IS THIRTEEN, people. There are lots of times she doesn't want to talk to me or gets mad at me or does things she shouldn't. But I would be more concerned if none of this were true.

Lexie is a good kid. I have raised her to the best of my ability, and continue to keep the lines of communication open. She tells me things that I'm sure not many kids tell their parents, and I share the bulk of my life experience with her. She knows where I stand as far as boys, and drinking, and drugs. I am NOT the parent who will allow any of this "oh, she can drink as long as she is at HOME" or "sure, you can have people over when I am not home" bullshit. And lately, she has gotten caught doing the latter - and she paid for it dearly. Besides the basic grounding, we talked in depth about what a lack of trust does to any relationship - but especially the parent-child one. I know she gets it, but I also know SHE IS THIRTEEN. This is not an excuse, but guess what? If all she is doing is sneaking a friend into the house while I am gone and not doing drugs or drinking or breaking the law or sleeping around, then I feel a lot better.

Lord knows I wish I could be the June Cleaver mom, and have my precious child involved in every activity (and even join with her or be a damn scout troop leader), but guess what? I CAN'T. I suppose I could, if I quit my weekend job and started working only part-time during the week, and we lived in Section 8 housing and used food stamps to eat and I sold my car and bought a damn bus pass, but guess what? I choose to give her a better life than that. We aren't all so lucky that we can have someone else support us, be it a husband or the government, and I am proud of myself for making it ON MY OWN.

My daughter is a good kid and I am proud of her and love her more than life itself. But she will make mistakes, just like I have and still do. It happens to everyone. And I will either discipline her or hug her or maybe a little of both when those mistakes happen. I will stand by her side and support her through whatever road she chooses in life. I will love her unconditionally, will wipe away her tears when she cries, listen when she wants me to - and give her space when she doesn't.

Ours may not be the conventional life, and we may not be the "Gilmore Girls," but it works for us. We love each other, and I do what I have to to survive, and guess what? You can take your "helpful advice" about quitting my second job and spending more time with my daughter since she obviously is on the road to becoming a junkie/hellion by high school and shove it. Because you obviously don't really know me or my daughter at all.

Nonsensical Babble

2009-02-08T11:43:00.002-06:00

When did I get so old? Why don't I really have fun any more when I go out drinking? Why do I always feel so insecure and worry that people really don't like me - even people who I shouldn't really care about?

Why are some people so filled with judgment and hate and bitterness? Why can't people just move forward in life without dwelling on the past - especially the past from ten or twenty years ago?

What is the real purpose in life? Am I really supposed to just keep busting my ass for 50 - 60 hours a week at work just to pay bills that keep on coming FOREVER? Why is it that my daughter doesn't seem to want to talk to me about anything anymore?

Why do I watch so damn much tv? And really enjoy it? Why do I never seem to have the energy to go out and actually DO things?

Why am I so lonely for male companionship, but at the same time so afraid to make any kind of effort towards actually connecting with someone?

Why am I so jealous of people whose lives seem so much better than mine - when chances are, they probably aren't?

Why do I feel like everything in my life is slowly falling out of my grip... and that I am destined to be alone and have nothing in the end?

Why can't I set aside just a few minutes a day to write more on here?

Why can't I just finish "TBOTE?"

Why do I care so much about what the "younger kids" at RL think about me? Why do I still feel like the dork in high school that everyone laughs about behind my back?

Why can't I commit to an exercise program and get into better shape?

Why do I still not feel good enough around my dad?

Why do I always put off calling or e-mailing people I really care about - especially when I really need to talk to someone?

Like I said - nonsensical babble. Have to go to work now. Missed you too, Ranger Tom - and anyone else who actually is still out there for me...!

Good to be Back

2009-01-19T09:40:00.002-06:00

Can you believe it? I actually DID it! I read my tribute to Poppops at the funeral luncheon. All by myself. And I did ok - I only broke down twice... and both times, my dad was there for me to lean on. But I finished, and in the long run, I am glad I did it myself - I think Poppops would've been proud.

It was a really long week, and there were a lot of laughs and a lot of tears. It's never easy losing someone you love, no matter how old they are or how many times people tell you, "Well, he lived a good long life." I know he did, but that doesn't change the fact that life without Poppops seems really strange... I keep thinking that the next time I drive out to Naperville, he'll still be there - making popcorn, or offering me a beer, or asking me if I've found a husband yet (maybe some divine intervention would help now, 'kay, Poppops?). And then it will hit me that he's really gone. and I don't think the hurt will go away for a long time. But it is getting easier, and I know it will continue to get less painful as time goes on.

Ace is having a hard time dealing with the loss of his brother, too. Apparently he just realized that Baby was gone the day we got back from the funeral. Because he just sat there and cried. It tore my heart out. I don't know how many of you have ever heard a cat cry, but it is a really tough thing to hear. It's not a yowling, or a meow - it really is a cry... a long, sad wail. The timing was really bad too, since we just got home from Poppops' funeral. So I just held him for a while and tried to explain to him that Baby wasn't coming home (yes, I was explaining to my cat - doesn't everybody?) and now he sticks to me like glue. Literally. Anywhere I am that the dog can't get to - Ace is there. As in, I am tripping over him any time I am in the kitchen or the play area or my bedroom... and he sleeps on my pillow at night curled up as close to my head as he can get. I don't care what anyone says - animals definitely sense loss and have feelings. So to try to help him out a bit, I got him some catnip - which he loves. Lexie told me it was wrong to get the cat high to deal with the loss of his brother - but hey, he's a cat. And catnip is legal. And he was really happy. ("Sure he is mom," Lexie respondedwith disgust. "He's high!") In any case, I explained to Lexie that it is perfectly ok for cats to get high to deal with a death, but not for people to. Unless they use catnip. Tee hee.

And speaking of Lexie... Remember when I used to write about this sweet little tween daughter I had who sometimes gave me a tad bit of a hassle? I miss her!! Because I now have a sassy, smart-ass teenager who lives on the computer and her cell phone and who is planning to go to college somewhere she needs to take a plane to get to. And you know what? I have no idea how to do this whole parenting thing anymore! I mean, for some idiotic reason, I always thought "Hey, I'm going to be the best mom, totally cool, cause you know I've been there, done that with everything in life, and I will be able to relate to my daughter. And she will trust me, and tell me everything, and we will have this great relationship, and always get along. It will be awesome!" HA!! Fair warning to anyone who thinks this - no matter how cool you are, or how much you think you know about your child, your kid thinks you are a total loser and you know absolutely nothing about them. Don't get me wrong, I love Lexie more than life, and for the most part she is a really good kid... but the attitude? OH. MY. GOD. I have never wanted to smack the hell out of my child before - but lately? All the time. Which isn't to say I would, of course, but I now know what my mom meant when she always told me growing up I had a "tone." I believe this tone is something you really don't develop an ear for until you have a child of your own, because when I was growing up, I never heard it - and Lexie claims she has no idea what I mean by it, either. But as a parent? I don't even have the words to explain how much I HATE that tone. That "you are such a moron why are you even talking to me" tone. Which I basically hear every single day. Fun stuff, I assure you.

She will be starting high school next year, which really blows my mind. First of all, because high school? Seriously? My daughter? I don't feel old enough to have a daughter in high school... but I guess I am...! Secondly, because I remember high school. Very clearly. And if she tries to get away with half the things I did, I will have to kill her. Hypocritical? Maybe. But it's my right as a parent. So there. Hopefully she will keep on keeping on as she has been, because like I sai, really a great kid. Except for that damn tone...!

Finally, an update on TBOTE... I need to reread everything myself again, just to get back in the right frame of mind. So I am hoping to have another chapter within the next month. And actually, there aren't too many more chapters until the end... well, not another 40, at least. But I do plan a sequel - because it is much easier to sell a novel when there is a sequel. Or so I hear.

Ok, I think this is enough for now. I forgot how much I enjoy writing! And I've missed it. I guess it's just a matter of making the time, right?

Poppops

2009-01-07T08:07:00.004-06:00

Oh, my. 2009 hasn't exactly started out as a banner year... Poppops passed away in his sleep on Sunday morning, and then yesterday Baby had to be put down suddenly... he had developed keroacidosis, which is a complication from his diabetes. If I had a spare $800-$2000 a month, it could have been rectified - however, I just don't have that much cash. The way I look at it, Poppops must've wanted a companion up in heaven. Who knew he even liked cats? So I haven't been doing that well as of late. I just have to hope that things will get better.

And I was asked to speak at Poppops' funeral - which was a definite no go. I can barely watch someone win a reality show (ANY reality show) without getting weepy - there is NO WAY I could get through speaking at the funeral. So instead, my father asked if I could write something, and then we would have someone else (probably my brother) read it. Since blogging is my forte, I've decided to try to write something out here, and if it works - I'll use it. If not - it stays forever in cyberspace. You all just get the benefit of my attempt to memorialize the most amazing man I have ever known: Poppops.

My earliest memories of Poppops are of Wellington Avenue - Sunday afternoons to be more specific. There didn't need to be a birthday, or a holiday, way back when we just always got together on Sunday afternoons. Sometimes we would go early enough to hear him sing in the choir at St. Francis - although the choir was really just his back-up group. Popopps' voice always carried over all the other singers' - his heart and soul resounded in every note. Back at the house, we would play the marble-horserace game, or hide and seek, or organized games like volleyball or badminton if it was nice out. Running bases was always a favorite too, with my dad and Uncle Joe pretending to be aggressive in their attempts to tag out the swarm of approaching grandkids. When we got inside, there was always a hunt for the jar of Planter's peanuts, and plenty of popcorn, sandwiches on fresh bakery bread, and coffee cake for everyone.

Poppops would always be at the center of whatever we were doing - he loved his family and he loved attention. When he had an audience, he would pop out his teeth and then ask the little kids to try it themselves. (I think we all have at one time or another.) He claimed he stood on his head every morning to get the blood flowing, and would prove it to us at the drop of a hat. He even challenged the Uncles to a push-up contest once - and won. Poppops would gather as many kids in the living room as he could, and wind up every single music box Grandma owned - creating a cacophony of sound that made us kids giggle in delight and Poppops smile devilishly while Grandma yelled over the noise "Leo! Oh, For heaven's sake!"

As we got older, Poppops still played an active role in all of our lives. The house on Wellington was gone, and most of us were too old for running bases, but he still delighted us with his stories and his obvious lust for life. Nothing was ever dull when Poppops was around. And he had an opinion on everything. On the subject of gun control - "Outlaw guns. Guns miss. If someone breaks into your house, you should have a flamethrower." On airline security - "Just have two planes for every flight. That way if there is a bomb in someone's luggage, no one would get hurt." Ummmm - the pilot, Poppops? "Yeah, well - pay him more."

I think the most important thing about Poppops is he never judged you. If you were family - he protected you as strongly as a lion protects their cub. No matter how many mistakes I made in my life, Poppops always supported me, helped me - loved me. He was never shocked at any turn of events, he took everything calmly and did what he could to help. His love for his family was fierce, and unconditional, and we all felt it in everything he ever did or said. Poppops set an example of what a true patriarch should be - and he could never be replaced. Whether he is with us here on earth, or watching over us from Heaven, Poppops will always be the backbone of our family. And I for one will continue to live my life knowing he is watching, and will always hold him close in my heart.

GOD BLESS POPPOPS!

Catching Up

2008-12-29T13:54:00.006-06:00

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

2008-08-27T06:15:00.002-05:00

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

2008-07-25T11:05:00.004-05:00

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

2008-07-24T07:18:00.004-05:00

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

2008-07-09T12:30:00.000-05:00

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...

2008-06-28T20:33:00.003-05:00

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

2008-05-30T14:05:00.001-05:00

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???

2008-05-06T13:57:00.002-05:00

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...

2008-04-10T12:53:00.000-05:00

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!!

2008-04-10T10:07:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-21T08:48:00.000-06:00

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?!?!?!?!?!

2008-01-16T14:07:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-16T13:40:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-14T13:32:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-08T13:49:00.000-06:00

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)

2008-01-03T13:18:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-02T13:22:00.000-06:00

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.

New Year, New ME!!!

