The 13th Apostol

Whoa Doggies!

I'M GOING NUTS!

I read the last few posts, and it's obvious how hard I'm trying to sound sane!

I'm not... I'm MOVING! No way anyone can move and be sane...and if they are, they're full of crap.

What's that garbage about the BRONTE'S for Christ's sake? Who the hell do I think I am?...I'm havin a meltdown here and... I can't stop EATING...

Dear God all I've done is bitch at everyone within ear shot.

First I cried half the month...then I bitched.

What am I trying to do here by getting into a COMMITMENT like homeownership? I don't even DATE because I'm so noncommittal...this is serious, and not funny AT ALL. I have made a huge mistake and need to go rent a nice little apartment.

I'm dizzy, and I'm laying down...

WHY didn't I go to Sturgis?

My Parents Moved 23 Times Before I Was 12...That Explains A Lot

Today is crazy, so many things to get done in so little time.

Now I need a plumber to come do a pressure test before the gas company will transfer service...

this is getting so expensive. The one quote I got from Slummy's plumber was $180.00 and up!

If I can stay sane through this it'll be a miracle...I hate moving...like the title of this post says...and it's not a flippin joke either.

Twenty-three houses...in the same city!

One time I recall, we moved from this beautiful home on a private lake, because the toilet in the master bath flushed hot water...seriously. My mother was a genius. I think she was afraid my brother or I would drown in the lake...but didn't want to say. So blaming the toilet made perfect sense...and it worked.

We're talking about homes that today are worth upwards of $350,000.00 easily, if not more.

They liked to move, my parents...and they could too, sometimes buying only blueprints of homes yet to be built...always in pursuit of the American dream.

But Gypsy's you see, aren't supposed to be happy in one fixed place...and only when we were in transit, were my Gypsy parents ever truly happy.

Around a campfire in Red River N.M., or aboard a Schooner in the Florida Keys...THEN I would meet and enjoy their true company. Reading the greats under the stars...Hemingway, Buck, The Bronte's...always my refuge... no matter where we landed we were home...and we were a family.

I feel them watching over me sometimes, when a decision is difficult...when Mer-boy is sicker than usual late at night...

I miss them.

It's Ok to BUILD The Castles...

I love those people who can tell you the truth, without being...well, without trying to HURT you.

Not you "Limited Abundance Dude".

I have a tendency to build exquisite castles...designer furniture...and just about the time I'm ready to move my happy ass in...blessed be the truth sayers.

Those individuals able to talk me, with humor usually, out of my tree...er, castle...hello?  Ya nut...no one gives a hoo ha what  high drama you've inflicted upon yourself...get over it!

Until then, I'm quite certain there's a giant white spot light aimed right at me...Oh, the injustice of it all! The unfair, unkind, un...un...un

Unough er, enough...

Last night the Mer, as we were sitting in Popeye's drive thru, because I am now trying to kill my child on fast food...says to me...

"Mom, when you become rich and famous from writing about me can we get a new car...a Mazda Ibuki...it's still a prototype, but by then it should be in production...well, can we?"

"Welcome to Popeye's, can I take your order?"
"Um, hang on a second, honey I don't know...
"I'm sorry ma'am, I didn't get that"
"I said hang on a sec, please...honey what do you want?
"Um...sprite
"You can't just have sprite, I mean to eat...
"Ma'am,did you say FRIES?"
"No, I said hang on a sec
"Mashed potato's... I want mashed potato's... and the bread-roll-thing...and sprite"
"OK, we want chicken...strips honey or pieces?
"Sprite, mashed potato's, no chicken...and the bread mom."
"Spicy or mild?"
"Hang on... mild...
"I don't WANT chicken mom...it tastes funny here."
"Honey you can't just eat carbs, you have to eat some protein
"Sprite has protein...
"
"
"Hello?
"Yes ma'am"
"Did you get all that?
"I have an order of fries with honey."
"No, I want a book deal, a Mazda Ibuki and a maid.
"
"Ma'am?"

The truth of the matter is, 'Slummy' is sending a guy over this week to take measurements to begin remodeling this place...calling yesterday to find out "Where I'm at" in the relocation process.

"Where I'm at", is still pretty hurt over the whole deal...and everything lies on the new place passing inspection, and my financial condition,  which won't be made any better by fast food dinners four nights in a row.

Battling depression, Mer-boy's chronic heart condition, doing all the things I know to stay sober one day at a time, with the reality being ...there is only so much I can do...the rest is beyond me.

Faith is something I'm being taught to have, through living life...I don't think anyone is BORN with it. You get faith by getting the crap kicked out of you, and surviving it.

Sticking my messy life out here like this attracts criticism...that's part of the deal.

We ALL have messy lives...each one of us has a "Slummy" in our lives...each one has a "Miracle on 44th street"...if we look at it that way.

