Know what? You people are so awesome! I really appreciate all the kind words. I haven’t jumped out any windows, in thinking it over a little more I realized that with my luck I would probably wind up injured just severely enough to rack up some serious medical bills, but not enough to miss work for any length of time. And really? I’m not that big into pain.
It means a lot to have people listen (or read!) and understand, and give me the sympathy I am subconsciously looking for. I know I’ll manage, I’ve survived through a lot worse, but sometimes it really seems like I am repeatedly pounding my head against a brick wall, you know? Yes, you do, as evidenced by all your comments. And in response to those:
Network Geek: I’ll be (choke) 38 in November – but don’t feel that old, at least not usually. I guess being old is really a relative thing, though, to an 18 year old I may be old – to a 68 year old, I’m young. And the picture was taken last Christmas – and really? Classic pear shape, those damn Irish hips and thighs are my downfall – and those you will NEVER see in a picture. Unless I can photoshop it. ;) I’m anal about my bills because of the years when I really didn’t give a shit and had really messed up credit… I finally got it back at a decent level and drive myself nuts trying to make on-time payments. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I feel I have to prove myself to people (read: my father) and NOT wind up in the red on a permanent basis. So I borrow from Peter to pay Paul. Not the smartest thing, I know, but for now, at least, it is working…
Rick: “Don’t give up before the miracle…” (Grin) Haven’t heard that one in a while! But you’re right, I have to have faith that things WILL eventually go my way. I’ve busted my ass too long to straighten out my life and do the next right thing to give up and miss the boat… Thanks for the reminder!
Cheryl: Yeah, you would think a 46 year old man would be responsible enough to support his own child, but then again, beer and drugs are expensive too – obviously he had to choose between those and Lexie… Oops, my bad – I cannot say for certain he is still partying, wouldn’t want to defame his character or anything… ;) And, ummmm, Cheryl, I know you mean well – but cutting off my cable would be like cutting off my arm. My right arm. That I use all the time. Because if there is one thing about me that everyone knows, it is that I NEED my tv. HBO I can live without, FX (Nip/Tuck, Rescue Me & The Shield), VH1 (Flavor of Love & Surreal Life), Bravo (Queer Eye, Blow Out) are necessities. Not to mention the regular network shows as well. I know, it’s pathetic, really, but I have this unnatural need to watch other people’s lives – whether they are fictionalized or real!! And the land line isn’t so bad, it is also used for my internet and has unlimited calling for a reasonable price. I think I’d actually consider giving up the cell phone before the land line. Old fashioned, I guess! ;)
Linda: FINE. I am so used to your not even caring!!! (Obviously, I am SOO kidding!! I’ll call you soon!! But I can’t do tequila – trust me on this…)
Hope: First off – I MISS YOUR BLOG!!! Second – the government SUCKS. It is so unfair that hard working people get screwed while the rich and the LAZY poor (those who just refuse to work to collect aid, or those who scam the system) get all the breaks. If I sat down and wrote about all the issues I have had over the years, it would take FOREVER. One ridiculous thing that I KNOW you will appreciate (being a fellow kitty lover) when Baby was really really sick about six years ago, the vet basically told me I had to either have him hospitalized (yeah, right!) or put him down. They suggested calling the Anti-Cruelty Society because they offered pet health assistance to low income families. I figured I’d qualify as a single mom who was barely scraping by. But when I called to inquire I was told in order to qualify, you had to have a monthly gross income level BELOW $800. Now, call me crazy, but if you are grossing less than $800 a month – HOW THE HELL DO YOU AFFORD A PET IN THE FIRST PLACE??? As it turned out, though, I found a new vet who discovered Baby was allergic to penicillin and cured him much more cheaply. (Yay!)
There. If anyone else responds, I’ll write a new "thanks a lot" blog. Seriously, I really do appreciate all of you – even the regular lurkers who don’t comment. Some I know (like various cousins and friends and brothers (well, the one and only brother) and one pretty damn fantastic aunt who shall remain nameless but who knows who she is… Yes, you, Auntie Margie!!) and some I don’t, but regardless, just knowing people are reading boosts my ego every day. And at times like this, when I am feeling pissy and sorry for myself, I am so grateful to have people like all of you to haul my ass back up and remind me that I’m still ok.
Ok, I’m so done with the mushy crap. Bottom line: thanks guys. Now I’d better get back to my hellish job so I can continue to make some money to pay the bills until my book sells. Which it will, I know, because all of you tell me it will. ;)
Friday, September 29, 2006
Thursday, September 28, 2006
I Wanna Be Sedated - PERMANENTLY
I. HATE. THIS.
M has been gone for just over a week and already I am nearing my breaking point. Satan asked me yesterday if I was managing ok, and I told him that currently I was fine. But that I probably shouldn’t say that, because that’s when things pile up. He laughed, and I laughed.
Then he came out to my desk with monster file #1. And monster files #2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. On top of all MY work I had, AND the copies the other attorney needed, AND the faxes waiting to go out, AND the calls that needed to be returned. Oh, did I mention that he barely explained how to do the work on said monster files, but rather said “just look up the procedures. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
And? Lexie has been sick. She was home yesterday with a stomach ache and slight fever. By herself – since I can’t miss work right now. So I spent the day (in between attempting to get work done that I don’t know how to do) calling home to check on her. And I got to race home at lunchtime and spend four minutes with her – no more, no less, since it takes three minutes each time out of the office and to the parking lot and vice versa and ten minutes each way to and from the office – and I only get a 30 minute lunch. She said she was still sick today, yet she is eating fine and not doubled over in pain and has no fever, so I made her go to school grumbling anyway.
AND? I found out asshole has been working since May 9. MAY 9. Yet – have I GOTTEN any child support? Nope. SUPPOSEDLY they are hauling his ass into court in Florida on contempt charges for nonpayment – but I’ll believe that when I see it. So in the meantime, I am maxing out my credit cards to pay the bills and somehow survive. Oh, and did I mention that the lovely State of Illinois’ All Kids Health Program denied my application for health insurance for Lexie? That’s right. Not because I make too much money, but because I THOUGHT IT IMPORTANT TO KEEP HER INSURED. They won’t give me assistance because I manage to somehow pay the exorbitant premiums to Blue Cross to keep her covered, since asshole never has. And for that I am punished. Oh – but wait – it gets better – they told me if I cancel her insurance and leave her UNINSURED FOR A YEAR, then I can reapply and MIGHT get accepted. Did I mention that the website says illegals can get the health insurance assistance without being reported to INS, “because the health of ALL Illinois children is important to us!”
I am broke, stressed, fat, old, and tired. I have already cancelled my Curves (a women's workout place, for you men who don’t understand) membership, cut out my premium cable channels and have the lowest amount of monthly minutes possible for my cell phone. I can’t figure out how else to cut corners unless I just stop buying groceries or leaving the house at all – which actually doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
And in the time it has taken me to write this? Three more files on my desk from nice attorney.
Sorry for the rant, but I gotta let it out somehow. I think I’ll go jump out a window now.
M has been gone for just over a week and already I am nearing my breaking point. Satan asked me yesterday if I was managing ok, and I told him that currently I was fine. But that I probably shouldn’t say that, because that’s when things pile up. He laughed, and I laughed.
Then he came out to my desk with monster file #1. And monster files #2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. On top of all MY work I had, AND the copies the other attorney needed, AND the faxes waiting to go out, AND the calls that needed to be returned. Oh, did I mention that he barely explained how to do the work on said monster files, but rather said “just look up the procedures. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
And? Lexie has been sick. She was home yesterday with a stomach ache and slight fever. By herself – since I can’t miss work right now. So I spent the day (in between attempting to get work done that I don’t know how to do) calling home to check on her. And I got to race home at lunchtime and spend four minutes with her – no more, no less, since it takes three minutes each time out of the office and to the parking lot and vice versa and ten minutes each way to and from the office – and I only get a 30 minute lunch. She said she was still sick today, yet she is eating fine and not doubled over in pain and has no fever, so I made her go to school grumbling anyway.
AND? I found out asshole has been working since May 9. MAY 9. Yet – have I GOTTEN any child support? Nope. SUPPOSEDLY they are hauling his ass into court in Florida on contempt charges for nonpayment – but I’ll believe that when I see it. So in the meantime, I am maxing out my credit cards to pay the bills and somehow survive. Oh, and did I mention that the lovely State of Illinois’ All Kids Health Program denied my application for health insurance for Lexie? That’s right. Not because I make too much money, but because I THOUGHT IT IMPORTANT TO KEEP HER INSURED. They won’t give me assistance because I manage to somehow pay the exorbitant premiums to Blue Cross to keep her covered, since asshole never has. And for that I am punished. Oh – but wait – it gets better – they told me if I cancel her insurance and leave her UNINSURED FOR A YEAR, then I can reapply and MIGHT get accepted. Did I mention that the website says illegals can get the health insurance assistance without being reported to INS, “because the health of ALL Illinois children is important to us!”
I am broke, stressed, fat, old, and tired. I have already cancelled my Curves (a women's workout place, for you men who don’t understand) membership, cut out my premium cable channels and have the lowest amount of monthly minutes possible for my cell phone. I can’t figure out how else to cut corners unless I just stop buying groceries or leaving the house at all – which actually doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
And in the time it has taken me to write this? Three more files on my desk from nice attorney.
Sorry for the rant, but I gotta let it out somehow. I think I’ll go jump out a window now.
Monday, September 25, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 38
I went into work as planned, but was hard pressed to concentrate. All day my mind raced with questions. Where was he? Was there a bond amount? Who should I call? What now?
I had no one to talk to about any of this, and I was scared to death. I considered calling Nancy, but decided that may not be the best way to go. This was something I would have to deal with on my own. So during my break, I looked up the Reno police department and made a phone call.
The desk clerk was gruff but kind, I suppose my trembling voice may have softened him a bit. It turned out Marc had been released on his own recognizance, unfortunately Kevin remained behind bars. Apparently when you are not a Nevada-born resident, the law decides you are a much higher flight risk. I listened as the officer rattled off the two charges Kevin was being held on: possession of paraphernalia, and something called “internal possession.” He explained to me that in the state of Nevada, if you have illegal narcotics in your system, it can be classified as a Class X felony. My heart fell. This was really serious.
I tried to take deep breaths and remain calm as he explained that Kevin was being held at the Washoe County Jail pending trial, or until bail was posted. And bail had been set that morning to the tune of $50,000.00.
I think I caught the officer off guard when I started to laugh. He continued with his explanation of visiting hours, directions to the jail, and how to post bail, albeit with a bit of confusion in his voice. I stopped laughing long enough to thank him, and hung up the phone.
Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.
I realized that I would only need $5,000.00 to get him out, but even that amount was ludicrous. I would be lucky if I could scrape up five hundred. I had no idea how bail bondsmen worked, but I was pretty sure I would need some form of collateral in order to get a loan. And obviously we had none. Even Kevin’s car wouldn’t be worth the price of the bond.
I finished my shift and went straight home without stopping for my usual drink at the bar. I wasn’t in the mood for socializing, and I wanted to get a good night’s sleep so I could get up and go down to the jail before work. I wanted to at least see Kevin, even if I couldn’t do anything for him. I thought it ironic that Marc had been released yet hadn’t even bothered to come by and check on me or let me know what had happened. So much for the care and concern he had professed to me in the past.
My sleep was restless, and I awoke in the morning feeling more tired than I had the night before. I showered and got ready, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. I looked again at the information I had scribbled on casino stationery last night, and wondered how long it would take to get to the jail. I hoped to God the car started easily, it hadn’t been giving us as many problems lately. With fingers crossed, I turned the key in the ignition and heard it rumble to life.
It was a sunny, beautiful day, and the drive was actually doing me some good. I had the windows rolled down, and the fresh air seemed to revive me from my zombie-like state. I pulled in front of the large, nondescript building about twenty minutes later. With a deep breath, I parked the mustang and walked inside.
I had never been inside a jail before, and I wasn’t at all comfortable in this one. There were plenty of other people waiting, mostly women. One at a time, we were ushered to the waiting area after submitting to a pat-down search and showing identification. My purse had been dumped out unceremoniously, and everything inside scrutinized. The pockets of my jeans were turned inside out, and even my shoes had to be removed for the search. I felt like a criminal myself. Funny thing was, technically, I guess I was… I just hadn’t been caught.
After sitting in the waiting area for about ten minutes, I heard them call out “Visitor for Kevin B, please approach the metal door.” I stood up and quickly weaved between the other waiting visitors until I reached the door. There was a loud buzz, and then I was in another, smaller room.
It was nothing like I had pictured. It was carpeted in a navy blue pattern, and was actually very quiet as compared to the waiting area. There were a dozen chairs lined up facing glass windows with the phones I had seen in prison movies along the dividers. I was led to an empty seat, and I picked up the phone and waited.
Kevin was led in by a guard and he smiled sheepishly when he saw me. His uniform wasn’t the orange jumpsuit I had expected, but instead a navy blue that seemed more like a work outfit. He sat down opposite me and picked up his phone.
“Hi, babe.”
My eyes filled with tears at the sound of his voice. I had so much I wanted to say, but my voice caught when I tried to speak.
“It’s ok,” Kevin soothed. “I’ll be out soon.”
“No you won’t!” I moaned. “Your bail is fifty thousand dollars. FIFTY THOUSAND, Kev! We don’t have that kind of money! And I doubt we could even get a bondsman to…”
“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “But there’ll be a hearing in a month or two, and hopefully with a first offense I’ll get probation.”
“A month or two?” I felt like I had been sucker punched. “What am I supposed to do? And what about my trial? What if it happens while you’re in here? I can’t do it alone! I need you!” The tears were rolling more freely now.
“Babe, just be glad you were at work. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I’ve already spoken to the public defender, hopefully things will move fast,” he reassured me. “And no matter what, I will be with you at your trial. No matter what.”
We talked a little while longer, about where Marc might be, about what to tell his boss (we decided the truth would be best – minus a few details), about changing our lives when he got out. He convinced me jail wasn’t so bad, county was actually very clean and very mellow – mostly nonviolent criminals who had just made some bad choices. He made me promise to not worry about him, to just keep working and keep living and be happy until he got out. That the time would fly by.
It seemed like we had barely started talking when I had to leave. It hurt so bad watching him walking back into the jail, knowing I was walking out alone. But I had to keep going.
The days blended together, and I visited Kevin two more times in the following week and a half. I explained to Kevin’s supervisor (and mine, for that matter) that Kevin had run into some “legal issues” and wouldn’t be returning to work. He didn’t question me, and I was glad. I had also spoken to Nancy, she was pretty sure my preliminary hearing would be taking place within the next few weeks. I didn’t tell her about Kevin, and realized that I may have no choice as far as dealing with court alone. I couldn’t imagine Kevin being released in time.
But I was wrong.
Another week had passed, and Kevin’s county visit was now up to almost three full weeks. I was working the 5 to 1 shift, and around 12:30 am my mouth dropped as I saw Kevin approaching me followed by a quite large black man.
“Hey, babe. Pay the cabbie – I owe him for the ride. And hurry home. When do you get off? Soon, right? We have to move. Tonight.”
I fumbled in my pockets and pulled out the tips I had made that night. My mind was spinning. Move? Tonight? Why? How did Kevin get out? What the hell was going on?
Kevin took a couple of bills from my hand and gave them to the man, who smiled and left.
“Kevin, what’s going on? How did you get out? Why do we have to move?”
He looked at me with eyes that seemed entirely too nervous for my liking. “Don’t worry, babe, I was released legally. Honest,” he said with a smile. But his expression turned serious when he added, “But we really need to leave tonight.”
“I’m done in half and hour,” I said dumbly.
“Good. Meet me at home. I’m going to start packing. I’ll explain everything then. Hurry,” he emphasized.
He kissed me hard on the lips, and took off, leaving me standing there in confusion. I looked at the clock and watched the second hand tick away, knowing the last twenty eight minutes of my shift were going to take forever.
I had no one to talk to about any of this, and I was scared to death. I considered calling Nancy, but decided that may not be the best way to go. This was something I would have to deal with on my own. So during my break, I looked up the Reno police department and made a phone call.
The desk clerk was gruff but kind, I suppose my trembling voice may have softened him a bit. It turned out Marc had been released on his own recognizance, unfortunately Kevin remained behind bars. Apparently when you are not a Nevada-born resident, the law decides you are a much higher flight risk. I listened as the officer rattled off the two charges Kevin was being held on: possession of paraphernalia, and something called “internal possession.” He explained to me that in the state of Nevada, if you have illegal narcotics in your system, it can be classified as a Class X felony. My heart fell. This was really serious.
I tried to take deep breaths and remain calm as he explained that Kevin was being held at the Washoe County Jail pending trial, or until bail was posted. And bail had been set that morning to the tune of $50,000.00.
I think I caught the officer off guard when I started to laugh. He continued with his explanation of visiting hours, directions to the jail, and how to post bail, albeit with a bit of confusion in his voice. I stopped laughing long enough to thank him, and hung up the phone.
Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.
I realized that I would only need $5,000.00 to get him out, but even that amount was ludicrous. I would be lucky if I could scrape up five hundred. I had no idea how bail bondsmen worked, but I was pretty sure I would need some form of collateral in order to get a loan. And obviously we had none. Even Kevin’s car wouldn’t be worth the price of the bond.
I finished my shift and went straight home without stopping for my usual drink at the bar. I wasn’t in the mood for socializing, and I wanted to get a good night’s sleep so I could get up and go down to the jail before work. I wanted to at least see Kevin, even if I couldn’t do anything for him. I thought it ironic that Marc had been released yet hadn’t even bothered to come by and check on me or let me know what had happened. So much for the care and concern he had professed to me in the past.
My sleep was restless, and I awoke in the morning feeling more tired than I had the night before. I showered and got ready, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. I looked again at the information I had scribbled on casino stationery last night, and wondered how long it would take to get to the jail. I hoped to God the car started easily, it hadn’t been giving us as many problems lately. With fingers crossed, I turned the key in the ignition and heard it rumble to life.
It was a sunny, beautiful day, and the drive was actually doing me some good. I had the windows rolled down, and the fresh air seemed to revive me from my zombie-like state. I pulled in front of the large, nondescript building about twenty minutes later. With a deep breath, I parked the mustang and walked inside.
I had never been inside a jail before, and I wasn’t at all comfortable in this one. There were plenty of other people waiting, mostly women. One at a time, we were ushered to the waiting area after submitting to a pat-down search and showing identification. My purse had been dumped out unceremoniously, and everything inside scrutinized. The pockets of my jeans were turned inside out, and even my shoes had to be removed for the search. I felt like a criminal myself. Funny thing was, technically, I guess I was… I just hadn’t been caught.