2007-12-31T10:13:00.000-06:00

So here it is, December 31, the LAST day of 2007, and I am ashamed to admit that although the year has been chock-full of blog-worthy events, I have been sorely lacking in the posting department. Which is why my New Years’ resolution is to change that. Yes, faithful few (and I am everlastingly grateful I still have a faithful few), in 2008 you will be privy to a brand new dasi. Well, not really brand new, but one who writes more often. And that includes (wait for it) TBOTE. Actually, as a subheading of the whole "writing more often" resolution, I would really like to complete the whole darn thing, or at least come close to it. And believe it or not, this all actually ties in with my OTHER resolution, which is to attempt to lose enough weight to once again be desirable to the opposite sex, and not just by men into BBWs. Or psycho South Siders. (HA!) This is because at my new, highly important Federal job, I have a full ONE HOUR LUNCH. And I figure instead of going the fast food route every day, I will spend that hour reading and writing blogs. So expect posts, and if they aren’t there, feel free to blast me for slacking on my resolution.

As far as the new job, it is going swimmingly. There is a lot to learn, but it doesn’t seem as difficult as I originally thought it would be. I can’t tell you anything about it, because it is all Top Secret, and I could be eliminated if I do. JUST KIDDING!! Actually, I am in the Financial Litigation Unit (or FLU), and basically I deal with criminal debtors who owe the government or private entities money for restitution or fines for whatever they did illegally. Really interesting, and you learn a lot about the human psyche when you read about what some of these people tried to get away with. A lot different that what I did with Satan, who, by the way, I have never heard from again. Thank goodness!!

My time off between jobs would have been a good time to post, but I basically spent it doing lunch with friends, napping, and catching up on all my tivo’d shows. Oh, and I think I DID clean the house once or twice in those six weeks. Lexie was getting pretty pissy with me, actually telling me I was lazy, to which I retorted "Hey, you get w WHOLE SUMMER every year to lay around and do nothing. Deal with it." And honestly? I think I deserved my six weeks of total sloth. I have been working since I was 15, pretty consistently. Hell, I even worked during the TBOTE years. So if I wanted to do nothing for six whole weeks, I do believe I earned it. It was kind of nice, but had it lasted any longer I think I would’ve started to lose it. It’s good to be back in the workplace again. And I need those paychecks, too.

I’m only working Saturdays and Sundays at RL now, since I still need the supplemental income and I still like working there. I can’t believe I have been there over a year already. Time really does fly! I haven’t been going out much with the RL crew, but a bunch of them came out for my birthday in November, and we had a blast. I think I am still recuperating from it, actually. Dasi has a hard time running with the Big Dawgs now. I have plenty of pictures, I’ll try to post some later. I would’ve been ok, but I went against all that is Holy and broke my rule about not doing shots. Come on, I couldn’t be rude, right? One of the best things about the night was that no one believed I was 39, and I felt pretty damn good about that. Even if they were lying to me, I didn’t care. It was MY night and it was lots of fun. I was invited to Chris’ NYE bash tonight, he tends to have all the holiday parties, but I think I’m going to pass. Amateur night, you know? Plus there’s this 12-year-old issue I have at home (lol). Seriously, he lives too far away to take a cab home from at a reasonable price, I don’t like crashing at other peoples’ houses (I need my own bed, unless, well... YOU KNOW!!), and even if I didn’t drink, I’d have to worry about all the other idjuts on the road who did. With my luck, I would be stone cold sober driving home and get plowed by a drunken fool three blocks from my house. And that would really suck, you know? So Lex and I are going to do the dinner and movie thing. I am taking her to see Juno so she knows I am a cool mom and so she doesn’t end up like either of the Spears morons. Then we will come home and play Wii all night long. (Yes, I stood outside of Best Buy for FIVE FREAKIN HOURS and froze my ASS off to get my precious angel her GD Wii. But I have to admit, that thing is AWESOME!! Especially Guitar Heroes. If only I could beat Slash...) I hope whatever you all do, you stay safe.

Finally, I am way far behind on reading everyone else’s blogs, but I plan to work on that as well. I am in the process of trying, and might I say, Alice, I commend you for putting up a tree at all, Lexie and I didn’t bother with Ginger and the cats, and OMG YOU ARE SO RIGHT, Bare Escentuals is AMAZING!! Cheryl, of course Joseph was in the bathroom, it’s not like these guys ever leave permanently (mild tone of sarcasm there...!), and Amber I am so glad things are going well with you, Chris and the girls. Everyone else, I AM READING!!! I will be commenting more too, so watch for me!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Merry (Day After) Christmas!!

2007-12-26T13:31:00.001-06:00

And by the way, I'm not dead. Although some people may have informed you I am. Just on sabbatical - six weeks of leisure wasted with no posts, and now I am at the new job and need to actually do work... go figure.

Basically, I am just a lazy bum and have no excuses for not writing. But, as I indicated, I am NOT dead.

In case anyone still cares.

Moving On - The Sequel

2007-11-09T10:44:00.000-06:00

First off, thank you everyone for your warm wishes. It means a lot to me to have everyone's support. I was amazed at all the comments!! Anyway, now that you've read "Moving On" - hold on tight for the wild ride that continues from the end of that post...

I think I've always known the Serenity Prayer, but when I started the Program about 12 years ago, I started saying it every night before I went to sleep: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Apparently for 6 1/2 years I didn't have the wisdom, but this is the story of how I found that wisdom and gained the courage to change the one thing in my life that should have been changed a long time ago.

After I gave my notice, things began to change with Satan. First off, that very day he came back from lunch and was all "So congratulations on the new job! Tell me all about it!" I was a little suspicious, and cautiously gave him some minimal details. I later commented to Nice Attorney that I thought Satan might be bipolar. "More like tri-polar," was his reply. So after this little convo, I am sitting at my desk working, when at about 4:30 Satan hands me a memo. "Here, just read this and if you have any comments, you can see me," he says, retreating to his lair.

Said memo went as follows:

10/25/07
dasi,

This will confirm that you gave me notice that you have accepted a new job and that 11/16/07 will be your last day working here.

You left the office early yesterday without approval from me. I again must emphasize, as I did earlier this year, that you should not leave the office early without my approval.

Finally, I will give you two 10-minute breaks each day (10:00-10:10 and 3:30-3:40). All personal matters should be handled during those breaks. During those breaks you shall continue to take calls from clients and prospective clients. These break times cannot be changed or extended without talking to me. During all other hours you should not be handling personal matters: internet usage, Hot-mail, e-mail, text messaging, phone calls, socializing, etc. The one exception is phone calls to or from your daughter which are allowed at any time.

WHAT??? I didn't know quite how to react. I mean, I was leaving in like TWO AND A HALF WEEKS. And not only did he AGAIN start with the whole "you walked off your job" bullshit, but now he decides to give me "two 10-minute breaks" which aren't even breaks since I can't leave my desk and still have to answer the phone. (On a side note, he said nothing about blogging, so I feel no remorse for doing so during working hours.) When he originally told me he was retiring, he told me we would probably be slow during October and November, and to feel free to bring a book or go online when I was caught up, and all of a sudden he makes it sound like he has to friggin' MONITOR me?? Ridiculous. But hey, only 2 1/2 more weeks, so I decided to suck it up and play along with his little memo.

Of course, NA laughed so hard I was sure he would cough up a lung, and couldn't believe Satan gave me said memo. Actually, there weren't many people who really thought his little memo was anything other than his last ditch effort to be an asshole. But whatever.

So I play along with his little break times on Thursday and Friday, then on Monday Lexie was sick. I stayed home with her like a good mom would, and returned to work on Tuesday. Satan was in pretty much the whole day, constantly looking over my shoulder and making sure I was working hard. Which I was. Honestly. I mean, I only had 12 more days to put up with him, and I had promised to try to make this a smooth transition. So I was trying to make sure everything was in order, and I was up to date on all the current files, and summarizing as many medical records on files as I could to get them ready for settlement. Then at 3:30, I had my official break.

Which was when everything suddenly took a drastic turn.

There I was, reading an e-mail from Lexie's principal which was basically sent out to update all the parents on what was going on at the school. I had read maybe the first sentence, when my phone rang. Now, normally when a person is on "break," they are not required to do things like answer the phones. But as you saw, Satan's idea of a "break" is a bit different than that of, say, an employer who actually follows labor laws... So I answered the phone. First problem was that the receptionist just dumped the call on me. Never told me who was calling or anything, which she is supposed to do. So I found myself speaking to a client's son who, to put it nicely, is somewhat of a pain in the you-know-what. He wanted to know when his mother's settlement check was going to arrive, so she could go to India. It took me the entire rest of my break to explain that I couldn't give him an exact date, that it was actually a complicated process with mailings to several people and signatures and approvals etc, and that if his mother needed to go to India before the check came in, I would highly recommend she speak to Satan about it first.

At which point Satan came storming out of his office and yelled at me to put PITA on hold, and basically blasted me for not just giving him the call in the first place. O-kay. Usually he never wants to talk to clients, but whatever. I transferred the call to him, and started to continue working on a summary I was in the middle of when the fateful call came through.

About ten minutes later, at 3:50, I realized I hadn't finished reading the e-mail, and clicked over to do so. And as Murphy's Law would have it, Satan walked out of his office at that very moment. Out of habit, I switched screens back to my summary, but he went off.

"WHAT WERE YOU JUST DOING?" he yelled.

With a sigh, I clicked back to the e-mail and explained that when PITA called, during my break, I had been in the middle of an e-mail from Lexie's prinicpal, and I had forgotten about it and wanted to finish it quickly now.

That led to a rant that of which I had never been forced to endure as an adult, and would never wish on anyone. He screamed at me that he knew this would happen, that he gave me the memo for a reason, that if I couldn't follow the rules I could just leave, because he wasn't going to pay me to not do my job. He demanded I get said memo, and read it again. Through gritted teeth, and the threat of angry tears, I informed him that I did not have the memo with me. So he promptly printed out another one, threw it on my desk, and said, "It says right there that you cannot change or extend your break time without my permission. And it also says that you are to continue to take client calls during your break, so do not try telling me this was because of a client call. This is your job, and if you can't do it right, you can just go now. I knew you would try to pull this. I simply cannot trust you. You go against my rules when I am here, who knows what is going on when I am not in the office. I won't have an employee who can't do her job. You have been doing nothing, you do everything but the job you were hired to do, and I won't have it. If you cannot follow my rules, then just leave." And he stormed back into his office.

Ok. Six and a half years. You all know how much I have put up with in those loooong years, but all that was nothing compared to this. NA came out of his office, shook his head, and apologized to me. Said no one should be treated like that. But it wasn't his fault, I told him. Although I was feeling fairly certain that if I stayed, the next 12 days would just be more of the same. And I couldn't take it.

I worked out the rest of the day, then the next day I forced myself back into Hell. Thankfully, Satan wasn't in when I arrived. I sat at my desk, looking around, and started thinking about my alternatives. And that's when I realized I was done. I couldn't take one more millisecond of his bullshit. I had tried to do the right thing, offered to bust my ass to get as much in order as I could so he could retire peacefully, offered to explain all the files to his wife so she wouldn't be lost when I left... and he has the audacity to yell at me like I was a small, misbehaving child. Finito.

I felt a surge of adrenaline as I started taking down all my pictures and notes from my bulletin board, put away all my framed pictures, deleted or transferred any personal files I had on the computer... then came the fun part. It was time for me to write my own damn memo. Which went as follows:

10/31/07
To: Satan
From: dasi

On 10/25/07, I gave you noice that I would be terminating my employment on 11/16/07. Yesterday, you indicated that I should leave my position immediately as you felt I was not performing up to your standards. Therefore, pursuant to your request, I will no longer continue my employment as of today's date.

However, as I had planned on working through 11/16/07 and you told me to vacate my post early, I expect compensation through 11/16/07. Please mail my paychecks and all 401K information directly to my home address.

It has been a pleasure working for you, and I wish you continued success in the future.

I printed out the memo, set it on his desk along with my set of office keys, and walked out without even a second glance. And when I got home, all the information for my security clearance from the US Attorney's office was waiting in my mailbox. And? They only need information on you going back 7 years. So any of my past is irrelevant to them, since I have no arrests on record. And I went in the following day for my fingerprinting and to drop off the signature pages, and hopefully within the next few weeks will be starting my new job. I absolutely cannot wait.

