There are so many things I wish I could say to you. No, I take that back. There are so many things that I want you to feel. I want you to feel the pain of finding out the person you love, have loved, is in love with someone else. I want you to know the humiliation. I want you to be the one who knows but is afraid to ask. I want you to be taken for granted. I want you to know what it is to give everything to me. I want to be the one who leaves. I want you to put your babies in the car and drive all over town looking for me. I want you to cry. I want you to be sick. I want you to know what it feels like to tell your kids they’ll have a sibling that is not a part of you. I want you to feel all these things. Even if you did, it would never be enough. I hate you.
Archive for June, 2008
As I’m sure you all know by now, George Carlin has died. I was sad to read about it this morning when I woke up. I know he was pretty old, and hadn’t been in the best of health, but it was still a surprise nontheless. I always enjoyed his stand up, even though I didn’t always agree with what he said, he could always make me laugh.
Carlin was one of the three comedians I had always wanted to see live, along with Eddie Izzard and Kathy Griffin. I got to see Eddie last month, and I’ll see Kathy in August. I can remember one New Year’s Eve when we were stationed in Hawaii, Carlin was doing a special show in Waikiki. I wanted to go so bad, and I remember begging Douche to take me, but for some reason or another we didn’t go. It’s not that I cried or anything over it, but I actually said “oh no” out loud when I read the headline “Carlin Mourned as Counterculture Hero.”
Here is a clip of one of my favorite of his “rants.” It’s about airplane travel.
Man, today started off pretty good. It was a boring day, but no fights, no hostility, etc. Until my mother told me THE NEWS.
For a few weeks ago, the told me that she was planning to drive down to Texas to help out with my grandmother, who has been in a rehabilitative nursing home for the past couple of months. Cool, I thought, I’ll get a break from her. That’ll be good for everyone. Every time I asked her what the plans were, the answer was vague, and usually different from the one she gave me the last time. Last week, she told me that she and my step-dad would probably drive down, and then he’d fly back on his own.
Tonight at dinner, though, it was a completely different story. Just as a reference, I’ve known my plans since April. I bought the plane tickets way back when, and told her the dates. She told me that one of them could probably drop us off/pick us up from the airport. (We are flying out of Midway/Chicago, and it’s about a 2 hour drive.) The boys and I fly out on July 2, and I get back on the 9, while the boys go visit their father. Here’s how it went down tonight:
Mom: What day is it you guys are leaving again?
Me: The 2nd.
Mom: Oh, we’ll be at J. & C.’s for the 4th, too! (J. & C. are family friends who I love. I have been planning on spending a few nights with them for months now, and Mom and step-dad are planning to stay there, too.)
Me: Does that mean I have to sleep on the floor?
Mom: I don’t know, I hope not.
Me: I hope not, too.
Mom: Well, they have a big couch.
Me: Yeah, that’s where the kids were going to sleep. (Mine and their grandkids, who will be visiting also).
Mom: Oh.
Okay, I have SO many problems with that. Here goes:
1. WTF? They have known our plans for months now, since I bought the tickets back in April…and they knew I planned on staying with J and C, who have 2 extra beds. The plan was that B (my pal who is coming along) would have one bed, I would have the other, and the boys and their grandkids would sleep in the living room. Now, I may be sleeping on the fucking floor or have to find another place to stay.
2. I thought I was going to get a nice, long break from my mother. WRONG! At the most, I may get 2 days before the boys and I leave. She went from staying there a month to a week.
3. What the fuck about the dog?
4. I was counting on them for either at least a ride to the airport in Chicago, or from the airport in Chicago. FUCK! Now I have a little more than a week to figure out how the fuck I’m getting to the airport with my kids and all our suitcases.
5. Did I already mention, NO TIME AWAY FROM THEM?!?!?!?!?!?
Right now, I am so pissed, I can’t even think. I texted my sister to see if she could maybe do the airport thing, but I am pretty sure that she won’t be able to do it.
There’s a bus that goes from the airport here (in our city) to the airport there (in Chicago), but it’s $30 a person each way, that adds up when there’s three of you. If I drive my car and park it there, I’m out gas, plus at least $70 charge to park it. GODDAMMIT
I added my Flickr to my widgets, but now I can’t choose which pictures are showing up on my page here. I’d like to have more of my “artsy” photos show up here, but I’ve spent an hour trying to figure the fucking thing out and I am really getting PISSED OFF! Do any of y’all know how to change the order of my pics without having to delete/re-upload? Thanks!