After sitting in the waiting area for about ten minutes, I heard them call out “Visitor for Kevin B, please approach the metal door.” I stood up and quickly weaved between the other waiting visitors until I reached the door. There was a loud buzz, and then I was in another, smaller room.
It was nothing like I had pictured. It was carpeted in a navy blue pattern, and was actually very quiet as compared to the waiting area. There were a dozen chairs lined up facing glass windows with the phones I had seen in prison movies along the dividers. I was led to an empty seat, and I picked up the phone and waited.
Kevin was led in by a guard and he smiled sheepishly when he saw me. His uniform wasn’t the orange jumpsuit I had expected, but instead a navy blue that seemed more like a work outfit. He sat down opposite me and picked up his phone.
“Hi, babe.”
My eyes filled with tears at the sound of his voice. I had so much I wanted to say, but my voice caught when I tried to speak.
“It’s ok,” Kevin soothed. “I’ll be out soon.”
“No you won’t!” I moaned. “Your bail is fifty thousand dollars. FIFTY THOUSAND, Kev! We don’t have that kind of money! And I doubt we could even get a bondsman to…”
“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “But there’ll be a hearing in a month or two, and hopefully with a first offense I’ll get probation.”
“A month or two?” I felt like I had been sucker punched. “What am I supposed to do? And what about my trial? What if it happens while you’re in here? I can’t do it alone! I need you!” The tears were rolling more freely now.
“Babe, just be glad you were at work. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I’ve already spoken to the public defender, hopefully things will move fast,” he reassured me. “And no matter what, I will be with you at your trial. No matter what.”
We talked a little while longer, about where Marc might be, about what to tell his boss (we decided the truth would be best – minus a few details), about changing our lives when he got out. He convinced me jail wasn’t so bad, county was actually very clean and very mellow – mostly nonviolent criminals who had just made some bad choices. He made me promise to not worry about him, to just keep working and keep living and be happy until he got out. That the time would fly by.
It seemed like we had barely started talking when I had to leave. It hurt so bad watching him walking back into the jail, knowing I was walking out alone. But I had to keep going.
The days blended together, and I visited Kevin two more times in the following week and a half. I explained to Kevin’s supervisor (and mine, for that matter) that Kevin had run into some “legal issues” and wouldn’t be returning to work. He didn’t question me, and I was glad. I had also spoken to Nancy, she was pretty sure my preliminary hearing would be taking place within the next few weeks. I didn’t tell her about Kevin, and realized that I may have no choice as far as dealing with court alone. I couldn’t imagine Kevin being released in time.
But I was wrong.
Another week had passed, and Kevin’s county visit was now up to almost three full weeks. I was working the 5 to 1 shift, and around 12:30 am my mouth dropped as I saw Kevin approaching me followed by a quite large black man.
“Hey, babe. Pay the cabbie – I owe him for the ride. And hurry home. When do you get off? Soon, right? We have to move. Tonight.”
I fumbled in my pockets and pulled out the tips I had made that night. My mind was spinning. Move? Tonight? Why? How did Kevin get out? What the hell was going on?
Kevin took a couple of bills from my hand and gave them to the man, who smiled and left.
“Kevin, what’s going on? How did you get out? Why do we have to move?”
He looked at me with eyes that seemed entirely too nervous for my liking. “Don’t worry, babe, I was released legally. Honest,” he said with a smile. But his expression turned serious when he added, “But we really need to leave tonight.”
“I’m done in half and hour,” I said dumbly.
“Good. Meet me at home. I’m going to start packing. I’ll explain everything then. Hurry,” he emphasized.
He kissed me hard on the lips, and took off, leaving me standing there in confusion. I looked at the clock and watched the second hand tick away, knowing the last twenty eight minutes of my shift were going to take forever.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Nose to the Grindstone
Well, it’s official. M is gone. And I am alone with Satan. Well, the other attorney is still here too, of course, but as far as support staff, I AM IT. Which is why you will have to be patient with me for the time being. I am already expected to do things I have no idea HOW to do, therefore it is taking me longer to get said things done. And in order to execute my Master Plan and get a HUGE raise and more vacation time, I must perfect the art of ass-kissing and figuring out how to do all this crap I am getting dumped on my desk.
Therefore, I will most likely be blogging less than usual (which I know is already sporadic at best). I realize, however, the importance of finishing “TBOTE,” especially after reading this. So I will try to work on that when I can, even if it has to be done (gasp!) in my own time at home. Believe it or not, I am actually pretty close to the ending of this book. “What?” you ask. “THIS book?” Yes, faithful readers, THIS book. Because everyone knows if you want to be a real novelist, you want to sign a two-book deal at least! (heh!) Besides, this is getting long enough. Rest assured, though, it will end on a cliffhanger (though nothing TOO extreme) so as to entice people to read the second book. And maybe a third, eventually. Who knows? Gotta dream big, right?
So that’s that for now. And since you are all officially informed, I must get back to the drudgery that is my 9 to 5 life – for now, at least!!
Therefore, I will most likely be blogging less than usual (which I know is already sporadic at best). I realize, however, the importance of finishing “TBOTE,” especially after reading this. So I will try to work on that when I can, even if it has to be done (gasp!) in my own time at home. Believe it or not, I am actually pretty close to the ending of this book. “What?” you ask. “THIS book?” Yes, faithful readers, THIS book. Because everyone knows if you want to be a real novelist, you want to sign a two-book deal at least! (heh!) Besides, this is getting long enough. Rest assured, though, it will end on a cliffhanger (though nothing TOO extreme) so as to entice people to read the second book. And maybe a third, eventually. Who knows? Gotta dream big, right?
So that’s that for now. And since you are all officially informed, I must get back to the drudgery that is my 9 to 5 life – for now, at least!!
Friday, September 15, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 37
As it generally does, life went on. Despite my concerns about Melanie, I forced myself to move ahead and start making some positive changes in my life. I hadn’t spoken to Nancy in quite a while, and honestly wasn’t in any hurry to do so. I had, however, called Gregg, and informed him that I thought it was best if I didn’t return to my job. Thankfully, he was very understanding and wished me well. Shelley had come by and hugged me tearfully and promised she would come by and visit. I had laughed and told her I wasn’t leaving the state – only the restaurant. But I knew that the Olive Garden was our only real tie, and without that we would probably lose touch. I watched her leave and wondered if it was for the last time.
Kevin had brought home an application for me from the casino where he worked, and I filled it out and walked him to work to hand it in personally. I was given an immediate “interview,” and walked out as an official casino change-person, that is, as long as the background check cleared and I got my sheriff’s card. I wasn’t too concerned about either, and didn’t have to be. I passed with flying colors and proudly walked in for my first shift as a bonded casino employee.
For a while, everything in life seemed to be falling into place. I enjoyed my new job and the people I worked with. I was developing some “regulars,” gamblers who frequented the section I worked in and knew me by name. The job itself was more fun than work, spending mid afternoon to mid evening handing out rolls of change and paying out jackpots… socializing with coworkers and customers… listening to the cheezy band music… and my favorite? Collecting tips. Paying out jackpots usually led to a cash tip from the winner – the larger the jackpot, the larger the tip. On a good night, I could walk out with anywhere from $100 to $200. My best night, I walked out with $500. And this was all on top of the dollar-over-minimum-wage salary. Which included insurance, vacation pay, and a free meal each shift. Life was good.
The only downside was that Kevin had been switched to the morning shift, which meant we didn’t have as much time together. He was usually just leaving work as I was starting, and when I got off there seemed to be more and more times he was nowhere to be found. My partying was slowing down a little, and I didn’t really miss it. Although when Kevin did meet me at work, or when we both had some time off, we made up for lost hits by going on long benders.
I had finally spoken to Nancy, and a preliminary hearing had at last been set. She wanted to meet with me again the day before the hearing to go over what could (and probably would) happen. I made a mental note of the date and wrote it on the calendar Kevin and I kept to keep track of our shifts. It was only three weeks away, yet I pushed it out of my mind for the time being.
The day after I spoke to Nancy, I tried to distract myself at work by talking more and pushing the looming court date out of my mind. Kevin had also been frustrating me lately, he had been disappearing more frequently and for longer time periods – and playing the innocent when questioned.
“Just meeting Marc, honey,” he would say, as if that explained everything. Which it kind of did, since I knew what their “meetings” were about.
“But can’t you wait for me to get off work?” I would complain. “Or can’t you party here?”
“Relax, babe, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” he would tell me. “You got an extra twenty or so before you leave? Maybe I’ll have something waiting when you get home…”
And like a fool, I would hand over the cash and go off to work, rushing home afterwards only to find the room empty again. I started hanging out at the casino bar after my shift, talking and flirting and drinking for a few hours before returning to the loneliness of my motel room.
And that was where I met Tad.
Tad had sat down next to me that night and I barely gave him a second look. He was a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline and cheesy bling. I continued to talk to the bartender who had become a friend of mine as well as a coworker, when Tad interrupted.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I looked at him with an amused smile and accepted. He seemed harmless enough, and actually, he was. He was friendly and entertaining and after several drinks, he invited me back to his room.
“Oh, I don’t think so, I have a boyfriend,” I told him with a shake of my head.
“Really?” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “So where is he?”
“Oh, he’s at home,” I answered casually. “Waiting for me,” I added quickly, just in case this guy had other ideas.
“That’s a shame,” he said pulling out a business card. He handed it to me and I looked at it.
“TAD JOHNSON” and a phone number.
I laughed. “Pretty generic card,” I commented. “So, what is it you do?”
“Professional poker player,” he said proudly. “Damn good, too. Honey, I could take great care of you – you could live on an island in the Caribbean and never work another day in your life.”
My eyes sparkled with amusement at his outlandish offer. “I’m sure you could,” I responded, “but like I said, my boyfriend is waiting.”
He finished his drink and stood up. “Just as well,” he shrugged. “The tournament is picking up again and I have to go. Final table.”
He took my hand and kissed it with exaggeration. “Hold onto that card,” he said as turned to leave. “I’m leaving in the morning, but my offer still stands. Call me whenever.”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded. “Ok,” I said with mock seriousness, then saluted him as he walked away.
I finished my drink and returned home. And once again found the room empty. I fell asleep alone and in the morning, Kevin was sleeping next to me. I had forgotten he had the day off, and I hadn’t even heard him come in the night before. I watched him as he slept and tried to remember that he had been so good to me, and that I loved him. It was just getting harder now, because I felt as though he was slipping away. I promised myself that I would force him to talk to me, when we were both straight, and that we would work things out.
As I walked to work, I noticed the marquee had been changed. When I read it, my jaw dropped.
“CONGRATULATIONS TAD JOHNSON – ONE MILLION DOLLAR TEXAS HOLD ‘EM WORLD SERIES OF POKER CHAMPION 1992”
I reached into my pocket and felt the card that I had forgotten to take out the night before when I changed. I pulled it out and looked at the name on it, then again up at the marquee.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered under my breath.
I continued my walk to the casino, and stopped at a trash can outside the front doors. As I crumpled up the card and tossed it in with the other garbage, I wondered if I had managed to make a huge mistake the night before… I mean, who doesn’t love the Caribbean?
But the bottom line was, I loved the jerk who was sleeping at home even more. Even when he pissed me off. I went through my shift on autopilot, and couldn’t wait to get home to talk to Kevin. At exactly eleven, I punched out and practically ran home, anxious to talk to him and make things like they were before.
I could see the glow from the lights in our room, and Kevin’s car was sitting in its spot in front. He’s home! I thought happily. I could hear voices coming from inside as well. Oh, well, if Marc is here, I can just ask him to leave for a while.
But when I opened the door, the room was empty. The TV was still on, which was the source of the voices I heard. All the lights were on, and the closet was opened, as well as the drawers on the dressers and the desk. All the pipes and cooking utensils were gone.
I shook my head in frustration and anger. Someone must have picked him up and taken him out to party. I closed all the drawers, shut off the lights, and sat on the bed, determined to wait him out. I knew he had to work at 8:00 the next morning, he couldn’t stay out forever.
I fought the exhaustion as long as I could, then gave up. The next time I opened my eyes, it was 11:30 in the morning. I looked around, and nothing had changed. Kevin had never come home, and as far as I knew, he was missing work. I was furious. I paced the room, went outside and checked to see if the car’s engine was warm – thinking maybe he had come home and used it at some point. But it was still cold.
Eventually I had to calm my anger and get ready for work. I could still feel the rage pulsing in my head at Kevin for partying all night without me and then blowing off work as I walked out the front door.
“Some night last night, huh?”
I turned to see one of the other motel residents sitting in a lawn chair outside his front door. He was an older guy, who seemed to know everything but pretty much minded his own business. I looked at him curiously.
“Why? What do you mean?” I asked apprehensively.
“Well, when those police people came and knocked on your door, I knew there was gonna be trouble,” he drawled.
Police? My mind raced. I remembered the open closet, the rifled drawers… the missing paraphernalia…
“Then when they brought out those boys in cuffs, well, your boyfriend and his buddy looked none too happy,” he finished.
“In cuffs?” I asked dumbly.
“Yep. Took ‘em away with sirens flashing. Got most everyone out of their rooms to see what was going on.”
I leaned against the wall of the motel for support. Kevin was in jail. And most likely, so was Marc. And I would’ve been, too, had I not been at work. And here I was, cursing him out for not waiting for me.
Ironically, last night he apparently had. It just happened to be a bad night to do so.
Kevin had brought home an application for me from the casino where he worked, and I filled it out and walked him to work to hand it in personally. I was given an immediate “interview,” and walked out as an official casino change-person, that is, as long as the background check cleared and I got my sheriff’s card. I wasn’t too concerned about either, and didn’t have to be. I passed with flying colors and proudly walked in for my first shift as a bonded casino employee.
For a while, everything in life seemed to be falling into place. I enjoyed my new job and the people I worked with. I was developing some “regulars,” gamblers who frequented the section I worked in and knew me by name. The job itself was more fun than work, spending mid afternoon to mid evening handing out rolls of change and paying out jackpots… socializing with coworkers and customers… listening to the cheezy band music… and my favorite? Collecting tips. Paying out jackpots usually led to a cash tip from the winner – the larger the jackpot, the larger the tip. On a good night, I could walk out with anywhere from $100 to $200. My best night, I walked out with $500. And this was all on top of the dollar-over-minimum-wage salary. Which included insurance, vacation pay, and a free meal each shift. Life was good.
The only downside was that Kevin had been switched to the morning shift, which meant we didn’t have as much time together. He was usually just leaving work as I was starting, and when I got off there seemed to be more and more times he was nowhere to be found. My partying was slowing down a little, and I didn’t really miss it. Although when Kevin did meet me at work, or when we both had some time off, we made up for lost hits by going on long benders.
I had finally spoken to Nancy, and a preliminary hearing had at last been set. She wanted to meet with me again the day before the hearing to go over what could (and probably would) happen. I made a mental note of the date and wrote it on the calendar Kevin and I kept to keep track of our shifts. It was only three weeks away, yet I pushed it out of my mind for the time being.
The day after I spoke to Nancy, I tried to distract myself at work by talking more and pushing the looming court date out of my mind. Kevin had also been frustrating me lately, he had been disappearing more frequently and for longer time periods – and playing the innocent when questioned.
“Just meeting Marc, honey,” he would say, as if that explained everything. Which it kind of did, since I knew what their “meetings” were about.
“But can’t you wait for me to get off work?” I would complain. “Or can’t you party here?”
“Relax, babe, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” he would tell me. “You got an extra twenty or so before you leave? Maybe I’ll have something waiting when you get home…”
And like a fool, I would hand over the cash and go off to work, rushing home afterwards only to find the room empty again. I started hanging out at the casino bar after my shift, talking and flirting and drinking for a few hours before returning to the loneliness of my motel room.
And that was where I met Tad.
Tad had sat down next to me that night and I barely gave him a second look. He was a middle-aged guy with a receding hairline and cheesy bling. I continued to talk to the bartender who had become a friend of mine as well as a coworker, when Tad interrupted.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I looked at him with an amused smile and accepted. He seemed harmless enough, and actually, he was. He was friendly and entertaining and after several drinks, he invited me back to his room.
“Oh, I don’t think so, I have a boyfriend,” I told him with a shake of my head.
“Really?” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. “So where is he?”
“Oh, he’s at home,” I answered casually. “Waiting for me,” I added quickly, just in case this guy had other ideas.
“That’s a shame,” he said pulling out a business card. He handed it to me and I looked at it.
“TAD JOHNSON” and a phone number.
I laughed. “Pretty generic card,” I commented. “So, what is it you do?”
“Professional poker player,” he said proudly. “Damn good, too. Honey, I could take great care of you – you could live on an island in the Caribbean and never work another day in your life.”
My eyes sparkled with amusement at his outlandish offer. “I’m sure you could,” I responded, “but like I said, my boyfriend is waiting.”
He finished his drink and stood up. “Just as well,” he shrugged. “The tournament is picking up again and I have to go. Final table.”
He took my hand and kissed it with exaggeration. “Hold onto that card,” he said as turned to leave. “I’m leaving in the morning, but my offer still stands. Call me whenever.”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded. “Ok,” I said with mock seriousness, then saluted him as he walked away.
I finished my drink and returned home. And once again found the room empty. I fell asleep alone and in the morning, Kevin was sleeping next to me. I had forgotten he had the day off, and I hadn’t even heard him come in the night before. I watched him as he slept and tried to remember that he had been so good to me, and that I loved him. It was just getting harder now, because I felt as though he was slipping away. I promised myself that I would force him to talk to me, when we were both straight, and that we would work things out.
As I walked to work, I noticed the marquee had been changed. When I read it, my jaw dropped.
“CONGRATULATIONS TAD JOHNSON – ONE MILLION DOLLAR TEXAS HOLD ‘EM WORLD SERIES OF POKER CHAMPION 1992”
I reached into my pocket and felt the card that I had forgotten to take out the night before when I changed. I pulled it out and looked at the name on it, then again up at the marquee.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I muttered under my breath.
I continued my walk to the casino, and stopped at a trash can outside the front doors. As I crumpled up the card and tossed it in with the other garbage, I wondered if I had managed to make a huge mistake the night before… I mean, who doesn’t love the Caribbean?
But the bottom line was, I loved the jerk who was sleeping at home even more. Even when he pissed me off. I went through my shift on autopilot, and couldn’t wait to get home to talk to Kevin. At exactly eleven, I punched out and practically ran home, anxious to talk to him and make things like they were before.
I could see the glow from the lights in our room, and Kevin’s car was sitting in its spot in front. He’s home! I thought happily. I could hear voices coming from inside as well. Oh, well, if Marc is here, I can just ask him to leave for a while.