As for Satan, he left me a message on my voice mail at home, stating that he did not actually fire me, and he would not pay me through the 16th as I had requested (yeah, I kinda figured that, but my dad told me I should try!). And then? He said that he would be willing to overlook the fact that I walked off my job for the second time as long as I was back in the office the next morning at 8:30 to finish out my last two weeks. Yep, you heard right - he expected me to come back. And wait - it gets even funnier - he told me to call him at 847-555-5555 so he could alert the girls at the front desk to let me in. HE GAVE ME THE PHONE NUMBER OF THE PLACE I HAD WORKED AT FOR SIX AND A HALF YEARS LIKE I WOULDN'T HAVE KNOWN IT. Unbelieveable.

His phone call actually made me feel much better about leaving. What an ass. And everyone I talked to about it was so happy for me, especially Nice Attorney. He called me later that day and told me that Satan had told him I left, but had said "I don't know what she was thinking, she can't afford to give up two weeks' pay." Like I needed him since I was a single mom. Guess what? I can manage, asshole. I'm picking up extra shifts at RL for the time being, and my favorite old boss Leo has me doing some extra work for him as well. It may be tight for this month, but I can manage. And there is no amount of money that is worth being treated like an emotional punching bag.

Finally, two days later, on Friday afternoon, I received a certified letter from Satan. This time, he put in writing all my hideous offenses (mostly bullshit, but whatever, let him vent), then ended the letter by saying that he was willing to overlook all said offenses as long as I was back in the office Monday, November 5 at 8:30 am. And I quote, " I look forward to hearing from you."

HA!!! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!! I almost peed myself laughing at that letter. And he won't ever be hearing from me again, thank you very much. My sources on his floor in the office building tell me he is scrambling like the rat he is trying to figure out how to do my job and finish all the crap he needs to do by his scheduled move out day of November 30. Again - more gleeful laughter on my part. The thing that kills me is that he totally brought this whole thing on himself. His damn supersized ego had him convinced that I would never have the guts to walk out on him, and that he could pretty much treat me any way he liked. Sucks to be wrong, doesn't it, Satan?

And come to think of it, it also sucks to be YOU.

Moving On

2007-10-25T13:06:00.000-05:00

I gave my notice today. Did you hear that??? I GAVE MY NOTICE TODAY!!!!! And it was sooooo sweet. I got the job at the US Attorney's office, just found out for sure yesterday otherwise I would've mentioned it sooner. Of course, I still need to undergo security clearance, which takes about FIVE WEEKS, but I'm really not too concerned about that. I mean, I was, but after doing a little research on the whole security clearance thing I found out that my somewhat cloudy history can be dismissed due to mitigating factors: i.e. no drug use in 12 years, good personal and professional references, no arrests, et al. So although a few butterflies my linger in my stomach, I feel pretty confident all will go well.

Then today came the moment I have been dreaming about for SIX AND A HALF YEARS. Actually, it didn't go quite as I had planned. I was going to wait for his wife to come in and tell them together, since it affects her, too, but then he called me into his office. To bitch at me. To tell me that since I "walked off the job" yesterday, I was lucky I didn't get terminated (I was supposed to pick up Lexie from a walkathon yesterday, so I waited for her to call me. I planned on using my whole 30 minute lunch to pick her up and bring her home. Unfortunately, as tweens are apt to do, she changed her plans and called me at 3:45 to say she would just walk home. So since I had not taken a lunch, I left 15 minutes early - thereby actually shorting myself 15 minutes of lunch yesterday. And? Satan left me a voice mail at 4:50 - dasi. It's Satan. Call me as soon as you get this. Then, he called Nice Attorney at 4:59 and asked if I was there. Nice Attorney told me about this this morning, and said when he told him no, Satan replied, "Ok, I just wanted physical evidence." WTF? CSI Schaumburg???? Sorry - this backstory is way long.). Anyway, he was going on and on about how this is a trust issue, and he can't trust me, and how dare I just WALK off the job, and I need to actually do my work instead of slacking off so much (ok, who does he think is calling all the clients and ordering records and summarizing said records and following up on files? Friggin ELVES???) and on and on and on...

This whole time, there is a repeating track playing in my head that went something like this: "You are an asshole. I really hate you. Soon I will never see you again. Soon. SOON. But not now. You need money, dasi. Don't quit NOW. You are an asshole..."

So when he finally finished, I looked him square in the eye and said (this is the good part), "Satan, I am really sorry you feel this way. After 6 1/2 years, I feel I have been nothing but trustworthy, and I didn't mean to upset you by using my lunch at that time. I didn't feel it was that big of an issue. But apparently you do, and for that I am sorry. And I also feel that I have done a damn good job since I have been here, and I plan on continuing to do so until the end to make this transition easy on both of us. I am not the type of person to do things halfway or leave things undone, and I will do my best to continue working hard until the end. I was planning on telling you and Mrs. Satan together, since this affects her as well, but I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you that the US Attorney's office offered me a job, I have accepted, and my last day will be on November 16. And that I will not be in the office on November 1 since I have to complete paperwork and give fingerprints for the background check (Which isn't really true, I have a party on Halloween and don't wanna work on the 1st. But like I need to tell him that). But like I said, I will do everything in my power to make this a smooth transition and I don't want to end 6 1/2 years on a bad note."

I'm pretty sure he was caught WAY off guard, because he wouldn't even look at me. He actually said, "Thank you, I appreciate that." WHOA!!!!

And with that, I got up, left his office, and continued to work on the file I had been in the middle of. Sweet. It felt good. REALLY good. Because know what? As much as I'd love to, I won't screw him over. I am a bigger person than that, and I plan on proving it to him. I'll do everything I can to wrap up as many files as I can, within reason, of course. And when I leave, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing that despite having Satan as a boss, I did a job to be proud of for SIX AND A HALF YEARS.

Which means I'd best get back to work now. Tee hee.

What's In A Name?

2007-10-23T12:35:00.000-05:00

Satan had someone come in today to explain our computer system to him. Probably because he has no clue about anything technical, and when he leaves and has to disable the system and set it up at home, he wants to do it right. So he walks this woman into the office, and says “This is dasi… um… Smith? Smythe? No, Smith, right?”

“Smith,” I replied with a saccharine smile.

“I guess since I just call you dasi all the time…” he explained lamely.

Yes, but I have worked for you for SIX AND A HALF FRIGGIN YEARS. And you have been SIGNING MY DAMN CHECKS EVERY OTHER WEEK FOR ALL THAT TIME.

Un-friggin-believeable. In a three person office. I should be insulted, right? I mean – he doesn’t even know my NAME.

Then again, maybe this is a good thing. I’m not sure if I want him to remember my name when I leave, after all…

Sheesh.

Fun At Weddings

2007-10-18T12:28:00.000-05:00

First off, may I say that I am doing my darndest to catch up on everyone’s blogs. I am going alphabetically, and since I have been away for a while, it may take some time, but I vow to get caught up on EVERYONE’S. And that includes certain bloggers who initially quit blogging then started again (without ever telling me – you know who you are!!) who although I am VERY glad to see back in cyberspace have significantly added to my reading list. Sheesh – this is going to take a while!! But seriously? I am really enjoying it too. I miss all you guys and still can’t figure out how (or why) I allowed myself to stop reading for so long.

Anyhoo.

I’ve decided to post more entertaining (I hope) things today. Nothing too deep, just funny. So read on.

Cute Neighbor is getting married in two weeks. And his fiancée is really great. Obviously, since Cute Neighbor has been my neighbor since I moved in 6 ½ years ago, we have been neighborly friends for a while. And when CNF moved in with him, she and I got along well too. So I got invited to the wedding, natch.

I also got invited to the Bachelorette Party. Which was last weekend. And which I so did NOT go to. Allow me to explain why.

Although I love CNF to death, her friends didn’t quite rub me the right way. See, I went to her shower a couple weeks ago, and sat at the table with “The Bad Girls.” Yes, this is what they called themselves. Five women in their 40’s with husbands and kids, introducing themselves as “The Bad Girls.” But you know what? I can deal with that. Maybe they were just being silly. Maybe they had too much punch. They were very much designer label-wearing, designer purse-toting, mature women, not the type to be giggling about being “bad girls,” if you know what I mean. So I figured, hey, maybe they are really cool and not the obnoxious stuck-up women they were coming off as. So I sat quietly and listened to their conversation. Below are pretty accurate transcripts of sound-bites from said conversations:

“So, MY dermatologist says botox only works on PART of your face”

“Really? Mine worked well – I don’t think I need anything else”

“I won’t EVER take a picture without my hands in front of my neck – I need to get that taken care of.”

“So is Wayne meeting us at the airport or flying out later?” (Apparently the “Bad Girls” take bimonthly weekend trips to Vegas with their husbands)

“Who’s taking the kids? Your mother or mother-in-law?”

“Know what would be funny? If we all wore our OLD wedding dresses to CNF’s wedding! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

“Yes, but which dress should I wear? The first or the second?”

“Who threw up the most at the bachelorette parties?”

“That would have to be Foofie (not her real name) at Sookie’s bachelorette!”

“Oh, that’s right! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

“So I’ve already spent, like $500 on Junior and have to pay $1500 more JUST TO START… apparently the ridiculous laws have changed again.”

“Really? Well, I’VE paid over $8500 for Biff, only the BEST lawyer for MY son.”

(Apparently Junior and Biff, both like 17, had minor DUI incidents involving trashing their sportscars.)

“You know, if it were anyone ELSE’S son, I would say he deserves it, but since it’s MY son, I plan on doing whatever it takes to get him driving again and his records cleared.”

“AMEN to that!”

Ok, are you puking yet?? Like Foofie at Sookie’s party? Cause I was ready to! These women were SO not my idea of fun. They were actually driving me slowly insane. And of course, one was a real estate agent who had to discuss her sales and commissions and the market in general. Why is there always a real estate agent in groups of obnoxious women? I mean, nothing against real estate agents, I’m sure there are plenty of normal ones out there – but honestly? Every snooty women’s clique has one.

Obviously I managed to sneak out of the shower early, and THAT was why I had no intention of going to the bachelorette party. Now my only issue was the wedding itself.

The invitation clearly stated “Adult Reception,” so bringing Lexie was out. And since the only people I would know at the wedding (besides the Bad Girls) were the bride and groom, I knew I had to find a date – and pronto. Preferably someone to flaunt to the BG’s as someone suave… someone chic… someone who was NOT their boring businessman husbands…
This is where RL comes in handy. I joked around about putting up a sign like servers usually do, only instead of the sign saying “Can someone please pick up my Sat PM shift?” it would say “Who wants to go to a wedding with dasi?” To my surprise, whilst joking around, one of the servers said, “I’ll go with you.”

Ok – to clarify? One of the TWENTY-FIVE year old HOT METROSEXUAL CLEAN CUT TALL servers said, “I’ll go with you.”

Unfortunately, not SC, but DH was perfect for my plan. And I told him so.

DH has a girlfriend, but he is a really nice guy and we get along well. I explained about the BG’s to him, and that basically, his role was to be my Boy Toy and hang on me all night. I made it very clear I was totally using him, and that I hoped his girlfriend wouldn’t kick my ass for taking him, but he was simply part of the façade I planned on creating.

He insisted she would be cool with it, and I was thrilled. When I told my cousin about my date for the wedding, she scolded me for planning to lie. Apparently, she thought it was not cool to tell them he was my “Boy Toy,” because when (or if) I got found out, it would look bad. Hence, she came up with a better plan. Sometime during the reception, lean over by the BG’s and say in a confidential tone, “So… do you remember what it was like having sex with a 25 year-old?” and smile knowingly. That way, I wasn’t SAYING I was having sex with him, but if that’s what THEY thought, so be it. My cuz guaranteed they would suddenly swivel their heads between their husbands and DH and not feel so high-and-mighty after all. I loved it.

And DH thinks it’s pretty funny too. So that is our plan. Now I just have to hope I have an appropriate dress somewhere in my closet…

The Most Awesomest People!

2007-10-17T14:40:00.000-05:00

You know what I like most about blogging? YOU!! Yes, all of you. Because even when I am a bad, bad blogger, when I do finally decide to post, and make it a mini-pity-party to boot, I get wonderful comments from cyber pals who I was SURE had given up on me. And I can’t even begin to tell you all how much that means to me.

Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.

It amazes me that some of you are still checking on me. I feel kind of like the red-headed stepchild that shouldn’t belong, but somehow still does. Anyway, like I said, I appreciate it. And all the advice and support. ESPECIALLY the advice and support!