As you all know, right now I’m living with my mother and step-father. This was not my first, second, third, or even fourth choice of living arrangements for myself and my kids after Douche left us. Because Douche was in the military, we never bought a home. We moved from base to base every couple of years and lived in military housing. We always dreamed about the house we would build in Texas after he retired (which now is only 9 years away). When we divorced, I was out. I had no home to fight for. In financial terms, it was good that we didn’t own a home together. In terms of security for the boys and me…not so good.
When he left last April, I had planned on working through the summer in Georgia, while the kids visited my mother and step-father here in Indiana. I wanted them out and away from the turmoil that was going on, and since my mom’s a teacher, she would be able to take care of them during the day. The plan was, I would save my money (I made a lot at that job) and by August, I would know whether the boys were coming back and we were staying, or I would join them in Indiana. I didn’t want to leave my boss in the lurch, either. I had only been at my job for about 8 months, and she had taught me everything about running the office. I found out later that she wanted me to eventually take over as office manager. She had worked so hard to train me, and I didn’t want to let her down. I did pretty well until I found out about C*nt. (Every time I type that, I say “See You Next Tuesday” in my mind).
When that happened, I fell apart. I couldn’t concentrate at work, I was botching things left and right. I hit my breaking point when, after I had worked all day on the monthly accrual, I was told there was a mistake and I had to answer to the company’s controller. I thought, “what am I doing here?”. I slowly walked to my desk, gathered my things, and told my manager I quit. I walked out and didn’t look back. For weeks, they called and begged me to come back, but I knew there was no way I’d be able to do my work, nor did I think I could face any of them again.
By now, it was June. My kids were already in Indiana at this point, and I was alone in our home. I hadn’t packed anything or changed anything, and Douche hadn’t been home for at least a month. He wouldn’t talk to me. I had filed for divorce, and figured I would leave for Indiana as soon as possible. The only problem was, my lawyer told me not to leave. He thought I should stay there in Georgia until we reached a settlement. So I stayed. I had enough money to last me, and I had some stashed away so I could go home to Texas like we had planned. I was alone in that house through the month of June. Just me and my little dog, Bevo. When Honeywine had come in May, she and Tina had installed chain locks on every door, and I had bought some pepper spray, too. I mostly stayed in the house, locked up, and I was NEVER without that pepper spray or my cell phone. For some reason, I was very afraid that little miss C*nt would try to hurt me. Why, I’m not sure. My younger sister came to visit me once in June, and stayed about a week, I think. She helped me to get my ass in gear and start going through things and packing. I still didn’t know when I’d be able to leave.
In July, I drove with my dog down to Texas (a 12-hour drive), stopping on the way in Louisiana to see Honeywine and some other friends there. It was probably the first time I had laughed or smiled in months. By now, I was on Lexapro, which is good for taking the edge off, but you still have feelings, so I actually felt like a person again. The trip wasn’t a complete wash, despite having to get all scrappy. I was able to see my kids for a week. Considering I had never been separated from them for more than a day before this, we missed each other terribly and were happy to see each other after a month of being apart. I spent about three weeks away from Georgia. Away from the drama (at least the drama concerning my marriage) and where I didn’t have to think too much about what I was going to do next.
Then, when I couldn’t put it off any longer, I drove back to Georgia and began sorting and packing. I knew for sure what I had to do, even though I didn’t want to. My step-dad and step-brother were flying down, we were renting a truck, and moving as much of my things as we could fit up to Indiana. We arrived here on August 3, and I only had 5 days to get my kids ready for their new schools. Luckily, this wasn’t such a big deal for them. Being “Army Brats” meant that my oldest son had already attended 5 different schools, and my younger son, 2.
At first, I was glad to have my parents’ support and guidance, but lately I have been terribly unhappy with the living situation. Being 27 years old and being treated like a teenager is no picnic. Because I’m unhappy, my kids are unhappy. I see no way out in the near future. I’m furious with the Douche for doing this to us. I’m furious at myself for taking my situation for granted and not being more diligent about finishing college sooner. I’m just tired of waiting for my life to begin. You know, the fabulous one? Yeah.
Last night, I was bored, so I just meandered around on YouTube, listening to new music. I had read a lot about Katy Perry, and how she is supposed to be the “next big thing”, but I don’t usually follow what’s popular. I’d seen pictures of her, and liked her retro style (even if she may be ripping off Zooey Deschanel). But, in my curiousity, I typed in her name to see what all the fuss was about. The first song I listened to was “I Kissed A Girl.” I hadn’t ever heard it before, but I liked it. The lyrics were stupid, but I liked the music and the beat. It is a fun summer song that you can sing along to mindlessly. I went ahead and listened to the rest of the Katy Perry songs that were posted. It was very hit or miss. Some I liked, some not. I really liked “Lost” and “Broken,” but this one really hit home. It’s called, “Wish You The Worst.”