But when I opened the door, the room was empty. The TV was still on, which was the source of the voices I heard. All the lights were on, and the closet was opened, as well as the drawers on the dressers and the desk. All the pipes and cooking utensils were gone.
I shook my head in frustration and anger. Someone must have picked him up and taken him out to party. I closed all the drawers, shut off the lights, and sat on the bed, determined to wait him out. I knew he had to work at 8:00 the next morning, he couldn’t stay out forever.
I fought the exhaustion as long as I could, then gave up. The next time I opened my eyes, it was 11:30 in the morning. I looked around, and nothing had changed. Kevin had never come home, and as far as I knew, he was missing work. I was furious. I paced the room, went outside and checked to see if the car’s engine was warm – thinking maybe he had come home and used it at some point. But it was still cold.
Eventually I had to calm my anger and get ready for work. I could still feel the rage pulsing in my head at Kevin for partying all night without me and then blowing off work as I walked out the front door.
“Some night last night, huh?”
I turned to see one of the other motel residents sitting in a lawn chair outside his front door. He was an older guy, who seemed to know everything but pretty much minded his own business. I looked at him curiously.
“Why? What do you mean?” I asked apprehensively.
“Well, when those police people came and knocked on your door, I knew there was gonna be trouble,” he drawled.
Police? My mind raced. I remembered the open closet, the rifled drawers… the missing paraphernalia…
“Then when they brought out those boys in cuffs, well, your boyfriend and his buddy looked none too happy,” he finished.
“In cuffs?” I asked dumbly.
“Yep. Took ‘em away with sirens flashing. Got most everyone out of their rooms to see what was going on.”
I leaned against the wall of the motel for support. Kevin was in jail. And most likely, so was Marc. And I would’ve been, too, had I not been at work. And here I was, cursing him out for not waiting for me.
Ironically, last night he apparently had. It just happened to be a bad night to do so.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Sexyback
So I am trying to figure out when exactly I became a dirty old lady. Ok, so maybe the "dirty" part has always been hidden somewhere in my psyche, but the "old" part really snuck up on me. Cause I certainly never felt that old, but when I consider the fact that I was going to junior prom when current 21 year olds are taking their first drink (well, first legal drink, anyway), crap I feel ancient!
And today I went out and bought the new Justin Timberlake CD. Which is why I totally feel like a dirty old lady. Because women my age should not be having the kind of thoughts I have been having about my boy Justin. Now, I know Cameron does, and gets to act on them as well (lucky girl!), but she is four years younger than me - hence less than a decade older than Justin. And really? Kudos to her. Think about it - when she first started dating him, everyone was like "Oh, my goodness! Cradle-robber! And he's such a baby!! Such a young looking boy!!" Because really? He totally was. He was still a geek when they started dating. And Cameron ignored the trash-talk and hung on to her boy-toy and now?? Homegirl is laughing her ass off at all of us. Because she's got a man. A HOTT (notice the two "T's"), SEXY as HELL man who can MOVE and SING his tight little ass off. Damn.
I saw him on the VMA's, and ummm... is it getting warm in here? Give me a minute to catch my breath... That boy had me considering illicit bedroom acts that I blush to even think about. Which is just sooooo wrong!!! I mean, you all know me! Nice, sweet, innocent dasi! Pure as the driven snow! Why does this man-boy affect me so? HE IS THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME!!! I was entering my teens when he was born!! When I became legal, he was only FIVE!!!! I must regain my composure here. This is utterly ridiculous.
And yet... I just... can't... seem to... help myself....
Even his singing. Why does he have to sing such blatantly sexual songs?? I mean, ok, so the CD does have an "Explicit Content" label on it, but I thought that mean some swear words or something. I didn't realize it meant "don't get drunk with strangers while listening to this CD or you may wind up in bed with them while fantasizing about Justin Timberlake." Did any of you know that?? Although I seem to be addicted to the music which seems to be having a very odd effect on my loins... AAAAACK!!! STOP IT!!!!!!! This is so not me!!!! Back in the day, when I was a Prince fanatic, his songs never did this to me - and he was pretty damn explicit too... then again, Justin isn't four feet tall... and Justin does have those sexy blue eyes... and Justin...
HELP ME!!!!
You know, I used to think all those so-called "studies" about women reaching their sexual prime when they were a tad bit older - more around the age I am at now - were a load of crap. But now I have to wonder if there is some merit to them after all. Of course, the only sucky thing is that I would like to enjoy my prime with someone THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME. Who just happens to be famous and already dating Cameron Diaz. Mother of all that is Holy, what's a girl to do???
I think it's time to turn off the CD and take a cold shower. Sheesh.
And today I went out and bought the new Justin Timberlake CD. Which is why I totally feel like a dirty old lady. Because women my age should not be having the kind of thoughts I have been having about my boy Justin. Now, I know Cameron does, and gets to act on them as well (lucky girl!), but she is four years younger than me - hence less than a decade older than Justin. And really? Kudos to her. Think about it - when she first started dating him, everyone was like "Oh, my goodness! Cradle-robber! And he's such a baby!! Such a young looking boy!!" Because really? He totally was. He was still a geek when they started dating. And Cameron ignored the trash-talk and hung on to her boy-toy and now?? Homegirl is laughing her ass off at all of us. Because she's got a man. A HOTT (notice the two "T's"), SEXY as HELL man who can MOVE and SING his tight little ass off. Damn.
I saw him on the VMA's, and ummm... is it getting warm in here? Give me a minute to catch my breath... That boy had me considering illicit bedroom acts that I blush to even think about. Which is just sooooo wrong!!! I mean, you all know me! Nice, sweet, innocent dasi! Pure as the driven snow! Why does this man-boy affect me so? HE IS THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME!!! I was entering my teens when he was born!! When I became legal, he was only FIVE!!!! I must regain my composure here. This is utterly ridiculous.
And yet... I just... can't... seem to... help myself....
Even his singing. Why does he have to sing such blatantly sexual songs?? I mean, ok, so the CD does have an "Explicit Content" label on it, but I thought that mean some swear words or something. I didn't realize it meant "don't get drunk with strangers while listening to this CD or you may wind up in bed with them while fantasizing about Justin Timberlake." Did any of you know that?? Although I seem to be addicted to the music which seems to be having a very odd effect on my loins... AAAAACK!!! STOP IT!!!!!!! This is so not me!!!! Back in the day, when I was a Prince fanatic, his songs never did this to me - and he was pretty damn explicit too... then again, Justin isn't four feet tall... and Justin does have those sexy blue eyes... and Justin...
HELP ME!!!!
You know, I used to think all those so-called "studies" about women reaching their sexual prime when they were a tad bit older - more around the age I am at now - were a load of crap. But now I have to wonder if there is some merit to them after all. Of course, the only sucky thing is that I would like to enjoy my prime with someone THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME. Who just happens to be famous and already dating Cameron Diaz. Mother of all that is Holy, what's a girl to do???
I think it's time to turn off the CD and take a cold shower. Sheesh.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Creepy Crawlies
Ok, I know Halloween is still over a month away, but I have been living a horror story over this weekend, and I felt compelled to share. Now, this story is not for the faint of heart, so BE WARNED!!!
Ready? Brave people only, here, right? Ok - those of you who are faking, don't say I didn't warn you!!!
On Friday morning, Lexie and I were leaving the house to go to school and work, and we walked out to the car like we did every morning. Only this morning, Lexie let out a bloodcurdling scream. I jumped, and my heart stopped. My daughter stood a few feet away from our car, clutching her backpack to her chest and staring with wide eyes at THIS:
Ready? Brave people only, here, right? Ok - those of you who are faking, don't say I didn't warn you!!!
On Friday morning, Lexie and I were leaving the house to go to school and work, and we walked out to the car like we did every morning. Only this morning, Lexie let out a bloodcurdling scream. I jumped, and my heart stopped. My daughter stood a few feet away from our car, clutching her backpack to her chest and staring with wide eyes at THIS:
(SEE?? I WARNED YOU THIS WAS SCARY!!!!!) This HUGE, (pretty much actual size, this picture is...) UGLY, GODAWFUL spider had built an enormous web from my car antenna to the front windshield, and was nonchalantly sitting smack dab in the middle, obviously waiting to catch a small bird or something for breakfast. It wasn't moving, Mr. Stupid Spider, just sitting... waiting... but making me freak out nonetheless. I am SO not big on spiders. Well, good mother that I am, I told Lexie to just get in the car really fast and try not to bump the spiderweb. She did, and when we were both securely in the car, I turned on the windshield wipers.
Which did pretty much nothing. Apparently, Mr. Stupid Spider wasn't that stupid, because his web was far enough away from the wipers to not even be touched. BAH!! Lexie and I watched anxiously as the creepy-crawly slowly started climbing upwards on the web. Apparently he had noticed that there were intruders in his midst and decided to head for higher ground. Well, I took that opportunity to put the car in reverse and backout of my driveway a tad bit quicker than normal. Then I SLAMMED on the brakes and lurched forward, heading down the block. I tried to see if my mission was successful, and was relieved to see that the web had been blown away to kingdom come. HA!
"MOM! Look!!"
The little (excuse me, GINORMOUS) booger had skittered up to the top of my car's antenna, and there he remained, all eight ugly legs wrapped tightly around the top. I tried to pump the brakes, jerking the car repeatedly until my daughter claimed whiplash (can't have that, working for a PI attorney and all...) then just gave up. He wasn't going anywhere.
I came to Lexie's bus stop, and she informed me that she wasn't getting out of the car. Because, you see, the antenna was on her side, and she was afraid of the actions of our stowaway now that we had stopped. But I poo-poohed her fears, and told her she had to get out. Which she did, but in her panic she left the door wide open, causing me to scream, "CLOSE THE DOOR! DO YOU WANT TO GET YOUR MOTHER KILLED???"
Ok, so she shut the door, and ran to the safety of the bus stop. Leaving me alone with the arachnid from Hell. So I drove to work, every few seconds peering over at the top of the antenna, hoping maybe he was gone. But he never was. All the way to work, he hung on relentlessly. I parked next to a pretty blue Lexus, thinking maybe he would prefer to move to a classier car. Then I went inside.
When lunchtime rolled around some five hours later (I take a late lunch), I had an errand to run. When I got to my car it was still there. I thought maybe, hopefully, it was dead, but then I saw it stretch out one long, ugly leg almost in greeting. I hopped in my car and slammed the door shut, convinced that my errand which consisted of driving on the highway at speeds in excess of 80 mph may dislodge his grip. Guess what? That mo-fo is STRONG!!! He held on the entire ride, and when I arrived at my destination, I watched in horror as he scrambled down the antenna and disappeared under my hood.
I got out of the car and cautiously looked at the place where he disappeared. He was gone all right... but to where?? I took care of my business and returned to the car. Still no spider. But NOW I was worried that the damn thing was going to pop out of my air conditioner vents at any moment... which he didn't. The return to work was uneventful, and after work he still was nowhere to be found. Satisfied that he had permanently relocated (maybe to the pretty Lexus), I allowed myself to breathe easier.
The next morning, Lexie and I left for her bowling league. And waiting at (or should I say ON) the car, almost in eight-legged defiance, was the SAME DAMN SPIDER. Another huge web, same spot... and Retard the Spider sitting in the center again. He must have waited patiently under the hood until dark and then made his move. This time, Lexie and I were less anxious and more aggravated. Obviously, we DESTROYED his web last time, for crying out loud, he built it on a MOVING thing, yet he was too stupid to go build somewhere else. We drove to bowling, and watched in disgusted fascination as once again its web was destroyed, and once again it scrambled up the antenna.
At bowling, we told others of our dilemma. Thankfully, a friend and her two sons were less wimpy than Lexie and me. After bowling, one of the boys, Nick, flicked the antenna, causing Retard to fall... unfortunately, he fell once again under the damn hood. I thanked Nick halfheartedly, but wondered how long it would be before I saw it's ugly thorax again.
We drove out to my mother's and spent the rest of the day there. When we left, no spider. Sunday morning was gloomy and chilly, and we went to my grandparents' in the afternoon. Again, no spider. I finally was able to relax and try to rid my mind of the horrific images of those legs clutching my antenna.
This morning it was pouring rain. Buckets. And buckets. The wind was whipping the rain around, and it was an absolutely miserable morning. I dropped Lexie off at the bus stop, and headed to work. On my way, I called my mother. I was sitting at a stop light and had just finished the conversation, so I closed my phone and turned to put it back into my purse.
(Insert classic horror film music here)
THE SPIDER WAS CLINGING TO THE OUTSIDE OF MY PASSENGER WINDOW!!!!!!
In the POURING rain with the GUSTING wind, the damn thing was desperately trying not to lose its grip. I screamed as I watched its legs scrambling to get a better hold and move to a safer location. It seemed to have spun a mini-web to hold on as well, because it was bouncing off the window as the wind blew. Then, it happened.
The light turned green, and I turned left. As I did, the mini-monster lost its grip and flew toward the back of my car. But now here's the thing: I think it's gone, but I have thought that before... Granted, with the rain and the wind and the force of my turn, it stands to reason that it fell completely off and is lying dead on Golf Road, but this spider is no ordinary spider. As we all know. In fact, I still have this queasy feeling that it managed to land near my trunk and somehow find refuge in there, until I am parked in my driveway again and it is time to build a new web...
GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! I HATE SPIDERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyone want to buy an infested Saturn??
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Tough Questions
The other night, I had a conversation with my daughter that I wasn't exactly prepared for. I mean, since the day she was born, I wrestled with exactly what I would tell her when (or if) she ever started asking questions. Because the long and short of it is, her birth came at a time in my life that wasn't exactly all hearts and flowers. Basically, I was still involved with drugs (see "TBOTE" for that backstory) and her "father" was a rebound relationship I had no intention of continuing. I had actually gone so far as to contact an adoption agency, and there was a couple in Georgia who was thrilled at the prospect of adopting my unborn child. But once she was born, everything changed.
First off, her "father" wanted to give her to his sister in Michigan. Ummmm... NOT! I wasn't exactly receptive to the thought of my child being raised by someone I would most likely have contact with. Then there was the whole maternal instinct thing. When I held her, I cried. She was so beautiful and perfect, and I couldn't imagine my life without her. Then again, I was also terrified that I would be the World's Worst Mother, since I wasn't quite ready to give up the partying and be a responsible adult. Basically, I wanted things to both change and stay the same.
In the end, I kept my daughter, broke a Georgia couples' hearts, and never looked back. She saved my life. For real.
So when she started talking about her "father" (he did finally write her back, albeit over a month later) and asking questions, I kind of had that sick feeling in my stomach. I answered the easy ones honestly ("How come he never tried to find me before?" Because he was sick, sweetie, I can't think of any other reason. "Does he love me?" I'm sure he does, in his own way.) and then came the question I knew would lead down a verrrrry slippery slope: "Mom, was I wanted?"
I took a deep breath, and looked her in her big blue eyes. "All my life, I have wanted you, baby."
"Ok, but did you plan to have me? Or was I an accident?"
She wasn't about to make this easy. And honestly, I couldn't blame her. She had a right to get some honest answers. I thought for a minute, and measured my words carefully.
I explained to her that no, she wasn't planned. That at the time I was pregnant, I was terrified and didn't know what to do. But that somewhere deep inside, I always knew that she and I would be together forever.
I told her I considered adoption, because I wasn't sure I could be a good mother. She asked if I was doing drugs and drinking when I was pregnant (we've already had that talk, you see, she knows about my checkered past) and when I admitted I had, she let out an astonished "MOM!" I explained that it was partially because of that fact that I knew we had to stay together. That even though we don't go to church, I believe in God (as does she) and I also believe that HE took care of her in my stomach until the day she was born. That I truly believe she was put in my life to save my life, because that is exactly what she did.
Her eyes were teary, but so were mine. I could feel not disappointment, but rather love radiating from my little blonde beauty. "You were my miracle," I told her. "And everyone else's too."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
I explained that no one, no one in our family even knew I was pregnant. That only her grandparents and Uncle Bob knew, and when I brought her home it sent shock waves through the entire family. But that everyone came to see her, and fell in love, and never judged or looked down on me. That she was showered with gifts and kisses and so much love it made my head spin. She was that special.
"So you stopped doing drugs then?"
It broke my heart to admit to the truth, but I knew it had to be done. I told her that initially I didn't, that she was three months old when I finally got help, but that it was because of her that I did. That I wanted to be everything she needed, and I wanted her to grow up proud of me. So I worked hard and I followed the rules and I quit drugs forever. Her father, unfortunately, didn't, and I insisted he be clean to be with her. Because I never wanted her to be exposed to a life like that... ever.
And guess what? She smiled at me. She understood. She still loves me, even with my imperfections. She asked me how I thought of her name, and I told her I had read a book, ironically called "No Greater Love," and the little girl in it was named Alexis, and called Lexie, and I just adored that name. She wanted to know if I had thought of any other names, and truthfully? I hadn't. "No boy's names?" she asked. "Nope," I told her, "because I knew you were a girl. And I knew you were going to be Alexis Ann, and you were going to be my miracle. And you were."
So now there are no more secrets. I told her I was sure that someday, when she is an impossible teenager, she may throw this information back in my face. That she may accuse me of not wanting her, of not loving her. Then I told her that I was saying this on the record for when she does say that: "I have always wanted you, have always loved you, and always will. You are my miracle, baby girl, and without you, I would probably be dead. You are my world, and you bring me joy every day. No matter how scared I was initially, I always knew that you were meant to be. And I am so grateful that you are my daughter, and that I am your mother."
"I'm glad you told me, mom," she said, smiling through her tears. "And I'm glad I'm your daughter. 'Cause I don't think I'd like Georgia."
I had to laugh. Only my Lexie could make light of something so serious. So we crossed a huge hurdle together, and guess what? It wasn't that bad. Because I am learning that my daughter is made of strong stuff, and honesty is always the best way to go. I only hope that we stay as close as we are forever - although I have a feeling we may get even closer as she gets older...
First off, her "father" wanted to give her to his sister in Michigan. Ummmm... NOT! I wasn't exactly receptive to the thought of my child being raised by someone I would most likely have contact with. Then there was the whole maternal instinct thing. When I held her, I cried. She was so beautiful and perfect, and I couldn't imagine my life without her. Then again, I was also terrified that I would be the World's Worst Mother, since I wasn't quite ready to give up the partying and be a responsible adult. Basically, I wanted things to both change and stay the same.
In the end, I kept my daughter, broke a Georgia couples' hearts, and never looked back. She saved my life. For real.