Yesterday I actually went on a second interview with (get this) the US Attorney’s office. Although the pay would be a bit less, working for the Feds would be the best thing in the world for a single mom to whom benefits are mucho importante. And can we say “job security?” Who would’ve thought the girl from TBOTE could wind up working for the government? In an office down the hall from the DEA, no less (which I must admit, I find a bit amusing). So everyone keep your fingers crossed for me, I mean, I think it went well… Ok, in all honesty, I feel like I NAILED it, but I am afraid to get overconfident. All I know for sure that the waiting game may just kill me.

But even if that doesn’t pan out, I know I’ll be ok. Besides, let’s look on the bright side, shall we? Only 30 more days (at the MOST) of working with Satan. Unbelievable.

Finally, to those of you in Colorado… I am a big enough person to admit that your Rockies totally deserve to win the whole shebang. Since the Cubs seemed to have forgotten how to play the game in October, I have no alternative than to cheer for the (second) most amazing team in baseball. (The first still being my Cubs, I am a glutton for punishment and a true Chicago gal who bleeds Cubbie blue.)

Writing does seem to be helping my psyche, so I plan on trying to keep you updated on funny and interesting things as well as my daily doldrums. And I am working my way through TBOTE – I can almost feel more chapters bubbling to the forefront!

Strange Dreams

2007-10-11T12:57:00.000-05:00

I have been dreaming about Kevin a lot lately. Maybe it is a sign to get my ass in gear on TBOTE. But even if it is, it is kind of bothering me. I mean, the guy has been out of my life for over a decade now – so why does he keep popping up in my head? And? I’m finding myself thinking about him a lot during waking hours too because of these dreams. Like I’m remembering something funny he did or said, or a place we went to together, or whatever. And right now a song is on the radio that reminds me of him.

Know what? I miss him.

And before you get all freaked out – I don’t miss him in a “God, I have to find him” way, I miss parts of my life when he was there. Only parts, though. If you are a regular reader, you know there are plenty I could do without. But for better or worse, he was the one guy I spent the most time in a real relationship with – the guy I was sure I would wind up marrying. And probably with all of the turmoil in my life right now, my subconscious mind is bringing me back to the person who was actually (in a weird sick kind of way) a constant in my life, and someone who took care of me. Now? ME takes care of me. And I take care of my daughter. And the cats. And goofy Ginger, the teenaged pup-pup. And I like being a responsible adult, but it is really scary too.

Satan retires in a month and a half – and although I have sent out resumes and went on interviews and contacted headhunters, I am still coming up empty handed. I guess since jobs always kind of fell into my lap, I really didn’t expect it to be this difficult. But it really is. And I get a knot in my stomach when I realize that I have a mortgage, a second mortgage, a car payment, insurance payments, utilities, credit card bills, Lexie’s school loan… one thing I know for sure – even working double time at RL will NOT pay all those – I need a real nine-to-five. And hell if I can’t FIND one.

Funny how I would’ve killed to be free of Satan, and now I wish he would reconsider retirement. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate him – you don’t just suddenly stop being an asshole – but he does pay well and heck, a job is a job. Especially when the alternative is living in a refrigerator box. And I don’t even know anyone who has gotten a new refrigerator lately. Plus, I am pretty sure all of us wouldn’t fit. And Lexie (now that she is in JUNIOR HIGH) would demand her own box, anyway. So I would need two. At least. Crap.

So yes, I am under a bit of stress. And Kevin used to make me laugh. And he would hold me. And oddly enough, he made me feel safe. I haven’t found another guy like that since then. Mr. South Side made me feel very UNsafe - being stalked does that to you. And the few other guys I dated just weren’t right. Now is probably the absolute WORST time to decide I am lonely and want someone in my life – what with all the upheaval – but I really am. It would be really nice to not have everything on MY shoulders, and to have someone to cry to who would tell me it would all be ok. That I would be safe, and I wouldn’t lose my home, or my car, or everything I have worked so hard for in one fell swoop. It would be nice for someone to make me laugh and support me when I need it most (like now??). But realistically I know that won’t be happening any time soon. Hence my nighttime visits from Kevin. Which I kind of enjoy – since they are really pretty nice dreams. Even though real life Kevin is probably a half-dead junkie living with some bimbo in a heroin den by now. GOD I am so mean and pessimistic!! Ok, I’ll give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he finally cleaned up and is living happily with a wonderful girl and a great job. But more than likely not. As big a heart as he had, and as much as he always meant well, the drugs just had a stronger hold on him and although I PRAY he was able to clean up, I really doubt it. Sigh.

Anyway, it may interest you to know that I have take out my printed copy of TBOTE and plan on reading it over the next few days to try to get back into it. Since I keep dreaming of Kevin and all. Writing more may help relieve the stress too. And maybe if I finish in the next few weeks (yeah, right) I will magically be “discovered” and offered a brazillian dollars for my novel and not have to worry about finding a new job after all.

God, I crack myself up!

Ummmmm....

2007-09-04T14:14:00.000-05:00

Yeah so... hi. Notice I removed the last post - that is because there just MAY be people surfing the net that I do NOT want reading that. Not SC himself, per se, but - well, I prefer to keep my reputation intact. Not that I have a reputation - at least not anymore. I used to. Back in the fun days. HA!

Anyway. Life has been just so darn exciting I haven't had time to blog. Ok, that is an outright lie. Life is not exciting, it is mundane, but it sure as heck is BUSY. And adding a daughter who just started junior high to the mix makes things that much more frustrating. I think an evil spirit has taken over my sweet daughter's body. But what can you do? Guess I just have to ride it out.

I just read in the Tribune that some housewife got her blogs noticed by posting little stories on e-bay (I'm not too sure how that whole thing started, I got too po'd to read the full article, but if you want to, it is here) and now has offers from Nickelodeon, film producers, and a bunch of literary agents. Just by writing cute little humorous anecdotes about life. HELLO?? What does a gal have to do to get NOTICED around here??

Oh... yeah... maybe post a bit more often. And maybe actually write another chapter of TBOTE. But still. I'm kind of like that blonde in the lottery joke -

A blonde realizes she is going to be laid off from her job in the near future and starts panicking about money. "Please, God," she prays, "let me win the lottery. I am a good person, and I REALLY need the money!"

The next day she wakes up only to realize she didn't win. So she prays harder.

"Please, God! I can't afford my car payment and I might have my car repossessed! PLEASE let me win the lottery!"

And she still didn't win.

Finally, things are REALLY bad, and she falls to her knees, with tears streaming down her face.

"PLEASE GOD!!" she begs. "My mortgage is due and I have no money and I may wind up on the streets! PLEASE let me win the lottery!!"

Suddenly lightning flashes and a booming voice says with exasperation, "Help me out here - BUY A TICKET!"

HA HA HA!!! I guess I need to "buy my ticket" as well. On that note, I am going to pretend to work some more, and try to sweep the cobwebs out of the creativity section of my brain and maybe post more often. Keep your fingers crossed.

The Supernanny - For Dogs

2007-06-21T15:08:00.000-05:00

Ginger had her very first puppy class last night. (By the way - 18.2 pounds now. And still growing.) She was very excited to walk into the local Petsmart with Lexie and me, and went nuts when she saw all of her classmates. We tried to reel her in, but were admonished by her instructor, who told us, "Let them play! We don't keep children away from each other in school, do we?" So she happily sniffed and jumped on and licked her new pals.

And the instructor was amazing. Lexie commented, "She's just like the Supernanny, mom, but for dogs!" She really was. Gracie is a large woman, not in a fat way, but in a German fraulein way, if you know what I mean. And she has a British accent. She's definitely not the kind of person you would ever want to be on the bad side of. She stressed that her main concern is the dogs, and that we, as humans, were secondary. That if we worked together, we would have perfectly mannered pooches who would soon become productive members of society. And I believe her. Actually, I'm too intimidated not to believe her. I only hope Lexie stays on her good side...

Anyway, there are seven total dogs in Ginger's class. Since it would've been very rude to snap pictures of them during class, I searched the net for acceptable representations. And I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. All the pictures are really close to what the actual pups look like. So, here are Ginger's new classmates:

First we'll start with the three dogs whose names escape me. A boston terrier, a wheaten terrier, and a schnoodle (I think - at least this schnoodle looks like the dog in her class).
Then there was Nala, the precocious boxer who learned to "hush" before the rest of the class learned, since she had a proclivity for barking:
And Nunu, who was going through class for the second time (but Ginger really loved Nunu anyway...I have a feeling she's going to be a bad influence on my baby...!): And finally, there was Walter. By far, my favorite of her classmates. Walter didn't quite seem to fit in with the rest of the group... maybe because he was barely ten weeks old... but Gracie said he would be the leader of the class in a couple weeks. I don't know, what do you think? Walter is a papillon/maltese mix and weighs about a pound, if that much. He was really scared around all the bigger dogs, and really didn't want to walk into the classroom. So his owners sort of pulled him on his leash, making him look kind of like a little dustmop. You couldn't help but laugh.

Lexie and I listened raptly as Gracie told us all that it was important to exercise your dog before class so that they would be tired enough to pay attention and learn, but not too tired. "Especially you!" she said sharply, pointing at our Ginger. Lexie and I laughed uncomfortably and shrank a bit on our stools while Ginger continued to prance around as far as her leash would allow. Then Gracie called Ginger and gave her hugs and kisses. So I guess Ginger was forgiven for her rambunctiousness.

At one point in the class, Gracie asked us if any of the pups were fixed yet. Negatives all around. She then asked how many males were in the class. We all looked around in curiosity to see the lone hand in the air - Walter's owner. Amid the laughter, Gracie shook her head. "I'm not sure Walter even knows he's a boy yet," she commented, "and no offense, but I'm thinking it would be physically impossible for him to do anything with any of these ladies anyway." Poor Walter. "Although Lord knows, stranger things have happened," she added with a grin.

All in all, I think all three of us enjoyed the class thoroughly. I just hope that Ginger earns enough points to graduate. I would be mortified if my pup-pup flunked out. I'll keep you posted on all things doggie, I promise.

Scary

2007-06-19T13:27:00.001-05:00

So what I think is that if I am to continue to be honest with myself, and to stay mentally healthy, I need to write. And I need to write the not-so-great things, too, because pretending that everything is hunky-dory is a really bad thing to do, especially when you have a past like mine. And yet, I do tend to do that way more than I should. Well, I either put on a happy face or just drop out of sight entirely. And neither is a good thing. For me, at least.

As you saw yesterday, I am a tiny bit overextended lately. And tired. After working all day with Satan, I went in for another RL shift, which kept me running my ass off until almost 10:30 p.m. Soooo... start the day job at 8:30, leave RL at 10:30 - you do the math. Yes, kiddies, 14 hours of work, then it's back home, shower, go to bed and back up at 6 a.m. to do the whole thing all over again today. Last night I was a bit more on edge than usual. Lexie called at like 9:30 to inform me that the toilet was about to overflow, the cat just puked, and "when are you coming home??" And I still had two tables sitting, and I still had sidework to do, and I was tired, and crabby, and depressed, and I really wanted to just cry. I started wondering if it all was worth it, you know? I mean, here I was, busting my ass, while my daughter sits home all day by herself. What kind of mother am I, anyway? Do I really need the extra money? Well, the short answer is 'yes,' but I started trying to figure out how I would manage if I did quit. And the bottom line is, I probably would, but I would never get out of debt or get that new car or be able to actually have a savings account.

So I'm sitting in one of the booths, doing some sidework and waiting for my tables to leave and worrying about Lexie, when Dani asks if I would like to join some of the other servers for a drink after work. And I really wanted to say, "Definitely! I'm there!" but instead I shake my head and smile. Because I am a responsible person now, and I have a daughter who needs me, and a cat who puked, and a toilet on the verge of overflowing, and I have to save my money and get up at 6:00 am to work for Satan. But my brain is still going 100 mph since I am now exhausted and crabby and depressed, and it wasn't until I finally left the restaurant and got in the car that it happened.

I'm guessing it was a combination of my mental state and watching "Intervention" the night before and the fact that the song playing on my radio was seducing me with its mellow lyrics:
Hello? Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me...
Is there anyone at home?
Come on, come on now,
I hear you're feeling down.
Well, I can ease your pain
Get you on your feet again.
Relax -
I need some information first.
Just the basic facts -
Can you show me where it hurts?
There is no pain, you are receding...
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon...
You are only coming through in waves...
Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying...
When I was a child, I had a fever,
My hands felt just like two ballons.
Now I've got that feeling once again -
I can't explain, you would not understand -
This is not how I am...
I have become comfortably numb.