What are y’all diggin’, music-wise right now??? (And I mean other than Neil Diamond, Miss Penelope!)
Guess what, y’all? A few weeks ago, I entered DutchBitch’s “Lather, Rinse, Repeat” photo contest, and I totally won second place! Woohoo! What did I win? A year’s subscription for a pro Flickr account. Sweet! I didn’t even have any kind of Flickr account, so I’ve been spending a lot of my afternoon uploading tons of pictures. I love taking pictures, so I have tons of them on my computer. Thanks, DutchBitch, you rock!
In honor of this photographic merriment, I thought I’d show you my most favorite photo I have ever taken. It’s from our last night in Hawaii, taken from the beach in Waikiki. I love this picture so dearly because, in part, I was very happy when I took it. It had been a wonderful day that day, and I was so thankful for having been able to spend three years living in that beautiful place.
Your turn, readers…what’s your most favorite photograph, and why?
Crazy Neighbors, Part Five
Published June 16, 2008 Uncategorized 3 CommentsTags: Crazy Neighbors, Dirtbags, Rednecks
Now that you’ve heard all about the crazy folks I encountered while living in paradise, it’s time to tell you about the Redneck family. After Hawaii, we were sent to live in Louisiana. It’s a cool place and all, but the base we were sent to is located smack in the middle of NOWHERE! Seriously, the town around the base has a few restaurants and a Super Wal-Mart, which we called “the mall.” We were excited to move there, though, because all of our family lived only a short 2 1/2 hour drive from the base.
When we first arrived in Louisiana, it took a while for us to get housing again. Luckily, some of our friends from Hawaii had moved there eight months before and had a large apartment where we could stay in the interim.
After a week and a half of sleeping on our friend’s son’s metal bunkbed, we were given a choice between a two bedroom-one bathroom flat or a two-bedroom, one bathroom townhouse. We chose the townhouse. It had a very strange layout, the closets were HUGE, but the rooms were small. I had to stuff some of our furniture into the closets, in fact. There was a carport we shared with the Redneck family. It was more of a curse than a blessing.
The Redneck family had three children. The oldest was about 10, the middle one about 7, and the youngest was about 2, I think. They were all boys. They all were hell on wheels. They all had different fathers. (The middle one obviously didn’t have the same daddy.) I learned that from their mother, who was a bottle blonde with about 10 teeth in her head. The teeth she did have were brown. See a pattern here?
Mrs. Redneck looked somewhat like this.
I met Mrs. Redneck at the bus stop, along with the other moms who were there. There was Greta, a wonderful German woman whose husband had been deployed for 18 months. There was Robin, who tanned every single day and obviously cared a lot about her appearance. I was the only one whose husband was not deployed. Over the weeks, Mrs. Redneck told me how she couldn’t sleep at night, how her baby stayed up all night with her and then they both slept all day when the other boys were at school. I also noticed that the older children were always wearing dirty clothes. Not as in, they wore them twice in a week. Dirty as in, stains all over, wearing the same pants three days in a row. O-kay.
The only problem we really had with her at first was her tendency to play music late at night. It wasn’t that the music was really loud, because it wasn’t. It was that she had the bass turned up so loud that the walls shook, and it was impossible to sleep. At least three times a week, either Douche or I would have to go knock on the door and ask her to turn it down. I think most people would get the hint and keep the bass turned down, but not Mrs. Redneck.
Later, since we had to share a carport, we were constantly picking up trash that the little Redneck children had left on the ground. The older kids were always outside playing and eating and goofing around. Wrappers, cans, napkins, etc. There was always something on the ground. Even though the trash and recycling bins were RIGHT at the top of the driveway!!! There were times when we’d have to move bicycles or toys out of the way so we could park our car. Kids will be kids, I know, so we let it slide, moved the stuff, and went on about our business.
About six months after we moved in, Mr. Redneck came home from Iraq. A surprisingly handsome man, I wondered what he was doing with this dirtbag woman. (Scratches head.) Not long after he came home, they showed up one day with a Harley Davidson motorcycle on a trailer, which they then proceeded to park right in the middle of the shared driveway. I was always very careful when parking to pull up closer to the edge of our side, so as not to bump or mar the new bike. I told my boys (now 8 and 4) not to touch it or even go close to it. And they didn’t. They were never outside unsupervised because they were too little. Basically, we tried to keep to ourselves where they were concerned. You know, stay out of our way and we’ll stay out of yours.