So when she started talking about her "father" (he did finally write her back, albeit over a month later) and asking questions, I kind of had that sick feeling in my stomach. I answered the easy ones honestly ("How come he never tried to find me before?" Because he was sick, sweetie, I can't think of any other reason. "Does he love me?" I'm sure he does, in his own way.) and then came the question I knew would lead down a verrrrry slippery slope: "Mom, was I wanted?"
I took a deep breath, and looked her in her big blue eyes. "All my life, I have wanted you, baby."
"Ok, but did you plan to have me? Or was I an accident?"
She wasn't about to make this easy. And honestly, I couldn't blame her. She had a right to get some honest answers. I thought for a minute, and measured my words carefully.
I explained to her that no, she wasn't planned. That at the time I was pregnant, I was terrified and didn't know what to do. But that somewhere deep inside, I always knew that she and I would be together forever.
I told her I considered adoption, because I wasn't sure I could be a good mother. She asked if I was doing drugs and drinking when I was pregnant (we've already had that talk, you see, she knows about my checkered past) and when I admitted I had, she let out an astonished "MOM!" I explained that it was partially because of that fact that I knew we had to stay together. That even though we don't go to church, I believe in God (as does she) and I also believe that HE took care of her in my stomach until the day she was born. That I truly believe she was put in my life to save my life, because that is exactly what she did.
Her eyes were teary, but so were mine. I could feel not disappointment, but rather love radiating from my little blonde beauty. "You were my miracle," I told her. "And everyone else's too."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
I explained that no one, no one in our family even knew I was pregnant. That only her grandparents and Uncle Bob knew, and when I brought her home it sent shock waves through the entire family. But that everyone came to see her, and fell in love, and never judged or looked down on me. That she was showered with gifts and kisses and so much love it made my head spin. She was that special.
"So you stopped doing drugs then?"
It broke my heart to admit to the truth, but I knew it had to be done. I told her that initially I didn't, that she was three months old when I finally got help, but that it was because of her that I did. That I wanted to be everything she needed, and I wanted her to grow up proud of me. So I worked hard and I followed the rules and I quit drugs forever. Her father, unfortunately, didn't, and I insisted he be clean to be with her. Because I never wanted her to be exposed to a life like that... ever.
And guess what? She smiled at me. She understood. She still loves me, even with my imperfections. She asked me how I thought of her name, and I told her I had read a book, ironically called "No Greater Love," and the little girl in it was named Alexis, and called Lexie, and I just adored that name. She wanted to know if I had thought of any other names, and truthfully? I hadn't. "No boy's names?" she asked. "Nope," I told her, "because I knew you were a girl. And I knew you were going to be Alexis Ann, and you were going to be my miracle. And you were."
So now there are no more secrets. I told her I was sure that someday, when she is an impossible teenager, she may throw this information back in my face. That she may accuse me of not wanting her, of not loving her. Then I told her that I was saying this on the record for when she does say that: "I have always wanted you, have always loved you, and always will. You are my miracle, baby girl, and without you, I would probably be dead. You are my world, and you bring me joy every day. No matter how scared I was initially, I always knew that you were meant to be. And I am so grateful that you are my daughter, and that I am your mother."
"I'm glad you told me, mom," she said, smiling through her tears. "And I'm glad I'm your daughter. 'Cause I don't think I'd like Georgia."
I had to laugh. Only my Lexie could make light of something so serious. So we crossed a huge hurdle together, and guess what? It wasn't that bad. Because I am learning that my daughter is made of strong stuff, and honesty is always the best way to go. I only hope that we stay as close as we are forever - although I have a feeling we may get even closer as she gets older...
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 36
It didn’t take as long as I thought it would, considering the amount. Melanie and “the three amigos” returned laughing and talking. Melanie held two large ziploc bags, one with a large amount of cooked rocks, the other with an equally large amount of powder. She tucked the powder package into the waistband of her jeans, and opened the bag of rocks.
We circled around her like hungry vultures as she doled out nice sized chunks to each of us. “Now, we’re not going to do ALL of this,” she reminded us. “And Bobby, you need to find people who want to buy.”
But Bobby was already busy filling his pipe and taking the first hit of the evening. Melanie sighed and sat down next to me. I was breaking off a smaller piece of the chunk she had given me, I wanted to make mine last. I looked over at her and saw that she was just watching me.
“You ok?” I said, pausing in my little ritual of getting high.
She shrugged. “I guess. It’s just that sometimes…” She looked around the room at Bobby, Marc and Kevin. Bobby and Kevin had already done their first hit, and Marc was busy preparing his rock to slam, needle in his mouth as he worked diligently. All three seemed to be in their own worlds, with Melanie and I just observers. I felt a chill as I realized that once I did my hit, I would be the same zombie they were. But it wasn’t enough to stop me.
I looked down at the pipe I was holding, and avoided Melanie’s eyes. “Just take a hit, you’ll feel better.” I hated saying that, hated the fact that even though I wanted to tell her to run, to get out, to start over, I knew that the bottom line was that tonight was supposed to be “party night.” And I didn’t want her to ruin my rush.
“You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said with a shake of her head, following my lead and loading up a pipe of her own.
As I lit my pipe and tilted my head back to inhale, I closed my eyes and just let go. Let go of all the thoughts swimming in my head – let go of me. When there was no more smoke to be had, I lowered the pipe and held my breath. The longer you held the smoke in, the better the rush. I looked at my watch and decided to time the hit, to hold it for as long as I could. I could feel my heart pounding, and my head started to throb as well. I think I could be popping a blood vessel in my brain, I thought crazily. I could be killing myself right now… then woosh – I exhaled in a coughing fit that brought tears to my eyes.
Kevin came rushing over to my side. “You ok?” he asked nervously.
Between coughs, I laughed. “Yeah. Too big of a hit, I guess.” But the truth was I had just held it too long. Thirty seconds. And the craziest part? I wanted to do it again. And again. I wanted to deprive myself of the oxygen that kept me alive to hold in the smoke that could kill me. I wanted to throw my life into the hands of fate, to see just how far I could push the envelope..
I looked around and noticed Marc was gone. I wondered if he was wandering around the house or had actually gone outside. I hoped he hadn’t left and drawn attention to himself, but then again, a part of me didn’t care. Bobby was leaning close to Melanie and kissing her cheek as he subtly reached into the bag of rocks she was holding. She didn’t even seem to notice the maneuver.
“I’m going to make some calls. Melanie wants to sell some of this shit, and I think I can get her some buyers,” Kevin informed me.
“Are you leaving?” I asked with surprise.
“No, no,” he reassured me. “She told me to just have people come on by.”
“Are you sure that’s smart?” I wondered aloud, thinking that a line of junkies at a ritzy house may cause some alarm.
“It’s not that many people. Just a couple of guys I know from around.”
I rolled my eyes. Whatever. It wasn’t my business. Whatever happened, happened. I did another hit and again timed it. Thirty seconds again. It was amazing how much stronger the rush was.
The night seemed to blur as people started filing in and out, and I watched as Melanie passed out rock after rock, but seldom took in any money. She had given me a substantial amount, and I had retreated to a corner and enjoyed my buzz by myself as I occasionally watched the others. I saw her pass the bag of powder to Bobby and Kevin at one point, and it was only when I had run out myself that I noticed she was crying.
The so-called “customers” had long since gone, and Bobby, Kevin and Marc were tweaking on the other side of the room. I could feel my jaw moving back and forth from the drug and I still was feeling my last hit as I moved over next to her. The sunlight was pouring in the windows and I realized it was morning, and probably had been for the past few hours. I had no idea how much coke I had smoked, how much all of us had smoked, but I knew it had to be a lot.
“Hey,” I said uncertainly, “You ok?”
The tears rolled silently down her face as she anxiously patted her waistband, her legs, her back pockets. “It’s all gone,” she said with disbelief.
“What?” I asked, not sure I had heard her.
She looked up at me with despair in her eyes. “It’s all gone. All of it. And I only have…” she pulled out some crumpled bills and counted to herself. “Twenty-two dollars?”
Wow. We had gone through two thousand dollars worth of drugs. In one night. We couldn’t have… could we? Just the five of us? But then I remembered the parade of people, the laughter, the drug-induced generosity of Melanie, the subtle swiping by Bobby…
“This was supposed to be our ticket to a new place,” she moaned sadly. “We were going to start over. Bobby said we could have a better life, that tonight would be the last night of partying.” The tears fell more freely now.
I felt my heart aching for her. Because I knew. I knew exactly how she felt. I knew she really believed deep down that Bobby loved her, that this plan would work. That they could party all night one last time and then start over. Because I used to believe it too. But it never happened that way. Just like me, she had caught herself in a trap that was nearly impossible to escape. Only she was just sixteen.
Silently, I went up to Kevin and motioned toward Melanie.
“What’s wrong with her?” he whispered.
“It’s all gone. And she didn’t make any money.”
His eyebrows went up in shock. “You’re kidding!”
I shook my head. “I think we ought to get home now. All of us. Please Kev, get us out of here.”
Kevin rounded up Marc and Bobby, and I went and took Melanie’s hand. My high was rapidly disappearing, and I didn’t care. Melanie was still crying and I just wanted to leave and pretend everything was ok. Because I was getting very good at pretending.
We locked up the house and drove back to the motel in silence. When we arrived, Marc went home and Melanie and Bobby disappeared into their room. Kevin and I spent the rest of the day sleeping in spurts, since he was off work and I was technically now unemployed. I had decided to go in with him the next day and apply for a job at the casino. He seemed to think I had a good chance of getting it, and I wouldn’t have to deal with any people who knew. I tried to concentrate on my new beginning, and forget the tear stained face of Melanie from that morning.
But I never got that picture out of my head, and we never saw Melanie or Bobby again after that day. I only hoped that she had decided to go back home, to be a teenager again, but my gut told me otherwise. And my gut also told me that I needed to move on – that a job at the casino could be just what I needed.
We circled around her like hungry vultures as she doled out nice sized chunks to each of us. “Now, we’re not going to do ALL of this,” she reminded us. “And Bobby, you need to find people who want to buy.”
But Bobby was already busy filling his pipe and taking the first hit of the evening. Melanie sighed and sat down next to me. I was breaking off a smaller piece of the chunk she had given me, I wanted to make mine last. I looked over at her and saw that she was just watching me.
“You ok?” I said, pausing in my little ritual of getting high.
She shrugged. “I guess. It’s just that sometimes…” She looked around the room at Bobby, Marc and Kevin. Bobby and Kevin had already done their first hit, and Marc was busy preparing his rock to slam, needle in his mouth as he worked diligently. All three seemed to be in their own worlds, with Melanie and I just observers. I felt a chill as I realized that once I did my hit, I would be the same zombie they were. But it wasn’t enough to stop me.
I looked down at the pipe I was holding, and avoided Melanie’s eyes. “Just take a hit, you’ll feel better.” I hated saying that, hated the fact that even though I wanted to tell her to run, to get out, to start over, I knew that the bottom line was that tonight was supposed to be “party night.” And I didn’t want her to ruin my rush.
“You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said with a shake of her head, following my lead and loading up a pipe of her own.
As I lit my pipe and tilted my head back to inhale, I closed my eyes and just let go. Let go of all the thoughts swimming in my head – let go of me. When there was no more smoke to be had, I lowered the pipe and held my breath. The longer you held the smoke in, the better the rush. I looked at my watch and decided to time the hit, to hold it for as long as I could. I could feel my heart pounding, and my head started to throb as well. I think I could be popping a blood vessel in my brain, I thought crazily. I could be killing myself right now… then woosh – I exhaled in a coughing fit that brought tears to my eyes.
Kevin came rushing over to my side. “You ok?” he asked nervously.
Between coughs, I laughed. “Yeah. Too big of a hit, I guess.” But the truth was I had just held it too long. Thirty seconds. And the craziest part? I wanted to do it again. And again. I wanted to deprive myself of the oxygen that kept me alive to hold in the smoke that could kill me. I wanted to throw my life into the hands of fate, to see just how far I could push the envelope..
I looked around and noticed Marc was gone. I wondered if he was wandering around the house or had actually gone outside. I hoped he hadn’t left and drawn attention to himself, but then again, a part of me didn’t care. Bobby was leaning close to Melanie and kissing her cheek as he subtly reached into the bag of rocks she was holding. She didn’t even seem to notice the maneuver.
“I’m going to make some calls. Melanie wants to sell some of this shit, and I think I can get her some buyers,” Kevin informed me.
“Are you leaving?” I asked with surprise.
“No, no,” he reassured me. “She told me to just have people come on by.”
“Are you sure that’s smart?” I wondered aloud, thinking that a line of junkies at a ritzy house may cause some alarm.
“It’s not that many people. Just a couple of guys I know from around.”
I rolled my eyes. Whatever. It wasn’t my business. Whatever happened, happened. I did another hit and again timed it. Thirty seconds again. It was amazing how much stronger the rush was.
The night seemed to blur as people started filing in and out, and I watched as Melanie passed out rock after rock, but seldom took in any money. She had given me a substantial amount, and I had retreated to a corner and enjoyed my buzz by myself as I occasionally watched the others. I saw her pass the bag of powder to Bobby and Kevin at one point, and it was only when I had run out myself that I noticed she was crying.
The so-called “customers” had long since gone, and Bobby, Kevin and Marc were tweaking on the other side of the room. I could feel my jaw moving back and forth from the drug and I still was feeling my last hit as I moved over next to her. The sunlight was pouring in the windows and I realized it was morning, and probably had been for the past few hours. I had no idea how much coke I had smoked, how much all of us had smoked, but I knew it had to be a lot.
“Hey,” I said uncertainly, “You ok?”
The tears rolled silently down her face as she anxiously patted her waistband, her legs, her back pockets. “It’s all gone,” she said with disbelief.
“What?” I asked, not sure I had heard her.
She looked up at me with despair in her eyes. “It’s all gone. All of it. And I only have…” she pulled out some crumpled bills and counted to herself. “Twenty-two dollars?”
Wow. We had gone through two thousand dollars worth of drugs. In one night. We couldn’t have… could we? Just the five of us? But then I remembered the parade of people, the laughter, the drug-induced generosity of Melanie, the subtle swiping by Bobby…
“This was supposed to be our ticket to a new place,” she moaned sadly. “We were going to start over. Bobby said we could have a better life, that tonight would be the last night of partying.” The tears fell more freely now.
I felt my heart aching for her. Because I knew. I knew exactly how she felt. I knew she really believed deep down that Bobby loved her, that this plan would work. That they could party all night one last time and then start over. Because I used to believe it too. But it never happened that way. Just like me, she had caught herself in a trap that was nearly impossible to escape. Only she was just sixteen.
Silently, I went up to Kevin and motioned toward Melanie.
“What’s wrong with her?” he whispered.
“It’s all gone. And she didn’t make any money.”
His eyebrows went up in shock. “You’re kidding!”
I shook my head. “I think we ought to get home now. All of us. Please Kev, get us out of here.”
Kevin rounded up Marc and Bobby, and I went and took Melanie’s hand. My high was rapidly disappearing, and I didn’t care. Melanie was still crying and I just wanted to leave and pretend everything was ok. Because I was getting very good at pretending.
We locked up the house and drove back to the motel in silence. When we arrived, Marc went home and Melanie and Bobby disappeared into their room. Kevin and I spent the rest of the day sleeping in spurts, since he was off work and I was technically now unemployed. I had decided to go in with him the next day and apply for a job at the casino. He seemed to think I had a good chance of getting it, and I wouldn’t have to deal with any people who knew. I tried to concentrate on my new beginning, and forget the tear stained face of Melanie from that morning.
But I never got that picture out of my head, and we never saw Melanie or Bobby again after that day. I only hoped that she had decided to go back home, to be a teenager again, but my gut told me otherwise. And my gut also told me that I needed to move on – that a job at the casino could be just what I needed.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
No, I am Not Dead
So, yes, I am a bad, bad blogger. I know it, I own that fact. Believe it or not, I actually have started Chapter 36 – it just isn’t quite finished. But soon – verrrry soon. As far as WHY I haven’t been posting at all for the last week… hey, none of your business!!
Ok, so it is your business. Kind of. And technically HAS been your business since I started this blog and made a commitment to all the people who take the time to read. So the reason I haven’t been posting is actually a whole mess of reasons:
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!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Solar System Stupidity
Ok, I’ve heard of downsizing, but this is ridiculous. HOW THE HELL DO YOU “DOWNSIZE” THE SOLAR SYSTEM?? Apparently, Pluto is no longer a planet. WTF? How does this happen? I never thought of myself as an ignorant person, but all my life I have been taught that there are NINE planets in the solar system. All of a sudden, some bozos in Prague have decided that only the eight “classic” planets will be recognized as planets in our solar system.
I never even realized that poor Pluto wasn’t “classic.” And to add insult to injury, it will now be considered a “dwarf planet.”
Just imagine being one of the big dogs for all of your existence, some brazillian years (I still love that number…!), then all of a sudden you are a “dwarf.” Just like that. Kicked out of the Classic Clique.
BUT – there is a positive to all this, because unbeknownst to moi (apparently I missed a few issues of “Astronomy Monthly”) there are additional dwarf planets. Two, in fact: Ceres and 2003 UB313. And yes, I agree, “2003 UB313” is a stupid name for a planet, even a dwarf planet, but it seems its discoverer, Michael Brown, affectionately calls it “Xena.” Which I agree is a MUCH better name for it. Although I really don’t know what the purpose of having its “formal” name be 2003 UB313 is. Seems kind of silly to me, why not just name it “Xena” to begin with? I mean, really – do any of the “classic” planets have weird formal names? (Maybe they do, after all, I don’t seem to be as up on my astronomy as I thought I was. If anyone knows, please pass on this info.)
And while we’re on the topic of names, why is it that all murderers or child molesters or kidnappers are always referred to by their full name – including their middle name? You know, Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gacy, John Mark Karr… I actually heard an interesting theory about this on the radio this morning: when you are little, if you get in trouble, your mother ALWAYS uses your full name. Not necessarily your last name, but ALWAYS the first AND middle. That’s how you knew you were in big trouble. So it makes sense that the media uses the bad guys’ full names – because they are in MAJOR trouble. And this way, they know it. Just in case the handcuffs, jail time and possibility of frying in the electric chair didn’t pound the message home initially, hearing your FULL NAME used in all the newscasts will definitely do the trick.
Oh, my. I believe I’m thinking wayyyy too much today. Better stop all this nonsense and get back to work. Where I don’t have to think much at all. Although I doubt I’ll ever get over this whole Pluto fiasco. Eight planets, indeed.
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.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 35
Kevin came back grinning, and I knew that meant the “plan” was going into effect. All five of us piled into the old mustang once Kevin worked his magic underneath. Melanie was talking nonstop about how cool this was, how she was so excited that we would all see her house… almost like this was just a normal visit. But it was anything but.