I wanted to get high.

I wanted to go back to Kenny's apartment with the balcony door open and the summer breeze blowing the curtains towards us as we partied. I wanted to let Kevin fill my pipe and light it for me and inhale the smoke and let it take me away to where I was comfortably numb. Back to before the paranoia, before the end stages of addiction - when I had no job, no daughter, no responsibilities except for making sure the test tube was dry enough to cook up a new batch of crack.

When I could've cared less how late it was, because the days and nights all bled together, anyway, and you slept when you felt like it. When collection agencies made me laugh, because they couldn't get blood from a stone. When nothing mattered - nothing - except for that feeling you got when the drugs took over your body and soul...

For the first time in I can't even remember how long, I actually felt the physical nausea I used to feel before I partied. My head had that buzzing sensation and I could feel myself starting to grind my teeth. I closed my eyes at the stoplight before my complex, and took a deep breath. when the light turned green, I continued on my drive with my stomach churning and pulled into my driveway a few short minutes later.

I turned off the car and the music stopped. And I felt like I wanted to cry. Because I had never had a jones like this since the previous millennium. And it scared me.

And I walked into my house, and I saw Lexie's smile, and Ginger was practically falling over from the force of her tail-wagging, and it all stopped. Because all the stress, all the responsibility, all the hard work... this was what it had accomplished for me. My own home, my wonderful daughter, my psycho pets, everyone who loved me and who I loved back. Trust, and the knowledge that I am a good person. The ability to take care of not only myself, but a child and my menagerie. The security of having money in the bank, and not having to depend on anyone else for that. The strength to have those feelings, and to overcome them instead of giving in to the old temptations.

Because it is so not worth it. I may be going through some tough times, but I need to keep my focus on the most important things in my life. I don't ever want to lose them, especially not for 'one more hit.' Which I am too smart to think would end with 'just one hit.' I refuse to go down that road again - ever.

And I think writing all this down and having some cyber-support really helps, too. So thank you all for being here, listening, and not judging. I promise when those feelings resurface, as I'm sure they probably will, I'll keep my focus and write it out again. Things may suck at times, but at least I know they'll always get better.

Gee, I Almost Even Forgot to Put a Title...!

2007-06-18T12:19:00.000-05:00

You know, I just read Amber's newest post - one that has apparently been a long time in the making. And I can totally relate to how she feels. On a different level, of course. But she made me think a lot about myself and my blogging (or lack thereof, as the case may be). I miss it too. But for whatever reason, it just seems so damn difficult now. Just like TBOTE. It's all "up here," but for whatever reason, it just never makes it to print. I know I have let down a lot of people with that, too, because the story is just kind of hanging, and I feel really bad. But it just isn't happening now.

And I look back at my early blogs and I smile and laugh and when I do get around to reading all MY favorite bloggers, I realize how much I miss them too. What happened? There was a time when I made a point of reading everyone on my blogroll first thing in the am, when I couldn't WAIT for Satan to take a day off or leave early or even just take a long phone call so I could blog myself and comment as much as I wanted. Now, I think "eh," and forget about it.

Which makes me sad, because then I think about how I have probably lost most of my cyber-buddies because I myself have become such a god-awful cyber-buddy. THEN, I post one new blog and see comments from the likes of Amber, and Alice, and Rick, and Cheryl and I get all sentimental and think "they're still THERE! They DO still like me!" Which makes me feel like I am a total sap and am probably losing my mind as well. You know, since I feel like crying over comments on my blog.

Anyway, as far as losing myself, I also feel dangerously close to doing so. Because having two jobs, and a daughter, and two cats, and a puppy makes me forget about the little things - like how important it is to do things for ME every once in a while. And how Lexie is being so damn supportive and understanding when I come home EXHAUSTED and go to bed at like 7:30 pm (like I did last night) or when I am crabby and snap at her for no reason - she really deserves more of my time and I need to make a point of letting her know how much I appreciate her... and how I really shouldn't feel guilty if I want to use my ONE day off to just relax with my daughter instead of doing whatever it is whoever wants or expects me to do.

I feel like I have been shutting out a lot of people, both in cyberspace and in the "real world," and believe me, it is not intentional. I love all the people in my life so much and it makes me feel bad knowing that I've been doing that, on purpose or not. But at this juncture in my life, I can't afford to give up either job - especially when my job with Satan is ending in November and I have no prospects on the horizon. I need to keep moving forward and keep doing what I have to do, but I also need to slow it down a bit. I'm not quite sure how I am going to do that yet, but I'm going to try...!

Know what? I'm not even sure any of this entry made sense, but I think I'll post it anyway. I thank all of you who continue to check on me and comment, and hopefully you'll continue to bear with me. Maybe someday I'll start making more sense, and maybe someday I'll be struck by inspiration and get another chapter cranked out, who knows? In the meantime, I need to just focus on taking things one day at a time...

Make My Day

2007-06-13T09:46:00.000-05:00

There are times when my daughter cracks me up. Often, these times are when she isn't trying to be funny. Which makes me laugh even more. I know as a supportive parent, I should try to keep my laughter in check a times, but the other day it was impossible. And honestly? I needed a good laugh. So her golf conversation really made my day.

Yes, her "golf conversation."

You see, a few months ago my father called Lexie up. "I've signed you up for golf lessons," he informed her. "You start on June 11 at the driving range right behind the house."

"Ummmmmm..." (that would be Lexie.)

"Now don't worry, I'm going to get you a set of used clubs. They won't be the best, of course, but as you improve maybe I'll get you a better set."

"Ummmmmm..."

"So I'll bring those by when I get them, and I'll drop off the information on the lessons, too. All right, talk to you later!"

Now, Lexie isn't a golfer. As a matter of fact, I seem to recall the first time we took her miniature golfing when she was like four. She grabbed the club like a baseball bat and almost took out me and her grandpa. But apparently since his grandson is only 16 months old, he decided that Lexie would be his golf protege. And didn't really give her the opportunity to say no.

Sine I have raised my daughter well, she sucked it up and acted excited for her grandpa's sake. But she told anyone who would listen, "I really don't want to play golf, but since grandpa wants me to so bad..."

In any case, as the day drew near, my dad got more and more excited, and Lexie got more and more apprehensive. Finally, the day arrived. I left for work, and told her I would call her at 9:10 to make sure she was leaving. When I called, she actually sounded a little excited. Maybe this golf thing isn't such a bad idea, I thought to myself. I mean, I've never golfed in my life, but Lord knows it's a good networking tool and hell, maybe she's got a little Tiger in her, who knows, right?

So I'm sitting at work, watching the clock, and at about 10:10 my phone rings. It was my little golf pro - but wait - what's this? She sounded all out of breath...

"Whoever said golf was EASY and RELAXING is a LIAR!" she spat into the phone.

There. That is exactly where my giggles started. But I tried to keep them in check as I responded sweetly, "Why, baby? How was it? Did you have fun?"

What came next was a tirade that left me gasping for breath with tears in my eyes.

"WELL," she began, "it is hard. And these clubs are heavy! And every time the instructor came by, I would miss the ball. And he would tell me to FOCUS. And I WAS FOCUSING!! And a third grader hit the ball 175 feet, and the farthest I hit the ball was 95 feet. And I think I burned off 20 million calories, AND I am sweating off ALL of my sunscreen!" her tween indignation burned through the phone line.

I tried to regain my composure and tell her, "Well, honey, it was your first lesson. I'm sure you'll get better."

"It's not funny," she said, with a trace of laughter in her own voice. "Maybe I'll sign you up for golf lessons and see how you like it!"

"Well, now, see, I have to work, so I really don't have time," I demurred, still wiping at the tears in my eyes.

She didn't even seem to hear me. "AND? I don't think my fingers will ever straighten out again."

"Why?" I mananged to say while still laughing.

"From gripping the club so hard!" she said in exasperation.

"But honey, are you supposed to grip it that hard?" I asked innocently.

"NO!" she responded with frustration. "But if I don't, I'm gonna throw the stupid club! And stop laughing!!!"

I ended my conversation with the young Tigress by telling her to go home, drink some water, relax and call me later. Which she did, and after some relaxing? I think she actually kind of liked the golfing.

Or to put it in her own words, " I really like hitting things, only not when people are watching me."

I'm hoping by "things" she only meant golf balls...

Yesterday went a little better, although she does have a blister. I promised her a golf glove. Haven't heard from her today yet. But that first day? That conversation will keep me chuckling every time I replay it in my head. God, I love my daughter!

***

And since you are such loyal readers, I will leave you with a few pictures:

Here is Ginger, the cute little puppy who was supposed to be only 30 pounds. She is now 16 1/2 pounds, and not quite four months old. According to the nice attorney in my office, "Looks like you are going to have the World's Largest Sheltie." Not funny.

And? Drumroll, please... my favorite godson and the pro golfer extrordinaire. TOO CUTE, RIGHT?? All right, folks, dasi, OUT!!

School Days...

2007-06-08T10:39:00.000-05:00

Hi! It's me, dasi! I know, I know... Does being totally EXHAUSTED excuse me from my blogging? Because between the two jobs, a suddenly sullen and attitude-laden daughter, a dibetic cat and a puppy who is growing more than she should (15 lbs already - and she's not even 4 months old!!), I haven't had time to THINK, much less blog. Anyway, I'm sure none of you have any sympathy for me. You don't care about my issues - unless I am blogging about them, right?? (Did I mention that being stressed and exhausted makes me chairman of my very own Pity Party as well??) Anyway, lucky readers that you are - this goes out to all three of you who still check my humble blog every once in a blue moon. It's actually going to be a very good blog, because it is about my grammar school reunion, and with PICTURES, no less!

So this was all a few weeks ago, after much planning and organizing the day itself finally arrived. I was really excited. Mary Pat and I got there early to set up, and Paul, Lynn and Sue showed up a little while after. Now, Paul and I have been in close contact for a while now, but Lynn and Sue I haven't seen in forever. And guess what? THEY DIDN'T RECOGNIZE ME!! I was really happy! Because, dear readers, in grammar school, you would know me as the girl with the glasses, bad perm, worse teeth, and unibrow. Yes, unibrow. I hate to admit it, but it is true. Can anyone say "awkward phase?" Heh.

So as the night went on, I continued to drink these yummy concoctions the bartender was making for me (cranberry vodka, pear vodka and lemonade - I think. I just kept telling her "make me another whatever") and since I don't drink very often anymore, I was EXTRA social. For instance, guess who was there? KRIS ROGOWSKI. You may remember her from this blog a while back. And guess what? She is still pretty snarky. I sat down next to her at the bar and told her she was really mean in grammar school. Her reply? "Funny, I don't remember being mean..." To which I responded, "Oh, you were, believe me! Actually, I wrote about you on my blog. Because my daughter has a friend who is just like you were. Or had a friend, actually. Because she really doesn't talk to her anymore. And I'm really glad, you know, because that girl is a little BITCH." After that, there was kind of a lull in the conversation. Go figure. But I tell you, it felt great 25 years later to finally confront her!! There she is, the short one on the end in the black shirt. And not to sound rude, (oh, hell, who am I kidding? I WANT to sound rude!!) but she should really start wearing a bra.
The other girls look GREAT, though - look at Suzy in the pink pants - she has FOUR sons - the oldest is 16. AMAZING!! And Julie, with the long hair and black camisole top? Two kids, 11 and 10. I think for the most part, our class aged well.

I've told you about Paul before, right? He was my unrequited love in fifth grade. I say unrequited because EVERYONE knew about my crush, and this is what he wrote in my fifth grade autograph book (yes, fifth grade authograph book. What can I say? We were a bunch of geeks.):
Broke my heart, the little shit. But as it turned out, we dated for a while in sophomore year in high school (once he discovered I turned into a "f---ing babe") as seen in this lovely picture (check out my Flashdance shirt - GOD I loved that shirt!!): Eventually we wound up just friends, and now he is living happily ever after with his true love, James. So I guess it is for the best that things didn't work out romantically... I love Paul to death though, and the fact of the matter is that we STILL make a damn good-looking couple regardless! My other grammar school crush Tony was there as well, only he was with his wife. He looks pretty much the same and is a real sweetheart. Here's my two grammar school loves:
He's a cutie, isn't he?? The only down side of the evening was the fact that three of our classmates were unable to make it because two had passed away, and the third, well... here he is in sixth grade:
AND, here he is now:
I tried to convince the rest of the class that we should take a road trip out to Logan the next day, you know, just say "hi" and maybe drop off his copy of the "Revue of '82" (our class variety show - he did a square dance, I bet his fellow inmates would LOVE it!!) but there were no takers. Go figure.