One evening, Mr. Redneck came to the door and asked Douche to come outside so they could talk. A few minutes later, Douche came back in and told me that Mr. Redneck had a scratch on his Harley and was blaming ME for it! He thought I must’ve hit it with my car door or one of our kids had done it. At first, I was just stunned. How could anyone think I did something to their property?! Me, the one who has been so careful not to disturb said property. The one who’s gone out of her way to be courteous. Really?
Then, though, I got angry. Very angry. I marched right outside and showed Mr. Redneck how my car door COULDN’T have hit his precious motorcycle, because the door and the scratch didn’t line up in any way, shape, or form. My kids couldn’t have hit it with the back doors because we had a mini-van at the time (stop snickering), and the doors slid back, not out. I also took it upon myself to inform him that my children were never outside alone, and if they HAD done something to someone else’s property, I would have let the owner know about it instead of waiting for them to ask. I then told him that I knew one of his step-sons had rammed their bicycles into my van and dented it ON PURPOSE, but I hadn’t made a big deal about it. I dared him to call the cops if he really thought I had done it. Well, that worked. He backed down, and we never heard another peep out of them. We only lived in that place for a year, before moving to a larger apartment across base.
Lucky for them, because I would’ve fucked a bitch up.
It’s another meme today. I’m too lazy to write the final chapter in the neighbor saga. This one came from Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka. Play along! I want to know you!
1. What wasn’t I doing 10 years ago?
Hmmm. I wasn’t planning for a future as a single mother. I was 18 years old, with a 2-year-old son, living on a military base. I had taken 2 semesters of college, but was a stay-at-home mom.
2. Five things on my shit list today:
1. Not having my own place (that’s always number one)
2. Kids not checking in at check-in time
3. Not being able to sleep late even though it’s summer
4. Ex-husband texting me
5. Having to go to the third baseball game this week tonight
3. Snacks/food I hate:
Brussels sprouts, lamb, olives, and sardines.
4. Things I wouldn’t do if I were a billionaire:
I wouldn’t live with my parents, I wouldn’t keep it all to myself, I wouldn’t ever cook or clean again!
5. Places I have lived in:
Houston, Texas; Columbus, Georgia; Honolulu, Hawaii; Leesville, Louisiana; South Bend, Indiana
Okay y’all. This one is a doozy. It is also a story from when we lived in Hawaii. It also involves nasty, dirty people who had children who were always dirty. If you’ve ever lived on or visited a military base, you will know that there are always plenty of kiddos who seem to never be clean (not including my perfect angels). I think this is mostly due to the fact that many military wives are also stay-at-home moms, and they let their kids play outside all day long to get some peace. I was a stay-at-home mama most of the time before my boys started school. I feel very lucky to have been able to do that, but it does get to be boring sometimes. Ergo, kids are dirty, no big deal. Where I have a problem with that is when parents let their kids stay dirty for days at a time without having a bath. Wow, I went off on a tangent. Sorry ’bout that.
Story number 4 involves the neighbors who moved in when The Pigpen family moved out. It had been a month or so since The Pigpens had left, and we were enjoying not having anyone living next door for a while. Then came The Pervs.
The first time I saw The Pervs, they had just gotten the keys to the place. I was outside with the boys and decided I’d do the right thing and introduce myself. Mr. and Mrs. Perv were pretty much newlyweds, with a son who was not yet a year old, and another on the way. I’m not sure how old Mr. Perv was, but to give you an idea of what he looked like – he was an Asian guy who was about 5′5″, never looked anyone in the eye, and never spoke as far as I know. In my first meeting with Mrs. Perv, she told me that she was 19 years old and they had met in her hometown, which was near a military base in Kansas. To give you an idea of what she looked like – she was at least 5′9″, was a rather large girl, and dressed like she just came from the farm. I don’t really know why it’s important for you to know what they looked like, but the differences in their appearance were always good for a giggle for me.
When we lived in Hawaii, Douche worked in the emergency room. They would work 12-hour shifts, and alternate between days and nights every three months. One morning, Douche was sleeping on the couch (it was HOT upstairs) and I was doing my best to keep Little J quietly entertained. There was a knock on the door. Everyone who knew us knew not to knock during the day when Douche was working nights. It was hard enough to sleep through the heat, not to mention the windows were always open because there was no air conditioning.