I kept trying to convince myself that this wasn’t wrong, that in the long run it would actually help Melanie to get out of the motel and into an apartment, that we weren’t doing anything illegal. But my Catholic upbringing wouldn’t allow me to see this situation for anything other than what it was – breaking and entering, and robbery. Not to mention the fact that illegal drugs would also be involved.
I finally decided to try to concentrate on untying the knots in my stomach by blocking out the conversations around me and closing my eyes. I let the motion of the car soothe me and I tried to take deep breaths. It seemed only seconds later when I heard Melanie yell out, “HERE! This is it!”
I opened my eyes and blinked. Melanie had lived in a gorgeous, enormous house. This was obviously the “rich” part of town, and the fact that Melanie would even want to run away seemd ludicrous to me. As everyone exited the car and we stealthily made our way up to the front door, I stopped worrying and started wondering how bad her life could’ve been. I mean, in a house like this…?
Melanie unlocked the door and quickly rounded a corner to quiet the beeping that broke the silence. The rest of us stood in the front hallway gaping. I noticed I wasn’t the only one impressed with the surroundings.
“Had to turn off the alarm,” Melaine said, reappearing. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She led us through several large rooms before reaching the staircase, which rounded the living room before disappearing into another floor. As we went up the stairs, my heartbeat slowed to normal. I wanted to know more about the girl who lived here, and what made her leave. It suddenly became important to me to talk to Melanie, to convince her to stay here, to wait for her parents and apologize and leave Bobby and the partying behind…
She turned on a light in one of the rooms, and I blinked at the sudden brightness. “This was my room,” she said, almost sadly, I thought. “You guys wait here.”
“Should I call Polon?” Kevin asked. “I mean, how long will you be?”
“Just a minute,” she replied. “But wait until I see how much there is.”
We all sat down in various places in the room. It was decorated in pink and frills, a large canopy bed on one end, a desk and several filled bookshelves on the other. There was a small landing when you walked in, and then about three steps going down into the room itself. I chose to sit on one of the stairs, so I could examine every inch of her room.
I let my mind wander and pictured Melanie, talking on the princess phone while lying on her bed and laughing. I saw her sitting at the desk and doing homework, occasionally looking out the window that appeared to have a nice view of the backyard. There were dozens of dolls in a large curio cabinet against one wall, and I wondered how long she had been collecting them. Did her mother buy them all for her? Or had they been handed down through the generations? Some of them looked pretty old, but all were in excellent condition. Suddenly a thought struck me – the room almost looked like a museum display. Everything was perfectly in place, nothing was dusty, the pillows on the bed looked invitingly plump. It was almost as if the room were waiting for its owner to come back, as if her parents were saving it for her, hoping for her return…
“Two grand!”
Melanie’s triumphant voice broke my reverie. Suddenly there was a flurry of action as Kevin made the phone call from the princess phone by the bed, Bobby took the money from Melanie and started counting, and Marc got up and paced. Moments later, Bobby, Kevin and Marc left, money in hand, and instructed Melanie to leave the front door unlocked so they could get back in.
“Ok, just lock it when you get back,” she replied, suddenly sounding a little nervous.
When we heard the front door close, I turned to Melanie. She was sitting next to me on the landing in her room, looking around it in much the same way I was.
“Do you miss it?” I asked quietly.
She looked at me with a sad smile. “Sometimes,” she admitted.
I scooched closer to her, and looked her directly in the eyes. “Then why don’t you stay?”
She sighed and shrugged. “I can’t,” she replied. “Too much water under the bridge. Besides, my life is with Bobby now.”
“But are you really happy?”
She looked at me in confusion. “Of course I’m happy!” she insisted.
“Really?”
Melanie looked away, and I wondered if it was to hide her true feelings. For a while, she remained silent, then she turned back to look at me again.
“Look, I know you mean well, Dasi, but I chose my life with Bobby. Living here – I never was able to make choices. I mean, look at this room!” she waved her hand toward all the frills. “It’s been the same since I can remember. They won’t let me grow up. They won’t let me live,” she said with desperation.
“Don’t you understand?” Melanie’s eyes were pleading with me.
I wished I could say I didn’t, but I did. Even though I knew she was wrong, I remembered being that young and feeling trapped in my parents’ home. What Melanie didn’t realize was that they sheltered her because they obviously loved her, and that she would thank them someday.
If she ever went back to them.
The sound of the front door opening caused us both to freeze like deer caught in the headlights. Quiet, determined footsteps ascended the stairs, and Melanie reached over and shut off the light.
“What the hell? Why are you sitting in the dark?”
We collectively exhaled as we recognized Bobby’s voice. Melanie turned the light back on and jumped up to greet him. Kevin and Marc stood there as well, both grinning like idiots.
“So?” I asked.
Bobby held up a bag with the largest amount of powder I had ever seen. It didn’t look real – there was just too much. My mouth fell open. “Holy shit,” I muttered.
“Party time!” Kevin laughed. He turned to Melanie. “Hon, where’s the kitchen? I’m gonna need some room to cook all this shit up.”
Melanie took him down to the kitchen with Bobby and Marc tagging along, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My stomach was churning in anticipation of that first hit, and with the amount of coke they had brought back I realized that this was going to be a very long night.
I just hoped we all survived it.
I kept trying to convince myself that this wasn’t wrong, that in the long run it would actually help Melanie to get out of the motel and into an apartment, that we weren’t doing anything illegal. But my Catholic upbringing wouldn’t allow me to see this situation for anything other than what it was – breaking and entering, and robbery. Not to mention the fact that illegal drugs would also be involved.
I finally decided to try to concentrate on untying the knots in my stomach by blocking out the conversations around me and closing my eyes. I let the motion of the car soothe me and I tried to take deep breaths. It seemed only seconds later when I heard Melanie yell out, “HERE! This is it!”
I opened my eyes and blinked. Melanie had lived in a gorgeous, enormous house. This was obviously the “rich” part of town, and the fact that Melanie would even want to run away seemd ludicrous to me. As everyone exited the car and we stealthily made our way up to the front door, I stopped worrying and started wondering how bad her life could’ve been. I mean, in a house like this…?
Melanie unlocked the door and quickly rounded a corner to quiet the beeping that broke the silence. The rest of us stood in the front hallway gaping. I noticed I wasn’t the only one impressed with the surroundings.
“Had to turn off the alarm,” Melaine said, reappearing. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She led us through several large rooms before reaching the staircase, which rounded the living room before disappearing into another floor. As we went up the stairs, my heartbeat slowed to normal. I wanted to know more about the girl who lived here, and what made her leave. It suddenly became important to me to talk to Melanie, to convince her to stay here, to wait for her parents and apologize and leave Bobby and the partying behind…
She turned on a light in one of the rooms, and I blinked at the sudden brightness. “This was my room,” she said, almost sadly, I thought. “You guys wait here.”
“Should I call Polon?” Kevin asked. “I mean, how long will you be?”
“Just a minute,” she replied. “But wait until I see how much there is.”
We all sat down in various places in the room. It was decorated in pink and frills, a large canopy bed on one end, a desk and several filled bookshelves on the other. There was a small landing when you walked in, and then about three steps going down into the room itself. I chose to sit on one of the stairs, so I could examine every inch of her room.
I let my mind wander and pictured Melanie, talking on the princess phone while lying on her bed and laughing. I saw her sitting at the desk and doing homework, occasionally looking out the window that appeared to have a nice view of the backyard. There were dozens of dolls in a large curio cabinet against one wall, and I wondered how long she had been collecting them. Did her mother buy them all for her? Or had they been handed down through the generations? Some of them looked pretty old, but all were in excellent condition. Suddenly a thought struck me – the room almost looked like a museum display. Everything was perfectly in place, nothing was dusty, the pillows on the bed looked invitingly plump. It was almost as if the room were waiting for its owner to come back, as if her parents were saving it for her, hoping for her return…
“Two grand!”
Melanie’s triumphant voice broke my reverie. Suddenly there was a flurry of action as Kevin made the phone call from the princess phone by the bed, Bobby took the money from Melanie and started counting, and Marc got up and paced. Moments later, Bobby, Kevin and Marc left, money in hand, and instructed Melanie to leave the front door unlocked so they could get back in.
“Ok, just lock it when you get back,” she replied, suddenly sounding a little nervous.
When we heard the front door close, I turned to Melanie. She was sitting next to me on the landing in her room, looking around it in much the same way I was.
“Do you miss it?” I asked quietly.
She looked at me with a sad smile. “Sometimes,” she admitted.
I scooched closer to her, and looked her directly in the eyes. “Then why don’t you stay?”
She sighed and shrugged. “I can’t,” she replied. “Too much water under the bridge. Besides, my life is with Bobby now.”
“But are you really happy?”
She looked at me in confusion. “Of course I’m happy!” she insisted.
“Really?”
Melanie looked away, and I wondered if it was to hide her true feelings. For a while, she remained silent, then she turned back to look at me again.
“Look, I know you mean well, Dasi, but I chose my life with Bobby. Living here – I never was able to make choices. I mean, look at this room!” she waved her hand toward all the frills. “It’s been the same since I can remember. They won’t let me grow up. They won’t let me live,” she said with desperation.
“Don’t you understand?” Melanie’s eyes were pleading with me.
I wished I could say I didn’t, but I did. Even though I knew she was wrong, I remembered being that young and feeling trapped in my parents’ home. What Melanie didn’t realize was that they sheltered her because they obviously loved her, and that she would thank them someday.
If she ever went back to them.
The sound of the front door opening caused us both to freeze like deer caught in the headlights. Quiet, determined footsteps ascended the stairs, and Melanie reached over and shut off the light.
“What the hell? Why are you sitting in the dark?”
We collectively exhaled as we recognized Bobby’s voice. Melanie turned the light back on and jumped up to greet him. Kevin and Marc stood there as well, both grinning like idiots.
“So?” I asked.
Bobby held up a bag with the largest amount of powder I had ever seen. It didn’t look real – there was just too much. My mouth fell open. “Holy shit,” I muttered.
“Party time!” Kevin laughed. He turned to Melanie. “Hon, where’s the kitchen? I’m gonna need some room to cook all this shit up.”
Melanie took him down to the kitchen with Bobby and Marc tagging along, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My stomach was churning in anticipation of that first hit, and with the amount of coke they had brought back I realized that this was going to be a very long night.
I just hoped we all survived it.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Deja Vu (Well, Kind Of...)
Ok, for those of you who have been around a loooong time, I got a strange phone call on my cell today. But the ringtone wasn’t “The Exorcist” theme, so I thought nothing of it. Whoever it was left a message – some guy who kind of garbled “Remember that drawing you signed up for? (Go Bears!) Well, SUCK IT!” At least, I think that’s what he said. In any case, I looked up the number (which was 847-828-4852, by the way, feel free to call this moron anytime) and it is a cell phone based in Hinsdale, IL. Which is on the south side. And who lives on the south side? MR. SOUTH SIDE!! Now, it may just be a strange coincidence, since Mr. South Side vanished just about a year ago. But to make sure, I called this number back from my switchboard-hidden work line, and the same voice answered. (Sounded kind of like a young drunk kid, actually.) And what did I say? Well, something like this (in a verrrry sweet voice):
“Hello. You just called my cell phone and left a, well, shall we say interesting and somewhat vulgar message on my voice mail? And, well, I just thought you should know that I really didn’t appreciate it. In fact, I called the police and told them about it and gave them your number. So when they call you, you might want to think of a reason why you are leaving inappropriate messages on strangers’ cell phones…”
There was dead silence, save for the (I think) tv in the background. So I knew he was still there. Oh, and? Obviously I didn’t REALLY call the cops. That would’ve been silly and a waste of time. Anyway, since the poor sap was still on the line, I figured I’d add:
“Well, alrighty, then! Just thought you should know. Bye!”
And I hung up. And laughed. I highly doubt it was Mr. South Side, probably just some stupid punk who was so drunk or high he forgot about caller id. But it still made me think if him. Sometimes I kind of miss the drama of my Mr. South Side Summer… NOT!!!!
Oh, and? If you click on the Mr. South Side link, you are only linking to one of many posts about the hijinks that ensued. So keep looking at old posts if he entertains you – Lord knows, he entertained Amber! (Holla, Amber!!!)
“Hello. You just called my cell phone and left a, well, shall we say interesting and somewhat vulgar message on my voice mail? And, well, I just thought you should know that I really didn’t appreciate it. In fact, I called the police and told them about it and gave them your number. So when they call you, you might want to think of a reason why you are leaving inappropriate messages on strangers’ cell phones…”
There was dead silence, save for the (I think) tv in the background. So I knew he was still there. Oh, and? Obviously I didn’t REALLY call the cops. That would’ve been silly and a waste of time. Anyway, since the poor sap was still on the line, I figured I’d add:
“Well, alrighty, then! Just thought you should know. Bye!”
And I hung up. And laughed. I highly doubt it was Mr. South Side, probably just some stupid punk who was so drunk or high he forgot about caller id. But it still made me think if him. Sometimes I kind of miss the drama of my Mr. South Side Summer… NOT!!!!
Oh, and? If you click on the Mr. South Side link, you are only linking to one of many posts about the hijinks that ensued. So keep looking at old posts if he entertains you – Lord knows, he entertained Amber! (Holla, Amber!!!)
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
A Tale of Two Fathers
This is the story of two fathers. Both have a daughter, one also has a son. One tries hard to be a good father, the other, not so much. Both continually hurt their daughters – but one doesn’t realize it and the other doesn’t care. Which is worse? How does a daughter learn to live her life without the paternal recognition every daughter craves, whether she knows it or not? How can a father cause so much pain and not even realize it – or in one case, not even care?
Let’s begin with Lexie’s father. You all know the story – and you all know how it breaks my heart to see her desperately wanting to understand why her father isn’t here. She wrote a letter to him just about a month ago – in fact, I mailed it exactly a month ago today. This is the letter (you may have to click on it to enlarge it a bit):
Guess what? To date, she hasn’t gotten any response. And the letter didn’t come back “Return to Sender,” so he probably did get it, he just didn’t care. His daughter tries to make some contact, get some answers – reach out to the asshole, for God’s sake, and he can’t even be bothered. Ironically, her birthday came and went since she mailed him the letter as well. You’d think maybe a pang of conscience would make him at least respond and wish her a happy birthday. But his silence only proves what I’ve pretty much known all along – he is a heartless, cold bastard who cares about no one but himself and his drugs and booze. I’m just sorry that Lexie had to have her heart broken again waiting for a letter that will probably never come.
She has a new favorite song now, too. Lindsay Loahn’s “Confessions of a Broken Heart.” She plays it a lot and knows all the words by heart. When I actually listened to the words, I felt a rage build up in me and wanted to go directly to Florida and find him and kill him. He doesn’t deserve her tears, or her heart. Yet he gets both, because daughters can’t help but want to have their fathers love them unconditionally.
Which brings me to my own father. I have said repeatedly in past posts how much I love my dad, and how grateful I am to have him in my life, and that is true. Yet he is the one person who has the power to make me feel like a loser and often does. The one person who can cause more pain with his words or actions than any fists ever could. And yet? I can’t imagine not having him in my life.
Ever since I was little, my dad had a plan for me. I was going to be and do everything he didn’t. Of course, things didn’t work out exactly that way. He expected perfection, in every area, and I failed miserably. I got a C in Honors Advanced Algebra in high school, and therefore he ignored all the A’s and B’s in my other honors courses. “Not good enough.” I wasn’t athletic, but my brother was. Dad coached practically every team my brother ever played on, and was at every game. In grammar school, I was in gymnastics – the only sport I really enjoyed. I wasn’t the best, but I tried hard. I’ll never forget the one gymnastics meet I ever participated in… I had worked hard and practiced for weeks, and on the day of the big event, my father showed up. I couldn’t wait to show him that I was good, too. But then? He left. He said he was tired of waiting, that it was taking too long.
He never saw me compete at all that day. And I never participated in another meet again.
One time, he had a coworker over for dinner. I must have been about 12 or 13, and my brother about 10. They walked in and this guy sees my brother and says, “So you’re Bob! I’ve heard so much about you! How’s the baseball/football/basketball going? Your dad talks about you all the time!” I stood there smiling, and then he turned to me. “Oh, and you must be Ray’s daughter,” he said casually. My heart fell. He didn’t even know my name. It was obvious who the superstar was in my dad’s eyes. And it wasn’t me.
I never felt “good enough.” Yet I busted my ass to make him proud of me. Still do, in fact. But I always wind up feeling “less than.”
During my drug years, we obviously drifted even further apart. (Heck, I drifted from everyone, though.) When my parents divorced, I hated him. Then I quit using and in recovery, I again reached out to him. He supported me, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes. Again, I had let him down. I tried to get past it, and built up a relationship again. We were closer than ever, but there was still the underlying current of disappointment and disdain.
The thing is, I love my dad. But he hurts me so much and doesn’t seem to realize it. Even at my age, I feel like a little girl every time I talk to him – when he mocks my choice in tv shows (“I don’t want to hear about that. Seriously. Don’t talk to me about stupid shows like that, I don’t care”), laughs at my “gullibility” (“Oh, come on! That dj was just doing a bit! You don’t really think he ‘just happened’ to call that person, do you? Yeah, dad! It was funny! God, how stupid are you? It’s all for ratings!”), or, as happened last night, makes me feel like a complete fuck-up ( “Satan had every right to be upset!! Come on, Dasi! You goof off and then when you get caught, you get upset? You’ve got a lot of nerve! If you were MY employee, I’d fire you! But dad, I wasn’t late! And did you even hear what I told you he said to me? Yeah, I did, and you deserve it! Of course, YOU are always right, and everyone else is wrong, right? I just don’t understand you! But dad, I work HARD, and I do a GOOD JOB! I don’t always goof off! And I don’t think I should be treated that way. No, you never do? Do you? Like I said, you’re always right. You’re a real piece of work”).
I cried. Because after that conversation, it occurred to me, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I am still trying to please my father, and he is still making me feel inadequate. The ironic thing is, I seriously don’t think he even realizes it. Like when he went over to my brother’s on Father’s Day (my sister-in-law went out with her sister and their father) after he told Lexie “No, I don’t want to go to Great America with you, it’s Father’s Day, which means I do what I want.” Didn’t even invite Lexie and me, or tell us about it until the day was over. And then had no clue as to why I was hurt. (Although that ignorant situation fell on my brother too, for not inviting us either.) Sure, he apologized, but he was still baffled as to why an apology was necessary.