Anyway, that was my reunion in brief. I'd write more, but all that photo uploading took a lot out of me. And I really should do some work for Satan, since I am stuck here until November. But since we all had such a great time at the Reunion, we are now planning a picnic for all the kids and families too. Amazing how even after 25 years some bonds just never break...

I Done Good!

2007-04-26T15:22:00.000-05:00

Well, since I forwarded my reunion survey and included a link to my humble blog, it appears I have indeed attracted several new visitors. And I also received several e-mails from old classmates, all of which I greatly appreciated. One of said e-mails included the line “you seem to have done well for yourself.” When I saw that, I actually laughed out loud. Because, well, I never really thought I did. I mean, here are my fellow classmates, pretty much all of whom are married, with happy families, college degrees up the wazoo, impressive job titles and hobbies and interests – and then there’s me. Still single (although I’m really not complaining too much about that – well, usually!), dropped out (ok, advised to leave) college without receiving any fancy letters after my name, paralegal with no paralegal certification (read – intelligent, yet glorified secretary) slash Red Lobster waitress who has more shows on my tivo than time to watch. And not because I have no time, mind you, but because I am hooked on EVERY tv show created. Almost.

But then I started thinking… maybe I didn’t do well for myself in conventional terms, but in the grand scheme of things, I guess I did. Because of my little detours through life, I have faced more obstacles than most people ever will. I went from the Catholic school honor roll student to the high school/college wannabe “cool” girl (but instead was just the hanger-on who put up with all the teasing and “joking around” just to be accepted) to the even more insecure girlfriend of a drug addict to a drug addict myself… and then finally to a survivor. A survivor in the truest sense of the word – because I fought like hell to overcome my addiction and build a life for myself and my daughter on my own. In recovery I met a lot of people, and the sad truth is that a lot of them never managed to completely kick the habit. I’ve been to the funerals of several. I’ve heard nightmarish stories about others. And I thank God that I was able to stay clean. And? I pray for the strength to stay clean. Because even almost a dozen years later, I don’t know what I would do if anyone offered me a hit. Or a line. Sure, I drink, I don’t believe one addiction necessarily constitutes abstinence from everything, but I have never put myself in a position where I may have to test my resolve where cocaine is concerned. Scary thing is, working at Red Lobster especially puts me in a place where I know damn well there may be a situation thrown at me involving coke, since most of my coworkers are just slightly (ha!) younger than me, and I remember how invincible twenty-somethings feel. Not that I hang out with them or anything, (although I did go to a party once… that is one story I’ll have to share!) but if I do go to a party or something I have to remember where I came from and act accordingly.

Wow – that was heavy stuff. I guess what I’m trying to say while I sidetrack myself is that I did do well for myself. I’m proud of the person I am, the employee I am, the mother and sister and daughter I am. I’m proud of what I accomplished, even though to some it may not seem like much. Because I did it myself – busted my ass, in fact. And will continue to do so because that’s the kind of person I am.

Oh, and? If any of the hostesses from RL are reading this – you do think I’m pretty cool, right? Because my daughter told me you were only being nice to me because I am old. Which I’m not, of course. Old, that is. I am so definitely cool.

Just Another Excuse...

2007-04-24T11:07:00.000-05:00

…for not writing more. But at least it’s a cute excuse – I broke down and got that puppy last Saturday. Her name is Ginger and she is a sheltie mix – all of about 7 pounds right now. Baby and Ace seem to be getting along with her a bit better lately – that’s Ace in the pictures with her. Of course, she is now chewing everything – including the cats, so they aren’t very happy with her currently! We had a little scare with her over the weekend, she had a case of kennel cough that developed into “puppy pneumonia,” but after $254 in vet bills and two different kinds of antibiotics, she seems to be doing well. Anyway, with two cats, two jobs, a puppy and a daughter, my sanity level is deteriorating rapidly!I figured I ought to update, even briefly, since I put a link to this on my grammar school reunion survey. So if there are any St. Monica alums reading this – HI!!! And I hope you enjoy my ramblings. For the rest of you, my 25 year Grammar School Reunion is rapidly approaching, and I am really looking forward to it. It’s been a lot of fun getting things organized, my friend and I were picking out music the other night and cracking up at some of the old songs. Of course, Lexie just rolled her eyes and made fun of us AND our music. But really, what does an 11 year old know, anyway, right??

Funny thing is, it’s been kind of bittersweet, because memories have a way of twisting up your insides and making you do silly things like play the “what if” game… Obviously, my regular readers know my background – my fellow alums will probably be a bit shocked when (or if) they ever read “TBOTE,” but looking back makes you regret the mistakes and long for second chances. Which I know is really ridiculous, because I am a firm believer in the theory that everything happens for a reason. EVERYTHING. And you can’t go back, anyway, so there’s really no use in regrets or “if only’s.” But still… And you should see my old classmates! Well, on paper, at least! It’s really great to know how happy and successful they all seem. Which has a tendency to coax out that annoying little voice that whispers “God, and look at what a loser you turned out to be!” I hate that voice. Because it’s not true – but it still can make you feel insecure at the most inconvenient times.

I guess it’s pretty normal though, to be worried as being perceived as “not good enough” or “the loser…” Although the bottom line is, I know of ONE classmate who is a much bigger loser than I could ever be…! And I won’t tell you who – you can guess all you want (and you’ll probably be right, anyway) but you’ll find out for sure at the reunion!

Well, I think this post will suffice for the time being. Maybe my hit count will start increasing a bit too – I seem to have lost a few people (gee, wonder why??) and hopefully I can lure them back with the promise of more posts. So for what it’s worth – I promise more posts. More frequently too. Honest!

Stuck in Neutral

2007-03-29T09:05:00.001-05:00

I want to write. I WANT to write. I want to write about the party I went to Saturday night, and how it was fun but bittersweet at the same time, because I’m not the same person I was all those years ago. I want to write more of my novel, I want to FINISH my novel, for God’s sake. I want to write about my upcoming reunion, and how I’m really excited to see all the people I went to grade school with, but how I’m also afraid they won’t like who I am now. I want to write about the fact that today is one of my high school best friend’s birthday, but the last time I saw her was a few years ago and we lost touch… which kind of bums me out. I want to write about a documentary I watched the other day on HBO about a girl in Canada who is a crack addict and can’t stop. I want to write about my daughter who is growing up so fast that it is killing me trying to teach her independence and yet protect her at the same time.

I want to write – but I can’t. And all these thoughts in my head are making me crazy just itching to get out, yet my fingers don’t seem to want to cooperate in the typing department. And when they DO – the thoughts get so jumbled they just don’t seem to come out right. At all.

I hate this. I really do. But I can’t force myself to write, therefore I will continue to wait out this drought and hope that someday I can get myself back on track. Soon.

Wow - It's a New Post!

2007-03-13T09:24:00.000-05:00

Wow - I didn't realize it had been two weeks again... What's happening to me?? Is it possible to lose your creativity with old age as well as everything else? Dunno, but for whatever reason, writing hasn't exactly been tops on my priority list... Even though there ARE times I really feel like writing, unfortunately those times are usually pretty inopportune, like during a waitressing shift or while I am lying in bed. But I'm not going to apologize, because that seems like a waste of time. Like I tell my daughter, apologies only mean something if you CHANGE the behavior you are apologizing for. And I can't honestly say my bogging will increase, but I can say I will try. Anyway, enough of the small talk.

I didn't quit RL, actually, in talking to the GM I got the write up rescinded and was told that it is "refreshing" to have an employee actually approach the situation with maturity and rationalization rather than just screaming, yelling and complaining. I think I should be flattered, but I also feel old. Actually, I liked it better working at RL when I dated the manager and never had to worry about write-ups... ;) I think the whole situation got blown way out of proportion. Matt, the writer-upper, has been extremely nice and has gone out of his way to make me happy lately. I think he may have been repreimanded for going overboard, but I also think he only wrote me up because he felt as though he needed to "flex his muscles" and remind me who is boss. Silly to get involved in a pissing match with an employee no matter what, if you ask me, but whatever. It is over and done with and I have moved on.

Satan has informed me that he shall continue his reign in Hell until November 30, so now I have an official end date. And no severance. Bummer. Although, I DO get a nice bonus if I stay at least until September 1, which I think I can manage. And he also told me that if I do stay beyond 9/1, until 11/30, that I can bring a book to read or surf the web when I have nothing to do, since it will be pretty slow. So hell (no pun intended), I figure even if I DO find a job before 11/30, I'll make sure my start date isn't until December, cause who doesn't want to get paid for reading books and surfing the net?? Especially if I won't get in trouble for it if I get caught!! ;) Things have been pretty crazy around here lately, though, since he is (yay) leaving for his annual two week spring vacation on the 26th. So as he has done every year at this time, he is dumping ridiculously large loads of work on me and expecting the impossible as far as getting things done. Actually, I really SHOULD be working on files instead of blogging right now, but he isn't in yet, and lately if I feel the need to write and I have the time I need to just DO IT. besides, what's he gonna do, fire me? HA!

Oh my. I actually do have a few really interesting things to share with y'all, but I think I will wait just a bit. A few client stories from here in Hell, tales about grammar school reunion planning, and of course cute nephew and wonderful/impossible daughter stories. But like I said, those will wait. And hopefully keep you coming back. Well, the promise of those stories and the hope that one day you'll see a new Chapter should keep you checking in for I figure a couple more months, right? (I know, I know, BAD DASI. "TBOTE" has officially hit a major roadblock. What can I say? I'm workin' on it!!) Have a great one, later!!

Standing Up for Myself

2007-02-28T10:08:00.000-06:00

I can’t remember the last time I was this upset – this FRUSTRATED and ANGRY. I had a really hard time sleeping last night because my mind was racing, going over everything that happened and getting more and more pissed off. And even today, I am still upset. It may sound stupid, and you may think I am overreacting, but I have a tendency to take things like this very seriously. Especially when I feel personally attacked, as I do in this situation. So enough of the prelude, here is what happened.

As you all know, I have been at RL for just over four months now. And I enjoy it. Really I do. But honestly? I am frickin’ exhausted. I am pushing 40 and working over 60 hours a week, 20 plus on my feet running around. But I deal. Because, well, I want/need the money, and I am good at serving. I know this because I am told so by my guests and by my managers. Well, some of the managers, at least. In any case, I have no problem working the hours if the money is there, and Lexie has been a real trooper through the whole transition. Although that, too, has been hard. It’s actually part of the reason for the whole puppy thing, sort of a “keep her busy” project when summer starts. ANYWAY.

On several occasions, I have been in situations where I either have a table finishing or leaving, and no other tables at all. Which means that I hadn’t been “sat” in a while, since my most recent table is ready to leave. When this happens, it is usually a bit later in the evening, or if not, ridiculously slow. So I tend to do my “sidework,” clean off my tables, and look forward to getting home to Lexie. And then: I get sat. And almost immediately after I have greeted this new table, I get told that I am “cut” – which means the hostesses won’t be seating me any more and I am finished for the night – that is, when this new table has eaten, paid, and left. This burns the HELL out of me, and I have told the managers as much on several occasions. For those of you not in the service industry, let me explain why.

Servers do get paid an hourly rate, but their major income is from tips. The hourly rate for servers is currently $3.90 an hour. And The Man takes taxes out of both your hourly wage AND what your tip calculation is, based on your sales for the night. Besides this, servers have to “tip out” both the busboy and the bartender, 10% of your alcohol sales to the bar, and a minimum of $3 to the busboy, generally more if they are extra helpful. So when you have one table at the end of your shift, and no others, you will probably be on the clock for at least another hour – waiting for one tip which generally is about $5 - $7, out of which you may have to tip the bar (if they are drinking) and honestly? My time is worth more than $5 an hour. Especially if it is during the week and I have been working since 8:30 am and have a daughter to get home to. But besides complaining to the managers, there isn’t much you can do. Which REALLY sucks. And? I am not the only server this happens to, and certainly not the only one irritated (to put it lightly) by the whole thing.