So, as quickly as I could, I grabbed Little J, opened the door, and was out on the front step in one quick movement, so as not to wake the sleeping douchebag. Standing in front of me was Mrs. Perv, holding her own little guy. (Who, by the way, was dirty and had dried snot on his face. BIG pet peeve.) She promptly asks if I will watch her baby for her while she goes to her OB/GYN appointment. She explains that Mr. Perv was supposed to be home in time, but got tied up doing some Army crap. Time out! She’s only met me once before. I don’t even remember her name, nor, do I suspect, does she remember mine. What kind of person leaves their toddler with a stranger????? I don’t know where y’all come from, but I would never leave my kids with someone I have known less that six months. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with them, huh, too much time with Mommy?
I was completely flabbergasted, but I agreed, knowing that I should be neighborly and it would be the proper “Army wife” thing to do. I told her I would watch her son, and she left very fast, thrusting a baby and a diaper bag into my arms. Now I was faced with keeping two toddlers quiet so Douche could get his rest before his 12-hour shift at the hospital. I looked at the alien child and figured if nothing else, I could figure out a way to get him cleaned up. So, we brought out the little red car. You know, the plastic one with the yellow top that all kids have at some point or another. It was one of Little J’s favorite things, but I figured he could share. I pulled out the water hose and told the boys we were going to wash the car. They had tons of fun playing in the water and *ahem* getting clean. Mrs. Perv came back about an hour later, thanking me. That was pretty much the last time we talked to each other. Then the really weird stuff started to happen.
Because everyone’s windows were always open, you had to be very careful what you talked about while outside. It was very easy to hear other people’s conversations. One night, I was taking a bath, just minding my own business, shaving my legs, when I heard three women outside talking. Well, of course I started listening closer to see what was going on. I overheard a conversation between Mrs. Perv and two other neighbors who lived in other buildings. Seems Mrs. Perv was upset because one of the other ladies had been sleeping with her husband. What’s that, you say? I should have closed the window and not listened it? Rubbish. She didn’t even sound angry or surprised. Then, she said something to the effect of, “And now that I might be pregnant again…”. What??!?!?! She already had two under the age of 2, and a cheating husband to boot?
They went on and on that night about who her husband had cheated on her with and all I kept thinking was “Who would sleep with him? Ew.” Yes, this all was tantilizing and intriguing, but the real shocker came a month or two later. Mrs. Perv’s younger sister had come to stay for the summer, to help Mrs. Perv with the kids, and I’m guessing, to have a free vacation. Little Sister was only 14 years old. I figured she was also helping the pregnant Mrs. Perv to get over her husband’s infidelity.
One day, I came home from either work or school, I can’t remember which, and there were MPs (military police for those not in-the-know) standing outside Mr. and Mrs. Perv’s apartment. I couldn’t tell what was up, but there were two MPs talking to Mrs. Perv inside (the door was open as I walked by) and two talking to one of the other neighbors outside. I dutifully walked by without gawking. Who likes a rubber-necker?
I was so curious as to what was going on. I called my pal, crazy Michelle. She was at work. Damn. I called my other pal, Heather. She told me that some serious shit must’ve gone down because Mr. Perv was led away in handcuffs, but didn’t know the details. She promised to call me back when she had information.
While I was waiting for the sweet, sweet gossip, Douche called from work. He had left right as I got home and hadn’t known what was going on, either. He told me that Mr. Perv was in the ER, that he was on psychiatric observation because he said he was going to kill himself. He said the MPs had brought Mr. Perv in about 10 minutes after he had clocked in. Interesting.
Of course, I called Heather right away and told her what I knew. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t? She said she had just talked to the other neighbor, Crystal, the one who had been questioned by the MPs. What she had learned was that Mr. Perv had been sleeping with Little Sister, the 14-year-old Lolita, and that Mrs. Perv had caught them. Apparently, Mr. Perv didn’t just like cheating on his wife with women over the age of 18. He enjoyed the young girls, too. At first, Little Sister claimed rape and told Mrs. Perv to call the police. Then, as soon as the police got there, she said she wasn’t raped, that she had wanted to have sex with him. Can we all say it together now? G-ROSS!
So, the MPs dragged Mr. Perv away, he threatened suicide, and after a few days Mrs. Perv, Little Sister, and the kiddies disappeared. Rumor was that they just went home to Kansas. Wherever they went, they didn’t take any of their furniture. After a month or so, some teenagers broke in and trashed the place. When the MPs came asking if we knew anything (we hadn’t been home at the time), they told us that there had been food left out all over the place rotting, and the apartment was disgusting. We never saw Mr. Perv again.
We were only in Hawaii for three years, but I got a whole bunch of crazy stories out of it. Oh, and some pretty pictures, too!
Disclaimer: I know I sound like a catty bitch, but it ain’t so, I tell ya! I just enjoy good gossip when I can get it.
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