Or when I brought him to the Cubs game in $150 seats that I really couldn’t afford (once again, trying hard to get his approval) – and he complained all the way back to my brother’s (who lives about a mile from Wrigley) about the fact that I didn’t park in a lot by the stadium and we had to walk. And when I tried to call a cab, told me to “Hang up the phone! What, are you stupid? You can’t call for a cab in this area! You just have to FIND one!” He called and apologized the next day, and thanked me for the day, but once again I felt like I had screwed up.
Or every time we go out to eat and he makes little comments (“Sure, Lex, we can order cheesesticks, as long as your MOM doesn’t eat them” or “Geez, Dasi, do you really need to get all that food?”), and when I tell him how I’ve been exercising he’ll be all like “Well, we’ll see how long THAT lasts.” I never considered myself obese, but apparently I’m not thin enough for dad.
He called me this morning to ask if I was still mad at him, and I told him I was. He laughed. He asked if I was going to stay mad forever, and I said, “Maybe.” So he told me to have a good day and said goodbye.
Maybe that is why I am still single. Because I honestly don’t feel “good enough.” I feel like a stupid, gullible, overweight person who can’t do anything right. Why would anyone want to be with a woman like me?
A tale of two fathers. I wish to God they both would wake up and realize how destructive their words (or lack thereof) can be to their daughters. At any age. Because little girls will always love their daddies, no matter what. It would just be a lot easier if it didn’t hurt so damn much.
"Confessions of a Broken Heart"
I wait for the postman to bring me a letter.
And I wait for the good Lord to make me feel better.
And I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Family in crisis that only grows older.
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I am broken, but I am hoping.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I am crying, a part of me's dying.
But these are, these are confessions of a broken heart!
And I wear all your old clothes your polo sweater.
dream of another you, one who would never.
Never, leave me alone to pick up the pieces.
Daddy to hold me, that's what I needed.
So,why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I don't know you, but I still want to.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me?
'Cause these are, these are the confessions of a broken heart!
Of a broken heart!
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I ...!
I love you!
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I don't know you, but I still want to.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me?
Did you ever love me?
These are the confessions of a broken heart!
Ohh ... yeah
I wait for the postman to bring me a letter.
Let’s begin with Lexie’s father. You all know the story – and you all know how it breaks my heart to see her desperately wanting to understand why her father isn’t here. She wrote a letter to him just about a month ago – in fact, I mailed it exactly a month ago today. This is the letter (you may have to click on it to enlarge it a bit):
Guess what? To date, she hasn’t gotten any response. And the letter didn’t come back “Return to Sender,” so he probably did get it, he just didn’t care. His daughter tries to make some contact, get some answers – reach out to the asshole, for God’s sake, and he can’t even be bothered. Ironically, her birthday came and went since she mailed him the letter as well. You’d think maybe a pang of conscience would make him at least respond and wish her a happy birthday. But his silence only proves what I’ve pretty much known all along – he is a heartless, cold bastard who cares about no one but himself and his drugs and booze. I’m just sorry that Lexie had to have her heart broken again waiting for a letter that will probably never come.
She has a new favorite song now, too. Lindsay Loahn’s “Confessions of a Broken Heart.” She plays it a lot and knows all the words by heart. When I actually listened to the words, I felt a rage build up in me and wanted to go directly to Florida and find him and kill him. He doesn’t deserve her tears, or her heart. Yet he gets both, because daughters can’t help but want to have their fathers love them unconditionally.
Which brings me to my own father. I have said repeatedly in past posts how much I love my dad, and how grateful I am to have him in my life, and that is true. Yet he is the one person who has the power to make me feel like a loser and often does. The one person who can cause more pain with his words or actions than any fists ever could. And yet? I can’t imagine not having him in my life.
Ever since I was little, my dad had a plan for me. I was going to be and do everything he didn’t. Of course, things didn’t work out exactly that way. He expected perfection, in every area, and I failed miserably. I got a C in Honors Advanced Algebra in high school, and therefore he ignored all the A’s and B’s in my other honors courses. “Not good enough.” I wasn’t athletic, but my brother was. Dad coached practically every team my brother ever played on, and was at every game. In grammar school, I was in gymnastics – the only sport I really enjoyed. I wasn’t the best, but I tried hard. I’ll never forget the one gymnastics meet I ever participated in… I had worked hard and practiced for weeks, and on the day of the big event, my father showed up. I couldn’t wait to show him that I was good, too. But then? He left. He said he was tired of waiting, that it was taking too long.
He never saw me compete at all that day. And I never participated in another meet again.
One time, he had a coworker over for dinner. I must have been about 12 or 13, and my brother about 10. They walked in and this guy sees my brother and says, “So you’re Bob! I’ve heard so much about you! How’s the baseball/football/basketball going? Your dad talks about you all the time!” I stood there smiling, and then he turned to me. “Oh, and you must be Ray’s daughter,” he said casually. My heart fell. He didn’t even know my name. It was obvious who the superstar was in my dad’s eyes. And it wasn’t me.
I never felt “good enough.” Yet I busted my ass to make him proud of me. Still do, in fact. But I always wind up feeling “less than.”
During my drug years, we obviously drifted even further apart. (Heck, I drifted from everyone, though.) When my parents divorced, I hated him. Then I quit using and in recovery, I again reached out to him. He supported me, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes. Again, I had let him down. I tried to get past it, and built up a relationship again. We were closer than ever, but there was still the underlying current of disappointment and disdain.
The thing is, I love my dad. But he hurts me so much and doesn’t seem to realize it. Even at my age, I feel like a little girl every time I talk to him – when he mocks my choice in tv shows (“I don’t want to hear about that. Seriously. Don’t talk to me about stupid shows like that, I don’t care”), laughs at my “gullibility” (“Oh, come on! That dj was just doing a bit! You don’t really think he ‘just happened’ to call that person, do you? Yeah, dad! It was funny! God, how stupid are you? It’s all for ratings!”), or, as happened last night, makes me feel like a complete fuck-up ( “Satan had every right to be upset!! Come on, Dasi! You goof off and then when you get caught, you get upset? You’ve got a lot of nerve! If you were MY employee, I’d fire you! But dad, I wasn’t late! And did you even hear what I told you he said to me? Yeah, I did, and you deserve it! Of course, YOU are always right, and everyone else is wrong, right? I just don’t understand you! But dad, I work HARD, and I do a GOOD JOB! I don’t always goof off! And I don’t think I should be treated that way. No, you never do? Do you? Like I said, you’re always right. You’re a real piece of work”).
I cried. Because after that conversation, it occurred to me, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I am still trying to please my father, and he is still making me feel inadequate. The ironic thing is, I seriously don’t think he even realizes it. Like when he went over to my brother’s on Father’s Day (my sister-in-law went out with her sister and their father) after he told Lexie “No, I don’t want to go to Great America with you, it’s Father’s Day, which means I do what I want.” Didn’t even invite Lexie and me, or tell us about it until the day was over. And then had no clue as to why I was hurt. (Although that ignorant situation fell on my brother too, for not inviting us either.) Sure, he apologized, but he was still baffled as to why an apology was necessary.
Or when I brought him to the Cubs game in $150 seats that I really couldn’t afford (once again, trying hard to get his approval) – and he complained all the way back to my brother’s (who lives about a mile from Wrigley) about the fact that I didn’t park in a lot by the stadium and we had to walk. And when I tried to call a cab, told me to “Hang up the phone! What, are you stupid? You can’t call for a cab in this area! You just have to FIND one!” He called and apologized the next day, and thanked me for the day, but once again I felt like I had screwed up.
Or every time we go out to eat and he makes little comments (“Sure, Lex, we can order cheesesticks, as long as your MOM doesn’t eat them” or “Geez, Dasi, do you really need to get all that food?”), and when I tell him how I’ve been exercising he’ll be all like “Well, we’ll see how long THAT lasts.” I never considered myself obese, but apparently I’m not thin enough for dad.
He called me this morning to ask if I was still mad at him, and I told him I was. He laughed. He asked if I was going to stay mad forever, and I said, “Maybe.” So he told me to have a good day and said goodbye.
Maybe that is why I am still single. Because I honestly don’t feel “good enough.” I feel like a stupid, gullible, overweight person who can’t do anything right. Why would anyone want to be with a woman like me?
A tale of two fathers. I wish to God they both would wake up and realize how destructive their words (or lack thereof) can be to their daughters. At any age. Because little girls will always love their daddies, no matter what. It would just be a lot easier if it didn’t hurt so damn much.
"Confessions of a Broken Heart"
I wait for the postman to bring me a letter.
And I wait for the good Lord to make me feel better.
And I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Family in crisis that only grows older.
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I am broken, but I am hoping.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I am crying, a part of me's dying.
But these are, these are confessions of a broken heart!
And I wear all your old clothes your polo sweater.
dream of another you, one who would never.
Never, leave me alone to pick up the pieces.
Daddy to hold me, that's what I needed.
So,why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Why'd you have to go?
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I don't know you, but I still want to.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me?
'Cause these are, these are the confessions of a broken heart!
Of a broken heart!
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I ...!
I love you!
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
I don't know you, but I still want to.
Daughter to father, daughter to father!
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me?
Did you ever love me?
These are the confessions of a broken heart!
Ohh ... yeah
I wait for the postman to bring me a letter.
Monday, August 14, 2006
The Un-Post
So I'm sure if I were to post about Satan calling me a liar and telling me to "go back to your desk until you are ready to tell me the truth" about what time I came into work on Friday morning while he was on vacation because for some reason he believes I wasn't there until nine o'clock when I was there in the building at 8:30 (with witnesses on the floor) and admittedly did not unlock the office door until 8:40(but DEFINITELY before 9:00), making me feel like a reprimanded 5 year old instead of a grown woman... And if I were to also post that I confronted him and told him that I don't know where the time discrepancy comes in, but the fact that a little over a week ago I was sitting in his office while he told me what a great job I've been doing and how pleased he was with my work was kind of surreal considering the fact that now he was calling me a liar and expecting me to lie FOR REAL and say that I came in at 9:00 to placate him, which I wouldn't do... And if I were to also post the fact that I told him that I had worked for him for FIVE YEARS and always done a good job, but if he truly felt that I was being dishonest to do what he felt necessary because I would NOT change my "story..." And possibly even if I were to post about the tears that I TRIED to keep from flowing, except I couln't keep them in because I was so FRUSTRATED and ANGRY and HUMILIATED while Satan chose to instead focus on the fact that I unlocked the office a whole TEN FRICKIN MINUTES late and then had the GALL to use the bathroom before my coworker got in (despite the fact that she was a half hour late - apparently she can make her own hours since she "sometimes stays late when I need her, and you can't because you have a daughter") instead of the fact that I normally come in at least TEN MINUTES EARLY every day and bust my ass, with the exception of this ONE DAMN DAY...
Well, I'm sure if I posted all that I would just get a bunch of comments about how I should quit and shouldn't let myself be treated that way. So I don't think I'll post it.
Well, I'm sure if I posted all that I would just get a bunch of comments about how I should quit and shouldn't let myself be treated that way. So I don't think I'll post it.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Alright, Already!
Ok, I had another couple of really strange dreams the other night, and what better medium to share than my blog? I know, right? So here goes:
The first dream involved myself and the Beatles. I was somewhere outside, I don’t even know where, to be honest, but all the Beatles were there. Even the dead ones. Only they weren’t dead. There was like a concession stand right nearby, I do remember that. Otherwise, it was pretty empty. Hardly any other people except me and the Beatles. Paul was being especially nice, talking to me (about what, I have no idea – I just know we were talking) a lot, and George, John and Ringo would occasionally come up and join in the conversation. Then they would just kind of wander and hang out near this concession stand. But Paul and I, boy we really hit it off. He was super nice, and put his arm around me and everything. I felt really comfortable with the Beatles (even the dead ones), and suddenly it occurred to me that I didn’t have my camera with me. I remarked to Paul that I wished I had my camera so I could have some pictures of me with him and the rest of the guys, you know, to show my friends and family, and he was all “Well, I’ll take care of that!” And he took my hand and we walked up to the concession stand and Paul asked the guy for a disposable camera and two packs of Marlboro Lights. Now, I haven’t smoked in almost three years, but when Paul McCartney buys you cigarettes, you accept them graciously. Only thing was, they were in a really weird package, and then I realized that I was in LONDON, and I was all like “Wow, not only am I hanging out with the Beatles (even the dead ones), but I am hanging out with the Beatles in LONDON! Cool!” And then John took a picture of me and Paul, and Paul took a picture of me and John and George (the two dead guys – how odd), and Ringo was looking for someone to take a picture of all of us.
END DREAM ONE. Yup, just like that. Because then I morphed into Dream Two (I do that a lot, have several different really vivid dreams one right after the other in the same night, I just don’t always remember them).
So in Dream Two, I was on a train – more specifically the L in Chicago. There were several fellow bloggers on the train too, I recognized them from their pictures. We weren’t really talking, though, just riding the train and swaying back and forth with the movement of the train and bumping into each other because it was really crowded. Then the scene cut to me walking down the street to Wrigley Field (for those of you who have lived under a rock or just don’t know baseball, that is where my beloved Cubbies play). I got to the stadium, and I had to climb up this really steep cement hill to get to the other side, where apparently my seats were. Only it wasn’t a hill, it was more like bleachers at a little league field, with nothing but space between each row. And there were plastic chairs attached to the bleachers, but they didn’t look at all safe to sit on, since these bleachers were like 50 stories in the air. Yes, it was unusually high, and I was freaking out and having heart palpitations because I was really afraid I was going to fall, but I just kept moving up verrrrrry slowly and carefully because I knew it was really important to get to the top and over to the other side. (Side note: If I ever did go to Wrigley Field in real life, and had to climb 50 story bleachers with seats and nothing but air between the levels to get to my spot, I think I would just go home and watch the game on TV.) SO, I did get to the top, and was trying to catch my breath and start heading down the other side to my seat when I woke up.
Ok, now comes the fun part. Lexie got a Dream Book for her birthday, and I looked up some of the key things from said dreams and this is what I found:
Dream #1:
The Beatles: “To dream of a band indicates happiness.”
Camera/Pictures: “Taking pictures indicates that the things you are doing at the present time will play an important part in building your future.”
Cigarettes: “To dream of tobacco in any form indicates that you should beware of reckless spending on frivolous objects.” (Clearly, though, this does not mean that I PERSONALLY should beware, since it was Paul spending frivolously... so I'll just ignore this warning.)
Being in London: “Travel, on the whole, indicates a restlessness within. This is a good dream, as travel indicates change.”
Dream #2:
Train: “To dream you are traveling on a train indicates an upset mental condition, or that you are trying to make a decision which will eventually lead to a change of some kind.”
Crowd: “To dream of being in a crowd where there is pushing and shoving indicates hard work in the future, or a struggle to accomplish something that is important to you.”
Climbing: “Climbing a hill and reaching the top indicates hard work with prosperity to follow.”
Chair: “To dream of a chair indicates financial, moral or spiritual support in time of need. This is a good dream.”
So there you have it. And the way I look at the interpretations may be way off, but I’m getting the impression that my dreams are trying to tell me to KEEP WORKING ON “TBOTE,” DAMMIT!! Because obviously finishing it will change my life for the better, and all you chairs (I mean, bloggers) are giving me the support I need, so I have to get a move on. Which, you may have noticed, I did do yesterday. But I need to stop with the looooong intervals and put my nose to the grindstone, I guess.
Bizarre the way the subconscious mind works, isn’t it?
Oh, and? My cell phone texted me the following horoscope this morning: “Do the research necessary to get your project launched; there are people who can guide you, you just need to find them!”
Thanks, cell phone. In any case, I guess I ought to end this blog and start churning out chapters and doing research then. I mean, I figure that’s what the Beatles and the Cubs would want too, right?
The first dream involved myself and the Beatles. I was somewhere outside, I don’t even know where, to be honest, but all the Beatles were there. Even the dead ones. Only they weren’t dead. There was like a concession stand right nearby, I do remember that. Otherwise, it was pretty empty. Hardly any other people except me and the Beatles. Paul was being especially nice, talking to me (about what, I have no idea – I just know we were talking) a lot, and George, John and Ringo would occasionally come up and join in the conversation. Then they would just kind of wander and hang out near this concession stand. But Paul and I, boy we really hit it off. He was super nice, and put his arm around me and everything. I felt really comfortable with the Beatles (even the dead ones), and suddenly it occurred to me that I didn’t have my camera with me. I remarked to Paul that I wished I had my camera so I could have some pictures of me with him and the rest of the guys, you know, to show my friends and family, and he was all “Well, I’ll take care of that!” And he took my hand and we walked up to the concession stand and Paul asked the guy for a disposable camera and two packs of Marlboro Lights. Now, I haven’t smoked in almost three years, but when Paul McCartney buys you cigarettes, you accept them graciously. Only thing was, they were in a really weird package, and then I realized that I was in LONDON, and I was all like “Wow, not only am I hanging out with the Beatles (even the dead ones), but I am hanging out with the Beatles in LONDON! Cool!” And then John took a picture of me and Paul, and Paul took a picture of me and John and George (the two dead guys – how odd), and Ringo was looking for someone to take a picture of all of us.
END DREAM ONE. Yup, just like that. Because then I morphed into Dream Two (I do that a lot, have several different really vivid dreams one right after the other in the same night, I just don’t always remember them).
So in Dream Two, I was on a train – more specifically the L in Chicago. There were several fellow bloggers on the train too, I recognized them from their pictures. We weren’t really talking, though, just riding the train and swaying back and forth with the movement of the train and bumping into each other because it was really crowded. Then the scene cut to me walking down the street to Wrigley Field (for those of you who have lived under a rock or just don’t know baseball, that is where my beloved Cubbies play). I got to the stadium, and I had to climb up this really steep cement hill to get to the other side, where apparently my seats were. Only it wasn’t a hill, it was more like bleachers at a little league field, with nothing but space between each row. And there were plastic chairs attached to the bleachers, but they didn’t look at all safe to sit on, since these bleachers were like 50 stories in the air. Yes, it was unusually high, and I was freaking out and having heart palpitations because I was really afraid I was going to fall, but I just kept moving up verrrrrry slowly and carefully because I knew it was really important to get to the top and over to the other side. (Side note: If I ever did go to Wrigley Field in real life, and had to climb 50 story bleachers with seats and nothing but air between the levels to get to my spot, I think I would just go home and watch the game on TV.) SO, I did get to the top, and was trying to catch my breath and start heading down the other side to my seat when I woke up.
Ok, now comes the fun part. Lexie got a Dream Book for her birthday, and I looked up some of the key things from said dreams and this is what I found:
Dream #1:
The Beatles: “To dream of a band indicates happiness.”
Camera/Pictures: “Taking pictures indicates that the things you are doing at the present time will play an important part in building your future.”