So last night is incredibly slow. But even so, I manage to get five tables sat pretty much one after the other – only it is two singles and three deuces. (Even though at RL it is pretty much FORBIDDEN for a server to have more than 3 tables at a time – remember that fact.) All small checks. And due to a mixup with a new server, I end up taking a table that was supposed to be hers – only they had been sitting there for like ten minutes. I do my best to schmooze them and yet? $4 on a $60 check. Yes, dear readers, BAD tip night. Which happens – whatever. So my last two tables are finishing up, one pays and leaves, the other asks for containers for their leftovers. By now it is about 8:30, and we close at 10:00. Not much happening on a Tuesday night. When I come back with the containers, I notice that the hostess is leading an old man to my station. ONE DAMN OLD MAN who has a newspaper, no less. And here I am, sidework done, finishing up my last table at 8:30 on a Tuesday night. I can feel the flushing start in my face, but I calm myself and walk up to the manager in front and ask, “Ok, Matt? Why did they just seat me a single when I have no other tables? I mean, am I going to be cut now and be stuck with just this one guy?”

Matt was a bit flustered – he’s a young guy. “Well, um, I mean, you’re not cut yet… but yeah, probably really soon…”

“Ok, so why seat me a single? I really don’t want to hang around for another hour or two waiting for ONE GUY. Besides, this is the third single I’ve had tonight, and I’ve made no money whatsoever.”

“Yeah, well… see, your station was the most accommodating, so we had to seat it…”

At this point, another server, Jim (bless his heart) jumps in and says, “I’ll take him, dasi.”

But I tell him don’t worry about it, because he is on the other side of the restaurant. I instead approach a closing server, and ask him if he will take the table so I can go home. He is very good about it and understands completely. “Absolutely,” he says. “Why would you want to hang around for a single? I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

I thank him profusely, and finish up the rest of my work.

But then I am accosted my Matt. With a whole “You-can’t-do-that-that-was-your-table-and-you-weren’t-cut-yet-and-I-said-so-and-now-you-broke-the-rules” tirade.

I try to explain my situation, that I gave the table to a closer, which is often done by other servers, and I didn’t see the big deal.

“They’re not supposed to do that either. You weren’t cut, and since you start at 5:30, you have to stay on later to make it fair to the other servers who come in at 4:00 or who work splits.”

Ok, temper: check. Deep breath. “Matt,” I explain calmly, “as Chris (our GM) knows, I work a full-time job during the day. THAT is why I start at 5:30. I am not a kid whose only job is serving. And honestly? I get tired after about twelve hours in a row working. But that’s not the problem – I just do not want to waste my time hanging around for $3.”

More blather about “you can’t do that” and so I agreed that if I found myself in that situation again I would talk to a manager first. “Well, I have something for you before you leave tonight. Don’t leave before you see me,” he warned, and stalked off.

That “something?” A Written Warning. Which blew my mind. I told him and Zach (the other manager on duty) that I did NOT agree with this, that I thought it was unfair, and I was told that I had to sign it, but there was room for my comments. So you bet your sweet ASS I commented.

And after reading my comments, the two managers tried to rationalize and justify the write up by saying “if other servers are doing this too, we need to let them know. This isn’t just about you.” Oh, so I’M the scapegoat?? Was a Written Warning REALLY necessary?? I let them babble about guest service and hostesses needing to know who had what tables and not being fair to anyone else in the restaurant by my “misdeed.” I came back with the problems of “seating-then-cutting” and argued that the process wasn’t fair. The end result? The write-up stuck, but I think I made the managers uncomfortable with my ability to stand up for myself and not just shuffle my feet and mumble “ok, sorry, guys.”

I left with tears burning my eyes because it was so damn HUMILIATING to be treated like a grammar school kid getting a checkmark for bad behavior on their report card, especially by managers at least ten years my junior. And because I STILL don’t think it was fair. And like I said, I couldn’t sleep either, I kept tossing and turning and wondering if it all was worth it. Maybe I forego the new car and buy a used one, maybe we shine the puppy for now, and maybe I put RL in my past permanently. Maybe two jobs IS too much, and I know I DEFINITELY don’t need any more bullshit in my life.

I plan to discuss this with Chris, the GM, before my shift starts today. I have a lot of questions about Matt and Zach’s theories – such as, if they are so worried about guest dissatisfaction by having too many tables per server, why was I sat five tables? And what about when servers rotate in their sections (which they often do)? They don’t tell the managers or hostesses about that, how can they know who has what tables then? And does he really think that I am wrong about the “seat-and-cut” problem? Most importantly, does he think I am not a good server? If he can’t placate me, and make me understand why I should stay, maybe I will end my RL career. Because you know what? I have been through too much in my life to let some power trippy junior managers crush my spirit. Screw that.

Oh – and as far as the day job? Satan says we’re here till November.

Over and out.

Ok, So I'm Weak...

2007-02-27T16:20:00.000-06:00

...but who could possible resist this little furball? No, he's not mine. But this is the kind of puppy Lexie and I are getting come June. A Keeshond. Long story on the "why's" and "wherefore's", but suffice it to say my daughter won her long standing battle for a puppy.
I'll give you the details later. A bit busy now - but I wanted to let you all know I'm not dead, either.

Who I Am

2007-02-21T11:04:00.000-06:00

Growing up, I often felt “not good enough.” For whatever reason, I always had a hard time being proud of who I was. I always thought people didn’t really like me, boys didn’t really think I was pretty, teachers didn’t really think I was smart. I would get a sick feeling in my stomach when I said something I thought (in retrospect) was “stupid,” or if a friend didn’t call me back after I left a message, or if anyone looked at me in a way I interpreted as disdainful.

Because of this, I had extremely low self-esteem. Which may or may not have caused my life to take the twists and turns it ultimately did. In any case, I wound up pulling myself out of the hellhole I had been calling my life, stopped using drugs, and built a brand new life which I am very proud of. I never pulled any punches when it came to my past, because although it may not be a part of my life I am proud of, it made me who I am today. I have no problem telling people I am an addict, that I have eleven plus years clean. Obviously – or I wouldn’t be writing “TBOTE.” I feel it is a major part of who I am – the lessons learned both while I was “out there” and while I was in the recovery process are important ones. I learned to stand on my own two feet, to claim back my life under my terms, to accept help when I need it but to bust my ass to try to make things work on my own first.

It took all those years and all those experiences to make me strong, to make me accomplished, to make me mature. And yet there is still a part of me that aches when people look at me sideways, intentionally or not, still a part of me that feels that pang of insecurity when confronted with a group of people having a good time and laughing – wondering if they are laughing at me. Sometimes I can convince myself that it doesn’t matter what people think – that I know who I am, and I am a good person. Usually I manage to brush off the insecurities and realize that people like me for me, no matter what my faults are, and that nobody is perfect anyway.

And then I encounter a situation like the one last night and I feel like that stupid little girl again – wondering if I screwed up, feeling that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Even though at the time I thought nothing of it, and honestly still don’t, my parents have a way of making me feel ashamed, and I hate that.

See, some of the younger guy servers were standing around discussing drugs. More specifically, cocaine and crack. Their conversation amused me. One of them was saying how once you got addicted to crack, you were never the same. You were so messed up mentally and physically, that no matter what, you would be obviously scarred for life.

“Really?” I asked, trying to suppress a grin.

“Oh, yeah! I have a friend – he is really bad, man. You can just look at him and tell. And he like lost part of his mind, too. He like can’t get a job or anything.”

“So what you’re saying is that if you are addicted to, say, crack, even if you quit, you've pretty much screwed up your whole life?” I inquired.

The other two servers nodded gravely and also explained to me that basically addicts were ruined for life, because anyone could spot them a mile away since they deteriorated physically so extremely. Plus, they killed so many brain cells, they really could barely even form coherent sentences, even after they quit. Oh, and emotionally? They couldn’t bear to socialize with people anymore, they just lived in the dark and pretty much went crazy.

Ok, so maybe it is a good thing that these twenty-somethings truly thought that addiction was that bad. But it still struck me as funny, I mean, come on!

“Ever heard of CA?” I asked nonchalantly.

Initially – a blank look. Then, “Oh, yeah! Cocaine Anonymous, right?”

I smiled sweetly. “Just over eleven years.”

The looks on their collective faces was priceless. One of them shook my hand. “Wow! You? Eleven years clean though, huh? Amazing!”

Yes, me. This thirty-something single mom working two jobs, a slightly overweight but still pretty enough woman who can string together plenty of coherent sentences, the waitress who goes straight home to her daughter after every shift instead of joining the young’uns at the bars… I am an addict. I survived the hell I lived in, and I have no problem talking about it. I mean, I don’t go around saying “Look at me! I used to smoke crack!” but if the subject comes up, I don’t shy away from it. Why should I? I am a good person who made some bad choices. And if I can help other people understand addiction, or if I can stop someone from using by sharing my experience, or if I can plant the seed of recovery into a fellow addict’s mind – well, then, yay me.

But when I got home and called my father, anxious to share my “funny story,” he cut me off.

“You didn’t tell them about you, did you?” he demanded.

The old uncertain me always wanting to please kicked into overdrive. “No, of course not,” I responded meekly, suddenly not thinking it was that funny.

“Good, because people don’t need to know. It changes how they think about you. It’s not something to talk about,” he responded.

I hung up the phone feeling guilty and ashamed. Why did I tell them? I was a bad person, and now they all knew it. I was no longer dasi the nice server, I was dasi the lowlife addict.

But then I started to get angry. Angry at my dad for making me feel that way, and angry at myself for letting him. I called my mom to vent.

“But honey, there are some things you just shouldn’t discuss,” she said gently. “You know, people don’t need to know everything.”

“But mom! It’s ME. A part of MY life. And I may not be proud of it, but I’m certainly not ashamed,” I explained, wanting her to understand.

But she didn’t.

“Yes, well, we certainly aren’t ashamed of you, but it’s just not something you should really discuss with people.”

So sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. They are ashamed. And even though I have made great strides in my life, even though I beat my addiction and clawed my way into a better life for myself and my daughter, we just "won’t discuss it." Because nice families and good people don’t have addictions.

Well guess what? I DO. And I know I am a good person. And I am NOT ashamed of who I am. I have regrets, but I don’t dwell on them. I have moved forward, and I will continue to do so. I will talk about my history and answer peoples’ questions, and some people may judge me for it, but I don’t care. I refuse to hide who I am to please society or my parents.

I am dasi, and I am an addict. Deal with it.

Don't Mess With Mother Nature

2007-02-13T12:52:00.000-06:00

So, ummm… yeah. Apparently it wasn’t enough that fellow bloggers as well as friends in the real world and even my own daughter said I’d be crazy to go to the wake – Mother Nature has made it virtually impossible for me to go anyway.

I think Someone wants me to just leave the past in the past… But you’re right, Hope, it would’ve made a good blog! If I make it home from work in this blinding snow I’ll just snuggle with my daughter (if she’ll let me, she is a pre-teen, after all), eat frozen pizza while watching mindless tv and be grateful for what my life is now.

Rest in Peace, though, Mrs. B, I’m sure Kevin kept you pretty un-peaceful for most of your life, so you’ve earned it…

Old Ghosts

2007-02-12T11:10:00.000-06:00

Do I even have the right to ask for help in cyberspace? I mean, since I have been so out of touch with writing and commenting? I hope you guys are still around, because I need advice. And I don’t want to ask anyone here in my real world, because I’m pretty sure I’d know their answers. Which isn’t to say I don’t value the opinions of my family and friends, but I think some of them might “mean well” and be a little too close to the situation to give an unbiased response.

See, quirky person that I am, I read the obituaries pretty much on a daily basis when I get to work. Mainly because if I ever see my own name in there, I am DEFINITELY going home and taking the day off. But I also look for names that I recognize, of old friends, neighbors, teachers, etc. Today I saw a name I recognized.

It was Kevin’s mother.

Kevin from TBOTE - Kevin who I loved (and probably still do in a way) for the almost five years we were together. Kevin who made me laugh and who made me cry. I haven’t seen him in over ten years, but you don’t forget someone like Kevin. Everything we went through together gave us a bond that although eroded over time is still there…

This woman could have been my mother-in-law, had things gone differently. I remember her fondly, she liked me – and told me I was much better for her son than any of the other “bimbos” he dated. She was a spunky Irish woman who baked soda bread and made corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick’s Day, and smoked and drank like it was going out of style. But even so, she loved her family fiercely, and always told it like it was. She was a real piece of work.

The Irish Catholic in my blood tells me it is only proper to go to the wake, since I knew her well (even though it was so long ago) – anyone who is an Irish Catholic knows that even if you just recognize a person’s name, you go to their wake. It’s a no-brainer. Irish Catholics probably spend about one-quarter of their lives attending wakes and funerals, it’s just the way we are.

Besides, I want to see Kevin.

I want to see him, even though my stomach is churning as I type and I actually feel lightheaded. My life has done a 180 since I last saw him, and I’m hoping his has as well. I want to look him in the eye one more time and say a sober goodbye. Part of me is terrified that he is my “trigger,” that one moment with him could catapult my life right back to where it was ten years ago, but the logical part of me knows that won’t happen. I am older, stronger, and wiser. I have a life, a job and a daughter. Too much to ever lose.

I would be lying if I said I had no feelings for him anymore. Because I do. He loved me, and I loved him, and despite the hell we went through, we also had some really good times. He took care of me the best he knew how, and I am grateful for that. At the end, it wasn’t him I left, the Kevin I knew had been ravaged alive by drugs and alcohol. My Kevin was gone. And maybe I want to see him to find out if any of my Kevin has returned. And maybe if I do see him, and he hasn’t changed, my heart will break a little more but I will be able to lock the door on that chapter of my life.

In any case, the wake is tomorrow. And as fate would have it, I am not scheduled to work at RL. Which means I can go. But should I?

By Popular Demand...

2007-01-23T08:59:00.000-06:00

Well, actually not really "popular demand" - but my aunt DID ask me to post some pictures of my perfect godson, who is getting cuter every day. And I thought, "Gee, what a great idea! I can show off my nephew and add a new post all at the same time!!" So this is just a photo post, which hopefully will attract more people and give me time to write something substantial...
Here he is just basically looking cute - ten months old. Hard to believe he'll be a year old in February already!! JUST LOOK AT THAT FACE!!!! And he loves the cast of "Rudolph" just like his dad... I actually bought those as a Christmas gift for Bob a couple years ago.
Finally, my two babies. One isn't really a baby anymore though, is she?? I just love the way Erik is looking at his cousin. You can tell they adore each other.

Well, that's it for now. Time to work on work - then maybe some real writing for the blog! ;)

In Case You Were Wondering

2007-01-17T12:17:00.000-06:00

You know, it’s really kind of hard to act like I really care about anything that goes on in this stupid office now that I know I have exactly 52½ days left of employment. 50½, really, if you take out the two vacation days I am using to visit my friend in DC next weekend. Oh, that’s right – I didn’t tell you. Well, that’s ok, cause Satan hasn’t told me either. So basically, I am just counting my severance days until he does. Ha!

I can’t figure out why exactly he hasn’t told me that he has already told the management of the building he is vacating the office as of March 31st, the Satan I know wouldn’t pay out severance so easily unless he absolutely HAD to. Of course, my other thinking is that the Satan I know is also extremely paranoid about me leaving him high and dry before he can tie up loose ends… OR not really giving a shit about the clients or my work – which is happening anyway, since I know what he thinks I don’t.

You following me here?

Nice attorney can’t afford to keep me on, which I kind of figured anyway, but at least he told me that up front. Satan just has me in a kind of “employment limbo,” and like I said, I don’t want to ask him anything for fear he will say, “Oh, yes, March 31st is it” leaving me losing out on any additional severance. So I just keep pretending like everything is normal and acting like I am working hard (not) until he finally admits that the end is near. Because I ain’t going nowhere until he closes shop. I want my severance. And at this rate, I just may get the full three month’s worth – who knows, he may wait to tell me until March 30th…

RL is still going very well – tips are good (of course – I am, after all, an AWESOME server) and my coworkers keep me entertained. Although I was pretty offended while watching “Grease – You’re the One That I Want” last night (on tivo, of course – and I really didn’t enjoy it too much… it’s no “American Idol”) because one of the girls auditioning was getting ready for her “day job” and complained that being a waitress stunk – as she pinned on her RL nametag. OBVIOUSLY she doesn’t work with fun people like I do. Either that or she’s a bitch and nobody likes her. Or maybe she has no people skills and gets crappy tips. In any case, I think it was pretty rude of her to imply that RL stinks. I hope she gets fired for saying that on national tv. Even if I was possibly the only one watching.

Speaking of tv, my viewing habits have taken a drastic hit. Working between 55-65 hours a week leaves me precious little time for my friends in tv land. Don’t get me wrong – this doesn’t stop me from continuing to tivo everything under the sun. As a matter of fact, I just got a NEW tivo which can actually record TWO SHOWS AT ONCE!! Imagine that!! I don’t even have to pick and choose anymore! (Except for Sunday nights. I still can’t record “Desperate Housewives” because I have to record “The Apprentice” and “Beauty and the Geek” – and yes, I know “Beauty and the Geek” is on Wednesdays as well, but then it is on opposite “American Idol” and “Friday Night Lights,” therein leaving me no choice but to record it on Sundays and watch “DH” on the internet. I know. Thank you for your sympathy.) So I put the old tivo in my bedroom – and I can transfer shows from the living room to my bedroom!! How cool is that??? So now I am literally losing sleep because I sit up in bed trying to catch up on my shows… Pathetic really, but you have to admit an addiction to tv is much better than any of the old addictions I had – and it’s legal. Currently, my list of “unwatched shows” is as follows:

· Ellen DeGeneres – 6 episodes
· All My Children – ½ episode
· General Hospital – 1 episode
· Brothers & Sisters – 2 episodes
· What About Brian – 2 episodes
· I Love New York – 1 episode
· White Rapper – 1 episode
· Real Housewives of Orange County – 1 episode
· The Apprentice – 1 episode

And by the end of today, another episode of Ellen and each soap will be on the list, and prime time adds American Idol, Friday Night Lights, and Medium. Oh, snap! The Knights of Prosperity, too! That show is a hoot. Can’t miss that one.

I told you, I have a serious problem. Albiet one I don’t care to do anything about. Life would be too dull without the escapades of the residents of Pine Valley and Port Charles – or those hospital interns at County General and Seattle Grace – or the trailer trash and Dunder Mifflin employees… I could go on forever. And? “Lost” and “Heroes” start again soon! And “Amazing Race – All-Stars!!” And “The Shield!!!” And all the HBO shows!!!! Oh, wait… I gave up HBO, that’s right. Oh well, I’ll just have to wait for the DVDs of “The Sopranos,” “Big Love” and “Entourage” for this coming season.

Ok, so now that you know how pathetic my life really is. And no, I swear, it hasn’t been tv that has kept me from blogging. So don’t blame my boob-tube buddies. “TBOTE” is nearing the end of its hiatus – I came thisclose to actually putting some words on paper the other day. But as quickly as the itch came – it went. But lately it is lurking in the recesses of my mind and I think I may actually accomplish some real writing soon… especially since I could care less about working my nine-to-five that will soon be my ex-nine-to-five… Heh.

Well, if anyone is even reading this anymore, thanks for your continued support and patronage. Dasi out. (Yeah, overload on “American Idol” last night, sorry.)

What's Really Important

2007-01-02T10:39:00.000-06:00

So on Christmas Eve, my uncle passed away suddenly. The odd thing was, it seemed almost surreal. He had been in a nursing home for years, suffering with dementia. I hadn’t even seen him in I can’t remember how long. Still, he was my uncle, and I have fond memories from when I was growing up, and of course, I loved him.

He was my father’s sister’s husband, and he was a good man. At the funeral, a different aunt gave a beautiful eulogy all about his life – meeting my aunt, raising my cousins… I got a different perspective of the man he was, and learned some things I had never known. Then my other aunt, his wife, got up and spoke. It was then that pretty much the whole church lost it.

She explained that the man in the casket wasn’t her husband – that her husband had been gone for a long time now. That as much as she loved him, she was glad that he had finally found peace – that they all could have peace now. And that she truly believed that his final gift to her was bringing her whole family together at Christmas.

You see, her one son, my cousin, hadn’t been to a family function in years. About four, I think. I’m not really sure of what exactly happened, but whatever it was it was enough to piss people off to the extent of doing the whole “I’m not talking to you” thing. But obviously, he was at his father’s wake and funeral. With his wife and two beautiful daughters in tow. I can’t tell you how great it was to see him there. Any bad feelings seemed to have melted away. There was a lot of talk about “never letting the family break apart again” and exchanging of phone numbers between numerous cousins. And really, I think everyone meant it.

Sometimes it seems people take so much for granted in life. I know I am guilty of forgetting to return phone calls, making plans that never seem to pan out, promising to e-mail or write or call and neglecting to do so because “I’ve just been so busy!” But what most of us don’t seem to realize is that time is so precious, and family and friends even more so…

Death is usually never expected, and yet although we all know that someday the people we love will die, when it happens it still causes a pain that is almost unbearable. And it often leads to regrets, and sometimes guilt – “I wish I had called him/her more often,” “You know, I had planned on visiting just last week, but something came up…” “I never said I love you.”

I don’t want to have any regrets. I want everyone in my life to know how much they mean to me – and how much I love them. I want to spend time with my family and friends and laugh and reminisce and make new memories. I never want to feel like keeping in touch is a chore, or making time for family and friends is a hassle. I want to make the most out of every minute I have.

So I guess this is kind of my New Year’s Resolution, as well. To all my cousins whose numbers I got at the luncheon – I am going to call, and we will get together. To all my cyberpals – you mean so much more to me than any of you know. Your comments and your own writings put a smile on my face every day and let me know you care. And to all my family and “real” friends reading this – I love you all. And how about lunch someday soon? Finally, to Uncle Don – rest in peace. And thank you for opening my eyes to what is really important in life.

This is Really Getting Old...

2006-12-14T12:14:00.000-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much Ado About Nothing

2006-12-05T09:58:00.000-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

RL Redux

2006-11-28T16:03:00.000-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is Satan as I know him:

And here is his Alter-Ego...

You be the judge...

Unexpected Changes

2006-11-14T15:10:00.000-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little Repair Shop of Horrors

2006-11-09T14:49:00.000-06:00

So about my car…

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

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

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

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

Temporarily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughed at me.

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

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

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

Feeling Helpless

2006-11-07T14:25:00.000-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Halloween!

2006-10-31T06:41:00.000-06:00

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

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

Resurfacing...

2006-10-26T09:46:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

Magic Man

2006-10-19T16:31:00.000-05:00

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

The Beginning of the End, Part 39

2006-10-17T16:49:00.000-05:00

THE END. Just kidding! Proceed:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think this is funny?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until the laughter turned to tears.

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

2006-10-16T16:03:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

To All My Homies

2006-10-11T12:33:00.000-05:00

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

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

Monkey Business

2006-10-10T14:16:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(And believe me, I NEVER will again!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm OK - Really!

2006-10-03T11:28:00.000-05:00

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

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

Maybe I need to start being a bit more real.

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

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

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

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

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

Thank You

2006-09-29T09:39:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Wanna Be Sedated - PERMANENTLY

2006-09-28T10:49:00.000-05:00

I. HATE. THIS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Beginning of the End, Part 38

2006-09-25T12:13:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, babe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I was wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nose to the Grindstone

2006-09-20T09:41:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

The Beginning of the End, Part 37

2006-09-15T12:11:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was where I met Tad.

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

“Can I buy you a drink?”

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

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

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

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

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

“TAD JOHNSON” and a phone number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some night last night, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“In cuffs?” I asked dumbly.

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

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

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

Sexyback

2006-09-12T13:45:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

HELP ME!!!!

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

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

Creepy Crawlies

2006-09-11T13:38:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

"MOM! Look!!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Insert classic horror film music here)

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

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

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

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

Anyone want to buy an infested Saturn??

Tough Questions

2006-09-07T15:49:00.000-05:00

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...

The Beginning of the End, Part 36

2006-09-06T10:01:00.000-05:00

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.

No, I am Not Dead

2006-08-31T09:04:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ciao!

Solar System Stupidity

2006-08-24T11:46:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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