Cigarettes: “To dream of tobacco in any form indicates that you should beware of reckless spending on frivolous objects.” (Clearly, though, this does not mean that I PERSONALLY should beware, since it was Paul spending frivolously... so I'll just ignore this warning.)
Being in London: “Travel, on the whole, indicates a restlessness within. This is a good dream, as travel indicates change.”
Dream #2:
Train: “To dream you are traveling on a train indicates an upset mental condition, or that you are trying to make a decision which will eventually lead to a change of some kind.”
Crowd: “To dream of being in a crowd where there is pushing and shoving indicates hard work in the future, or a struggle to accomplish something that is important to you.”
Climbing: “Climbing a hill and reaching the top indicates hard work with prosperity to follow.”
Chair: “To dream of a chair indicates financial, moral or spiritual support in time of need. This is a good dream.”
So there you have it. And the way I look at the interpretations may be way off, but I’m getting the impression that my dreams are trying to tell me to KEEP WORKING ON “TBOTE,” DAMMIT!! Because obviously finishing it will change my life for the better, and all you chairs (I mean, bloggers) are giving me the support I need, so I have to get a move on. Which, you may have noticed, I did do yesterday. But I need to stop with the looooong intervals and put my nose to the grindstone, I guess.
Bizarre the way the subconscious mind works, isn’t it?
Oh, and? My cell phone texted me the following horoscope this morning: “Do the research necessary to get your project launched; there are people who can guide you, you just need to find them!”
Thanks, cell phone. In any case, I guess I ought to end this blog and start churning out chapters and doing research then. I mean, I figure that’s what the Beatles and the Cubs would want too, right?
Thursday, August 10, 2006
The Beginning of the End, Part 34
I suddenly felt better than I had in a while. I let the drug take me where I wanted to be – away from the fear and the pain and the anger. I took hit after hit and laughed with Melanie and relaxed for the first time in a long time. Bobby concentrated on cooking up rocks and keeping us happy, and watched us through the smoke of his own hits.
“You know what?” I asked lazily, feeling the need to express my newfound feelings. “You guys are the best. I mean it!” I insisted, as Bobby started to laugh.
“Only because we got the rocks,” he said with a grin.
“Not true,” I responded. “ I haven’t made many friends since I’ve been here. Only Marc. And no girlfriends at all.”
Melanie giggled. “I’m your girlfriend,” she said earnestly, giving me a hug.
Bobby shook his head at the two of us and rolled his eyes. Melanie’s hug felt good, and I almost didn’t want to let go. Human contact that wasn’t dirty, or violent, or evil… Just a good friend being there for you. I really needed that.
“You know, I feel almost like we’re sisters,” Melanie told me a minute later. “I always wanted a sister.”
“Me, too,” I agreed.
“You don’t have a sister either?” she asked with eyes wide.
“Nope,” I replied, exhaling from yet another hit. “Only a younger brother.”
“I have an older brother! Wow, see, we’re so much alike!” Melanie looked almost ready to start clapping her hands and cheering – almost. I had to laugh, she was so young, and so naïve… I wanted to tell her the last thing she should want was to be like me.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I felt my heart leap and my eyes widen as Bobby got up to see who it was.
The door opened and Kevin and Marc walked in, with Kevin looking a bit panicked.
“Jesus, Dasi!” he said when he saw me. “You had me worried! Thank God you’re here!”
“Wow, is it that late already?” I commented.
“Yeah, it is,” Kevin said pointedly. “Here Marc and I come home to find the place empty, and I had no idea…”
I went up to Kevin and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine,” I assured him. “Bobby and Melanie have been taking good care of me.”
“Until now,” Bobby chimed in. “My guy is dry. You got cash and a connect, bro?”
“Some,” Kevin said. “And yeah, Arturo or Polon should be doing business. I’ll need to make a call.” He turned to Marc. “You got cash too, right?”
Marc nodded. “Not a lot, but enough for a couple.”
Melanie suddenly sat up from the bed she had been laying on. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “I can get money!”
Bobby looked at her from under his ever present baseball cap. “You told me you had nothing,” he accused.
“Well, I don’t,” she admitted, “but I can get some. What time is it?”
I looked at the red glowing numbers on the digital clock. “Twelve thirty-eight.”
“And what day is it?”
Marc rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Friday,” I supplied.
“Perfect!” she said, jumping off the bed and rummaging through her purse.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
Melanie smiled triumphantly as she held up her prize: a very unassuming key.
“This is the key to my house. My parents thought I left it when I ran away, but I actually had a copy made. Billy is away at college, and usually on weekends my parents go to Tahoe. Sooooo,” she explained.
Bobby smiled. “I like the way you think,” he said, grabbing her and kissing her hard.
I wasn’t so sure. Was she talking about robbing her own house? What if her parents weren’t in Tahoe? What if she had nosy neighbors? My high was suddenly disappearing rapidly.
“So, what are you saying?” Kevin asked, reading my thoughts. “That we go and rob your own parents?”
“No, silly!” Melanie scoffed. “Not rob, borrow. Besides, technically they owe me for the college money they won’t have to spend. Daddy has a safe that he keeps cash in for emergencies. I think this is an emergency, don’t you?”
They guys were already nodding in agreement, but I still felt uneasy.
“He thinks I don’t know the combination, but I do. Always have. I used to take money from it sometimes, just little bits, and he never knew.” She turned to Bobby with excitement. “We can get enough to buy a ton of shit and then sell a bunch to make more money and get that apartment we want! And still probably be able to party ourselves! It can work, I know it can!”
Bobby chewed his lip. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” He turned to Kevin. “Can your guy get quantity?”
“I don’t know,” Kevin replied honestly. “It’s not like I ever had any reason to ask.”
“How much cash does your dad keep there?” Bobby asked Melanie.
“Usually a few grand,” she said, eyes lit up. “You know, a lot of money!”
Bobby turned to Kevin. “Call your guy and see how much he can get tonight. Tell him you got a big deal.”
“I can do that,” Kevin said.
“Then we drive out to Melanie’s,” Bobby continued. “In and out, just in case.”
Melanie shrugged. “We don’t have to be in and out,” she said. “I mean, think about it, a safe place to party for a while…”
Marc finally chimed in. “But what if they come home?”
“They won’t,” Melanie said confidently. “If they’re not there now, they won’t be home at least until tomorrow afternoon. Margaritas with the Tahoe neighbors keeps them busy on their Friday nights.”
“Melanie, are you sure about this?” I asked nervously.
“If she says she’s sure, she’s sure, babe,” Kevin crooned, putting his arm around me.
“I’m sure,” Melanie insisted. "Besides, it's not illegal to go into your own house with a key, is it?"
Kevin pulled his arm away. “I’ve got a phone call to make,” he said, heading for the door. “Back in a flash.”
“And then it’s time to roll,” Bobby said as Kevin left.
Melanie, Bobby and Marc smiled and laughed as they talked about the big score, but I sat on the bed with the familiar knot forming in my stomach. This just didn’t feel right. But I knew that regardless of my feelings, it was going to happen. And that I would be a part of it.
“You know what?” I asked lazily, feeling the need to express my newfound feelings. “You guys are the best. I mean it!” I insisted, as Bobby started to laugh.
“Only because we got the rocks,” he said with a grin.
“Not true,” I responded. “ I haven’t made many friends since I’ve been here. Only Marc. And no girlfriends at all.”
Melanie giggled. “I’m your girlfriend,” she said earnestly, giving me a hug.
Bobby shook his head at the two of us and rolled his eyes. Melanie’s hug felt good, and I almost didn’t want to let go. Human contact that wasn’t dirty, or violent, or evil… Just a good friend being there for you. I really needed that.
“You know, I feel almost like we’re sisters,” Melanie told me a minute later. “I always wanted a sister.”
“Me, too,” I agreed.
“You don’t have a sister either?” she asked with eyes wide.
“Nope,” I replied, exhaling from yet another hit. “Only a younger brother.”
“I have an older brother! Wow, see, we’re so much alike!” Melanie looked almost ready to start clapping her hands and cheering – almost. I had to laugh, she was so young, and so naïve… I wanted to tell her the last thing she should want was to be like me.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I felt my heart leap and my eyes widen as Bobby got up to see who it was.
The door opened and Kevin and Marc walked in, with Kevin looking a bit panicked.
“Jesus, Dasi!” he said when he saw me. “You had me worried! Thank God you’re here!”
“Wow, is it that late already?” I commented.
“Yeah, it is,” Kevin said pointedly. “Here Marc and I come home to find the place empty, and I had no idea…”
I went up to Kevin and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine,” I assured him. “Bobby and Melanie have been taking good care of me.”
“Until now,” Bobby chimed in. “My guy is dry. You got cash and a connect, bro?”
“Some,” Kevin said. “And yeah, Arturo or Polon should be doing business. I’ll need to make a call.” He turned to Marc. “You got cash too, right?”
Marc nodded. “Not a lot, but enough for a couple.”
Melanie suddenly sat up from the bed she had been laying on. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “I can get money!”
Bobby looked at her from under his ever present baseball cap. “You told me you had nothing,” he accused.
“Well, I don’t,” she admitted, “but I can get some. What time is it?”
I looked at the red glowing numbers on the digital clock. “Twelve thirty-eight.”
“And what day is it?”
Marc rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Friday,” I supplied.
“Perfect!” she said, jumping off the bed and rummaging through her purse.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
Melanie smiled triumphantly as she held up her prize: a very unassuming key.
“This is the key to my house. My parents thought I left it when I ran away, but I actually had a copy made. Billy is away at college, and usually on weekends my parents go to Tahoe. Sooooo,” she explained.
Bobby smiled. “I like the way you think,” he said, grabbing her and kissing her hard.
I wasn’t so sure. Was she talking about robbing her own house? What if her parents weren’t in Tahoe? What if she had nosy neighbors? My high was suddenly disappearing rapidly.
“So, what are you saying?” Kevin asked, reading my thoughts. “That we go and rob your own parents?”
“No, silly!” Melanie scoffed. “Not rob, borrow. Besides, technically they owe me for the college money they won’t have to spend. Daddy has a safe that he keeps cash in for emergencies. I think this is an emergency, don’t you?”
They guys were already nodding in agreement, but I still felt uneasy.
“He thinks I don’t know the combination, but I do. Always have. I used to take money from it sometimes, just little bits, and he never knew.” She turned to Bobby with excitement. “We can get enough to buy a ton of shit and then sell a bunch to make more money and get that apartment we want! And still probably be able to party ourselves! It can work, I know it can!”
Bobby chewed his lip. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” He turned to Kevin. “Can your guy get quantity?”
“I don’t know,” Kevin replied honestly. “It’s not like I ever had any reason to ask.”
“How much cash does your dad keep there?” Bobby asked Melanie.
“Usually a few grand,” she said, eyes lit up. “You know, a lot of money!”
Bobby turned to Kevin. “Call your guy and see how much he can get tonight. Tell him you got a big deal.”
“I can do that,” Kevin said.
“Then we drive out to Melanie’s,” Bobby continued. “In and out, just in case.”
Melanie shrugged. “We don’t have to be in and out,” she said. “I mean, think about it, a safe place to party for a while…”
Marc finally chimed in. “But what if they come home?”
“They won’t,” Melanie said confidently. “If they’re not there now, they won’t be home at least until tomorrow afternoon. Margaritas with the Tahoe neighbors keeps them busy on their Friday nights.”
“Melanie, are you sure about this?” I asked nervously.
“If she says she’s sure, she’s sure, babe,” Kevin crooned, putting his arm around me.
“I’m sure,” Melanie insisted. "Besides, it's not illegal to go into your own house with a key, is it?"
Kevin pulled his arm away. “I’ve got a phone call to make,” he said, heading for the door. “Back in a flash.”
“And then it’s time to roll,” Bobby said as Kevin left.
Melanie, Bobby and Marc smiled and laughed as they talked about the big score, but I sat on the bed with the familiar knot forming in my stomach. This just didn’t feel right. But I knew that regardless of my feelings, it was going to happen. And that I would be a part of it.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP ON ME...
...I promise there will be a new chapter of "TBOTE" posted by the end of the week. I have no excuses, I have just been lazy and unmotivated. But I wanted to make sure it was known that I have not abandoned my writing - simply shelved it for a tiny little bit.
Again - I PROMISE - no later than Friday afternoon!!!!!
Again - I PROMISE - no later than Friday afternoon!!!!!
Friday, August 04, 2006
Happy Birthday!
Today is my baby's birthday. She is eleven years old and 5'3 1/2" tall. She is blonde and gorgeous and smart and funny but still can drive me crazy. I love her more than I ever thought I could love anyone, and I thank God for her every day. (Even when she is getting on my last nerve.) But I have a hard time believing she is eleven already... where does the time go?
What happened to my little angel with the tattoos on her face??? Cherish every moment - and take LOTS of pictures!
Happy Birthday, Lexie!! (Although you aren't allowed to read my blog - I'll make sure to tell you a million times in person!)
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
The Blogger's Court
DUM DUM DUM!! (Imagine cheesy “People’s Court” music here) This is the Plaintiff, Dasi. She states that Mr. X purchased baseball tickets from her on E-bay, then never paid. She is suing for recognition that she is right and he is an asshole. DUM DUM DUM!! This is the Defendant, Mr. X. He states that he had every intention of paying for said tickets, but before he could do so, Dasi reniged on the deal and sold him cheaper seats instead. He is being charged with being an asshole and stringing Dasi along.
(Insert bongo drums here.) The participants in this case are not actors. They are real people who have a cyberspace case pending in an E-bay court. Both parties have agreed to dismiss this action and have their dispute settled here… in our forum… THE BLOGGER’S COURT!!!
Ok, so now that we have had the introduction... obviously, Mr. X is not present, so this will pretty much be my word against what I say his word was, however, this is my blog and I can do what I want. That said, let me set the scene:
Back in February, I purchased four Cubs tickets for the 7/29 Cub-Cardinal game. These were awesome seats, and VERY expensive. Thankfully, I had plenty of available credit and was able to cough up the $150 per ticket so I could bring my Dad as a Father's Day gift, and sell the other two on e-bay. Admittedly, I made my first mistake right there. I never should have bought the extra two tickets with the intention of selling them and hopefully making a buck or two. But you know what they say about hindsight...
Anyway, July finally rolls around, and I figure I ought to list the tickets before it's too late. So on July 2, I posted them for $325.00 - plus $14.40 overnight shipping. A week later, on July 9, the auction ended, and Mr. X was the sole bidder, winning the pair for the $325.00. I was happy they sold, despite the fact that I really only broke even (once you considered the handling fees I paid). So I send out the little e-bay invoice, and wait for an e-mail from Paypal saying "you have received a payment from Mr. X." Unfortunately, it never came. On July 12, three days after the auction ended, I sent a friendly reminder to Mr. X. Following are actual e-mails chronicling what happened from there. Mr. X's e-mails are in blue, mine are in red (just to stick with the Cubbie theme):
Date: Wed, 12 Jul 2006
Hi, I am going to pay for these ASAP. I'm taking my identical twin bro, so you know, I'm rock solid, I just need until next week. We're huge Cub fans, and these ticks are SO sweet. Thank you.
Sent: Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Hey - sorry to bother you... but it's been a week since our last e-mails... you DO still want the tickets, right? Because the auction ended ten days ago and the game is next Saturday... if there is a problem, let me know so I can re-list them in time. Thanks!
Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006
No worries at all. Yes! I do still want the two tickets. I'll have the money to you on Saturday, Monday the latest. I promise I won't hang you out to dry on these tickets. Is this ok? If you're concerned about the transaction getting fulfilled, I understand. You don't know me from Adam. I don't want you to re-list the tickets, but I would understand. Just let me know. Thanks!
Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006
Ok, against my better judgment - I'll trust you...! After all, you ARE a Cub fan, and besides, I have your name, e-mail and cell # and come from a family of Chicago cops. lol (Although I'm NOT kidding...!)
I'll overnight the tickets as soon as I get the $, so make sure you give me an address where there will be someone that can sign for them (it will be USPS express - and I'm not sure whether or not they require a signature).
Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006
Hi Dasi, I appreciate your patience. Thank you! I won't let you down :) I'm going to include my address now, so you have that too ;) I work out of here, so I'm here all the time. Unfortunately :( Although, it's a nice view.
Thanks again
So by now, it has been ten days since the auction ended, and still no money. But I figure I’ll give the guy a break, and try to be a little more patient. After almost another full week goes by, and I still haven’t heard from him, I decide to relist the tickets. And file an Unpaid Item dispute, so I can get my final value fees back, which were about $12 - $15. Upon doing so, e-bay forwards the below to Mr. X:
Jul-25-06 at 11:32:41 PDT
An Unpaid Item dispute has been opened for the following item: **CUBS V. CARDINALS - BULLPEN BOX - SAT 7/29** (#120004230588) Reason given for Unpaid Item: The buyer has not paid for the item.
Buyer actions reported by seller: The buyer's payment has not been received.
I also decide to drop a more personal note to Mr. X, which set this little back-and-forth in motion:
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
So, I'm assuming you no longer want the tickets... I really wish you would have told me sooner, since I may not be able to sell them at all at this late date... Oh, well - live and learn, I guess. Thanks anyway.
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Hey Dasi! I do want the tickets!! Please don't get rid of them. I promised you. Nobody trusts anyone anymore. Damn!
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Ok, ok… I'm not angry with you, in case my last e-mail came across bitchy - actually, I was very relieved to hear from you... I'm just stressing because I don't want to be out the $$.
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Hi Dasi! You don't sound bitchy at all. I'm in Grad school right now, so I understand totally. In every way. Believe me. It's just that I would never screw you over. Not ever. It's not in me, I promise. I'm sorry I'm making you STRESSED!
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. JUST GET ME MY MONEY!! Oh, AND you owe me a beer now, too!
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I'm buying your Dad one too! And a dog. Cuz, well, for obvious reasons...
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
See now, I am SO enjoying our repartee - I am hoping I don't have to hunt you down or anything after the game if I wind up with two empty seats next to me... remember - the game is S A T U R D A Y... tickets will have to be mailed by T H U R S D A Y... so you get them on F R I D A Y... capisci??
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I'm all in Dasi! Thank you for everything. I only take my bro (and myself) to one game every year, and this is the game I reverse the curse of that damn goat and black cat! Do you know where I can get their bones? Jk ;)(kind of)
And like a fool, I again put my trust in him and take down the relisting. Which brings us to our final e-mail reportoire:
Sent: Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Ok - all kidding aside - as much as I like you through e-mail, I have to point out that it is 3:00 pm on Wednesday and I still don't have payment... The mail leaves our office at 3:30 pm, and I don't leave until 5:30, which means I can't stop at the post office to drop off an overnight letter myself. Soooo, today is out for shipping, and if I don't have the tickets ready to ship by 3:00 tomorrow, they definitely won't get to you by game time. PLEASE. Let me rest easy tonight!!! I am putting it all on the line here, and trusting you are as nice and as honest as you seem by not relisting the tix. But for God's sake at least tell me WHEN exactly I can expect an e-mail from paypal saying "payment received!"
Sent: Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Rest easy D. Tomorrow afternoon. It's in the 11's for the Cubs right now. If they sweep their home stand (11 games), their record would be even. The way I see it, they have nine losses to go 92-70. That could get 'em in to the dance. I'm making pacts with the baseball g-ds.
Sent: Thursday, July 27, 2006
You said nobody trusts anyone anymore... this is why. The mail has gone out, and I haven't gotten paid for the tickets, so now I am out over $300, money I can’t afford to lose. I don’t understand why you couldn’t just tell me up front if there was a problem getting the money, or that it turned out the seats were too expensive for you. I could’ve relisted the seats and sold them to someone else. Now I am stuck with the tickets and out the money.
Thought you were one of the good guys – looks like I was a fool.
Sent: Thursday, July 27, 2006
Dasi! HI! Please call me. Xxx-xxx-xxxx c or xxx-xxx-xxxx (I'm actually out at my Mom's place in Naperville). I'm getting the $ in my account tomorrow AM. I am paying you for the tickets, even if you can't get them to me. That's the way I am. I'm an honest man. Good and decent. I'll pay you tomorrow AM, and I'll find a way to get the tickets from you. I AM one of the good guys. You'll see when you meet me. I think. I love people too much to ever mess with them. Maybe they ARE too expensive for me, but I take my bro to the best game I can each year. Last year was Sandberg's #23 retirement game against the Marlins. I'm sorry to be standing on your last nerve on this one. I am truly sorry to cause you STRESS!
After receiving that, I did call Mr. X. I finally got a hold of him on Friday, the DAY BEFORE the game. NINETEEN DAYS after the auction ended. He swore up and down he still wanted the tickets, he had just gotten the money, and I gave him the option of coming to my job with the money in exchange for the tickets. No, he suggested, how about I Paypal the money tonight, and meet you before the game tomorrow to get the tickets? I told him that would be fine, since I was already planning to meet my dad at a bar before the game, but the money had to be IN MY ACCOUNT by this evening, or no tickets. Period. He promised it would be done.
Guess what? I checked my e-mail AND paypal account when I got home Friday night around midnight, and nada. I went to bed frustrated and angry, out over $300.
At 7:00 am Saturday morning, game day, no less, my phone rang. It was him, apologizing up and down, telling me that his brother had a seizure because he had a head injury from a few months back and couldn’t make the game, but he STILL wanted the tickets and was going to bring his stepdad. He said he didn’t pay because… well, to be honest, I don’t remember what his excuse was this time. In any case, I felt caught between a rock and a hard place, and agreed to still meet him at the bar at 2:00 (the game was at 3:05) so he could buy the tickets.
I had a really bad feeling about the whole thing, but at this point, I felt stuck. Until my brother called. I told him what had transpired, and he told me that he and his buddy would take the extra two tickets, and I should call Mr. X, tell him I sold them to someone else, but that I had two upper deck box seats (my brother’s seaon ticket seats) that he could have for face value, $40 each. I kind of hesitated, and my brother stated that he didn’t trust this guy, that he could possibly show up with a check that would bounce or way less than what he was supposed to pay, and I would wind up being scammed. He made sense, my brother, and seriously, I didn’t know this guy from Adam. Besides, he had made promise after promise to pay and never had, so I swallowed my guilt and called him.
He was thrilled. He said he only wanted the other seats for his brother, and since he couldn’t go, he really couldn’t afford them. But he would meet us at the bar for the $40 tickets.
He DID meet us, although not at the bar, and not at 2:00. He kept calling and calling (“the Metra is late, sorry!” “now the red line is late!!” “I’m RUNNING! I’ll be at the front gate!”) and we eventually met him right at the moment the first pitch was thrown, at 3:05. He paid the $80, gave me a hug (ew) and told me to watch my e-mail because he was going to send me some rookie Cub baseball cards (he had mentioned Kerry Wood) for all my trouble. Yeah, whatever. I wouldn’t take money from my brother, I couldn’t, he always gives me his tickets to use free of charge. It hurt eating the $250 (I did keep the $80), but we had a great time anyway.
Seemed like all's well that ends well, except for me being out the money. But I still had to close the dispute with e-bay to get my final value fees back. So this is what happened (all sent through e-bay):
Jul-29-06 at 19:36:37 PDT
Although we've resolved the matter, you need to respond to this dispute so I can get a final value credit and you won't get a nonpayment strike against you. Please respond indicating that we have mutually agreed to cancel the transaction so I can close the dispute. Thanks!
Aug-01-06 at 05:14:18 PDT
PLEASE respond... for your sake. Otherwise, tomorrow I will be closing the dispute to get credit for the final value fee, and you will have an unpaid strike against you. With this, I CANNOT wait, because fees are paid monthly, and I can't afford to lose an additional ten or so bucks on top of the $300 when it can be prevented...
Aug-01-06 at 05:41:00 PDT
I have already paid for this item. Payment details are as follows:
Payment type: n/a
Amount: $325.00
Payee: Dasi
Payment date: Jul-29-2006
Additional comments: DONE!
Aug-01-06 at 06:41:25 PDT
DO NOT mess around with me. You know you never paid me the $325. I am not trying to screw you - the only way to resolve this amicably is to agree that we settled the transaction without you purchasing the seats THAT WERE UP FOR AUCTION. If you continue to insist you paid the $325 (which you didn't) I will have no choice but to pursue this as a contested dispute, where you will have to show proof of payment & get a nonpayment strike. Let me at least get my final value fee back.
He didn't respond, so I closed the dispute, thus issuing him a nonpayment strike. And since I was po'd, I left him this negative feedback, a bit cramped due to space constraints:
Wtd 3 wks for pmt,got screwed.Heboughtcheaper tix at game time- left me out $250
His response?
Sent: Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Nice writing skills! Wait until you see my response. I had the money for those tickets on Saturday AM. YOU gave me the option for the cheaper tickets, and that is all I'm going to say about it. On E-Bay anyway. I guess I don't have to send out those rookie cards to you for Lexie. It's so funny how people can be so, well, like you, and don't even see it in any way other than how you see it. hahahahaha sucks to be you
Well, I refuse to respond to him, but I submit it all to you, Blogger's Court. What do you think? Am I a total bitch? Or is Mr. X an asshole?? Do you believe that he was still planning to pay? Or do you think I was being scammed?? The comments section is wide open!!
(And as for my writing skills, Mr. X, just WAIT until I publish "TBOTE!!!")
(Insert bongo drums here.) The participants in this case are not actors. They are real people who have a cyberspace case pending in an E-bay court. Both parties have agreed to dismiss this action and have their dispute settled here… in our forum… THE BLOGGER’S COURT!!!
Ok, so now that we have had the introduction... obviously, Mr. X is not present, so this will pretty much be my word against what I say his word was, however, this is my blog and I can do what I want. That said, let me set the scene:
Back in February, I purchased four Cubs tickets for the 7/29 Cub-Cardinal game. These were awesome seats, and VERY expensive. Thankfully, I had plenty of available credit and was able to cough up the $150 per ticket so I could bring my Dad as a Father's Day gift, and sell the other two on e-bay. Admittedly, I made my first mistake right there. I never should have bought the extra two tickets with the intention of selling them and hopefully making a buck or two. But you know what they say about hindsight...
Anyway, July finally rolls around, and I figure I ought to list the tickets before it's too late. So on July 2, I posted them for $325.00 - plus $14.40 overnight shipping. A week later, on July 9, the auction ended, and Mr. X was the sole bidder, winning the pair for the $325.00. I was happy they sold, despite the fact that I really only broke even (once you considered the handling fees I paid). So I send out the little e-bay invoice, and wait for an e-mail from Paypal saying "you have received a payment from Mr. X." Unfortunately, it never came. On July 12, three days after the auction ended, I sent a friendly reminder to Mr. X. Following are actual e-mails chronicling what happened from there. Mr. X's e-mails are in blue, mine are in red (just to stick with the Cubbie theme):
Date: Wed, 12 Jul 2006
Hi, I am going to pay for these ASAP. I'm taking my identical twin bro, so you know, I'm rock solid, I just need until next week. We're huge Cub fans, and these ticks are SO sweet. Thank you.
Sent: Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Hey - sorry to bother you... but it's been a week since our last e-mails... you DO still want the tickets, right? Because the auction ended ten days ago and the game is next Saturday... if there is a problem, let me know so I can re-list them in time. Thanks!
Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006
No worries at all. Yes! I do still want the two tickets. I'll have the money to you on Saturday, Monday the latest. I promise I won't hang you out to dry on these tickets. Is this ok? If you're concerned about the transaction getting fulfilled, I understand. You don't know me from Adam. I don't want you to re-list the tickets, but I would understand. Just let me know. Thanks!
Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006
Ok, against my better judgment - I'll trust you...! After all, you ARE a Cub fan, and besides, I have your name, e-mail and cell # and come from a family of Chicago cops. lol (Although I'm NOT kidding...!)
I'll overnight the tickets as soon as I get the $, so make sure you give me an address where there will be someone that can sign for them (it will be USPS express - and I'm not sure whether or not they require a signature).
Date: Wed, 19 Jul 2006
Hi Dasi, I appreciate your patience. Thank you! I won't let you down :) I'm going to include my address now, so you have that too ;) I work out of here, so I'm here all the time. Unfortunately :( Although, it's a nice view.
Thanks again
So by now, it has been ten days since the auction ended, and still no money. But I figure I’ll give the guy a break, and try to be a little more patient. After almost another full week goes by, and I still haven’t heard from him, I decide to relist the tickets. And file an Unpaid Item dispute, so I can get my final value fees back, which were about $12 - $15. Upon doing so, e-bay forwards the below to Mr. X:
Jul-25-06 at 11:32:41 PDT
An Unpaid Item dispute has been opened for the following item: **CUBS V. CARDINALS - BULLPEN BOX - SAT 7/29** (#120004230588) Reason given for Unpaid Item: The buyer has not paid for the item.
Buyer actions reported by seller: The buyer's payment has not been received.
I also decide to drop a more personal note to Mr. X, which set this little back-and-forth in motion:
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
So, I'm assuming you no longer want the tickets... I really wish you would have told me sooner, since I may not be able to sell them at all at this late date... Oh, well - live and learn, I guess. Thanks anyway.
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Hey Dasi! I do want the tickets!! Please don't get rid of them. I promised you. Nobody trusts anyone anymore. Damn!
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Ok, ok… I'm not angry with you, in case my last e-mail came across bitchy - actually, I was very relieved to hear from you... I'm just stressing because I don't want to be out the $$.
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Hi Dasi! You don't sound bitchy at all. I'm in Grad school right now, so I understand totally. In every way. Believe me. It's just that I would never screw you over. Not ever. It's not in me, I promise. I'm sorry I'm making you STRESSED!
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. JUST GET ME MY MONEY!! Oh, AND you owe me a beer now, too!
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I'm buying your Dad one too! And a dog. Cuz, well, for obvious reasons...
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
See now, I am SO enjoying our repartee - I am hoping I don't have to hunt you down or anything after the game if I wind up with two empty seats next to me... remember - the game is S A T U R D A Y... tickets will have to be mailed by T H U R S D A Y... so you get them on F R I D A Y... capisci??
Sent: Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I'm all in Dasi! Thank you for everything. I only take my bro (and myself) to one game every year, and this is the game I reverse the curse of that damn goat and black cat! Do you know where I can get their bones? Jk ;)(kind of)
And like a fool, I again put my trust in him and take down the relisting. Which brings us to our final e-mail reportoire:
Sent: Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Ok - all kidding aside - as much as I like you through e-mail, I have to point out that it is 3:00 pm on Wednesday and I still don't have payment... The mail leaves our office at 3:30 pm, and I don't leave until 5:30, which means I can't stop at the post office to drop off an overnight letter myself. Soooo, today is out for shipping, and if I don't have the tickets ready to ship by 3:00 tomorrow, they definitely won't get to you by game time. PLEASE. Let me rest easy tonight!!! I am putting it all on the line here, and trusting you are as nice and as honest as you seem by not relisting the tix. But for God's sake at least tell me WHEN exactly I can expect an e-mail from paypal saying "payment received!"
Sent: Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Rest easy D. Tomorrow afternoon. It's in the 11's for the Cubs right now. If they sweep their home stand (11 games), their record would be even. The way I see it, they have nine losses to go 92-70. That could get 'em in to the dance. I'm making pacts with the baseball g-ds.
Sent: Thursday, July 27, 2006
You said nobody trusts anyone anymore... this is why. The mail has gone out, and I haven't gotten paid for the tickets, so now I am out over $300, money I can’t afford to lose. I don’t understand why you couldn’t just tell me up front if there was a problem getting the money, or that it turned out the seats were too expensive for you. I could’ve relisted the seats and sold them to someone else. Now I am stuck with the tickets and out the money.
Thought you were one of the good guys – looks like I was a fool.
Sent: Thursday, July 27, 2006
Dasi! HI! Please call me. Xxx-xxx-xxxx c or xxx-xxx-xxxx (I'm actually out at my Mom's place in Naperville). I'm getting the $ in my account tomorrow AM. I am paying you for the tickets, even if you can't get them to me. That's the way I am. I'm an honest man. Good and decent. I'll pay you tomorrow AM, and I'll find a way to get the tickets from you. I AM one of the good guys. You'll see when you meet me. I think. I love people too much to ever mess with them. Maybe they ARE too expensive for me, but I take my bro to the best game I can each year. Last year was Sandberg's #23 retirement game against the Marlins. I'm sorry to be standing on your last nerve on this one. I am truly sorry to cause you STRESS!
After receiving that, I did call Mr. X. I finally got a hold of him on Friday, the DAY BEFORE the game. NINETEEN DAYS after the auction ended. He swore up and down he still wanted the tickets, he had just gotten the money, and I gave him the option of coming to my job with the money in exchange for the tickets. No, he suggested, how about I Paypal the money tonight, and meet you before the game tomorrow to get the tickets? I told him that would be fine, since I was already planning to meet my dad at a bar before the game, but the money had to be IN MY ACCOUNT by this evening, or no tickets. Period. He promised it would be done.
Guess what? I checked my e-mail AND paypal account when I got home Friday night around midnight, and nada. I went to bed frustrated and angry, out over $300.
At 7:00 am Saturday morning, game day, no less, my phone rang. It was him, apologizing up and down, telling me that his brother had a seizure because he had a head injury from a few months back and couldn’t make the game, but he STILL wanted the tickets and was going to bring his stepdad. He said he didn’t pay because… well, to be honest, I don’t remember what his excuse was this time. In any case, I felt caught between a rock and a hard place, and agreed to still meet him at the bar at 2:00 (the game was at 3:05) so he could buy the tickets.
I had a really bad feeling about the whole thing, but at this point, I felt stuck. Until my brother called. I told him what had transpired, and he told me that he and his buddy would take the extra two tickets, and I should call Mr. X, tell him I sold them to someone else, but that I had two upper deck box seats (my brother’s seaon ticket seats) that he could have for face value, $40 each. I kind of hesitated, and my brother stated that he didn’t trust this guy, that he could possibly show up with a check that would bounce or way less than what he was supposed to pay, and I would wind up being scammed. He made sense, my brother, and seriously, I didn’t know this guy from Adam. Besides, he had made promise after promise to pay and never had, so I swallowed my guilt and called him.
He was thrilled. He said he only wanted the other seats for his brother, and since he couldn’t go, he really couldn’t afford them. But he would meet us at the bar for the $40 tickets.
He DID meet us, although not at the bar, and not at 2:00. He kept calling and calling (“the Metra is late, sorry!” “now the red line is late!!” “I’m RUNNING! I’ll be at the front gate!”) and we eventually met him right at the moment the first pitch was thrown, at 3:05. He paid the $80, gave me a hug (ew) and told me to watch my e-mail because he was going to send me some rookie Cub baseball cards (he had mentioned Kerry Wood) for all my trouble. Yeah, whatever. I wouldn’t take money from my brother, I couldn’t, he always gives me his tickets to use free of charge. It hurt eating the $250 (I did keep the $80), but we had a great time anyway.
Seemed like all's well that ends well, except for me being out the money. But I still had to close the dispute with e-bay to get my final value fees back. So this is what happened (all sent through e-bay):
Jul-29-06 at 19:36:37 PDT
Although we've resolved the matter, you need to respond to this dispute so I can get a final value credit and you won't get a nonpayment strike against you. Please respond indicating that we have mutually agreed to cancel the transaction so I can close the dispute. Thanks!
Aug-01-06 at 05:14:18 PDT
PLEASE respond... for your sake. Otherwise, tomorrow I will be closing the dispute to get credit for the final value fee, and you will have an unpaid strike against you. With this, I CANNOT wait, because fees are paid monthly, and I can't afford to lose an additional ten or so bucks on top of the $300 when it can be prevented...
Aug-01-06 at 05:41:00 PDT
I have already paid for this item. Payment details are as follows:
Payment type: n/a
Amount: $325.00
Payee: Dasi
Payment date: Jul-29-2006
Additional comments: DONE!
Aug-01-06 at 06:41:25 PDT
DO NOT mess around with me. You know you never paid me the $325. I am not trying to screw you - the only way to resolve this amicably is to agree that we settled the transaction without you purchasing the seats THAT WERE UP FOR AUCTION. If you continue to insist you paid the $325 (which you didn't) I will have no choice but to pursue this as a contested dispute, where you will have to show proof of payment & get a nonpayment strike. Let me at least get my final value fee back.
He didn't respond, so I closed the dispute, thus issuing him a nonpayment strike. And since I was po'd, I left him this negative feedback, a bit cramped due to space constraints:
Wtd 3 wks for pmt,got screwed.Heboughtcheaper tix at game time- left me out $250
His response?
Sent: Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Nice writing skills! Wait until you see my response. I had the money for those tickets on Saturday AM. YOU gave me the option for the cheaper tickets, and that is all I'm going to say about it. On E-Bay anyway. I guess I don't have to send out those rookie cards to you for Lexie. It's so funny how people can be so, well, like you, and don't even see it in any way other than how you see it. hahahahaha sucks to be you
Well, I refuse to respond to him, but I submit it all to you, Blogger's Court. What do you think? Am I a total bitch? Or is Mr. X an asshole?? Do you believe that he was still planning to pay? Or do you think I was being scammed?? The comments section is wide open!!
(And as for my writing skills, Mr. X, just WAIT until I publish "TBOTE!!!")
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