This separating we do, this 'boxing in' of our lives from each other...only keeps us dying alone.

My hope is, that by showing you my messy life, you won't feel so messy your self...so alone...that's all.

Miracle on 44th Street

I do not know why things happen the way they do...or even if someone really is in charge of it all.

What I do know, is that my life has been a series of little, and medium sized miracles...strung in a row.

The big miracle being...that I am still here after all the down times between knots.

What are the odds really...of things coming through the way they have for The Mer and I the last week?

I did the foot work yes, but this is bigger than just TRYING...bigger than just...bigger than just ME.

The inspection of the new house is scheduled for Tuesday at 11a.m., and if it passes, The Mer and I can start moving in any time.

The owner, who happens to be a very cool family law Attorney, is doing whatever it takes to get the property to pass...put a storm door on the front? No problem! Need smoke detectors? You bet! Screens on all the windows? Screeeeech! ( needle across a 45)

There's not a single screen on any one of the, over 30 windows.  Not one.

She calls me with this news at about 6p.m. tonight...and most owners would just be like... Whatever, you need to move someplace ELSE lady,  I can sell this thing as is and it won't cost me a dime...see ya.

But she didn't...she just wants me to call around and get some estimates for her tomorrow while she's out of town.

Can you imagine Slummy doing anything like this? I couldn't even get him to deal with the mice problem last Fall...he said "Get a cat."...so I did, and I'm certain I'll be penalized accordingly.

As if the rat poison I found under The Mer's bed yesterday wasn't penalty enough...I'm completely serious...in a bag, thrown under his bed...after I specifically said to Slummy, "Do not use any type of poison IN AL's ROOM."

The owner of the new house is concerned I'll think the storm door is ugly.

There must be human remains in the floor boards.

A-flippin-mazing.

Do You Hear That?

What in the hell is that noise?

That is the sound of me not having anything to worry about...

...that didn't last long.

How in the hell am I going to pull this one off?

I need almost $2000.00 to accomplish this little stunt, did I bother to even consider for one minute, the possibility this would actually HAPPEN...in real life?

No, not really.

I've been trying to arrange a cabana in my head...

now I need a flippin REFRIGERATOR, and NOT a storage unit...and, and, and...I'm gonna throw-up.

How in the hell did this happen?

"It hasn't happened yet."

Shut up, don't YOU ruin it!

"Now remember what always happens...it never works out."

I thought I told you to shut the hell UP...you aren't invited to THIS party. Go away.

"Just warnin ya, don't want ya to be too disapointed when it all falls apart."

I've about had it with you.

"What? What did I say that's so wrong...I just care about you and don't want you to be disap--XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I am so excited I could just...BE excited!

Sit down...

We got the house.

The... lease/purchase, two-story, in the same neighborhood, completely remodeled, was-For- Sale- by- Owner- and- I- called- pissed- off- and- asked- if- she- would- RENT- the- damn- thing- to- me...house!

Un-flippin-believable.

Mer-boy Has a Moment

Do ya think I have enough crap on this blog?

So we're at the pool today, Mer-boy with his shiny new day-glo orange ring thing, and lavender  Speedo Jr. goggles...the old ones got " borrowed" and failed to get returned.

The little guy OWNS that pool man, I'm telling you...the Life guards don't even blow their whistles at him when he does his little, fox trot- jog- but not quite a run- thing...all the while the other poor swimmers are getting blown, like it's inauguration day at 1600 Penn, circa 1998! (or whatever year that was) 

I look up, because some shrieking has distracted me from my obsessive Classified Ads search, and way down at the "Deep" end (4' 10") are approximately 4 or 5 pre-teen females, being "Chased" by Mer in his day-glo orange ring thing.

There's Mer-boy, with zinc in a "T" across his face... war paint style...moving with the speed and grace of a drunk duck...and this cluster of girls, just screaming bloody murder.

They let him get only sooo close, then shriek...and swim...shriek...and swim.

The life guards, their age appropriate male counter parts...are watching, mouths agape, from their perches, in a combination of incredulity, disdain , and... judging by the clinched fists of one...impassioned envy.

The Mer is in Heaven.

That is of course, until he got wounded...then everything changed.

And I didn't hear him crying because I was on the phone with "the donor", trying to convince him to fix my stupid car so I wouldn't take a contract out on his stupid LIFE...

So by the time The Mer gets to me, he's sobbing buckets over a scratch on his leg, left by one of the girls 13 inch long nails...but what I get goes something like this:

"mmmmm (as he's hobbling towards me) mmmMMMMWWWWAAA!!!...SSSHHE SCRATCHED ME IT BURNS IT HURTS I NEED A BAND AID I'M NEVER GOING SWIMMING EVER AGAIN AS LONG AS I LIVE I HATE THIS POOL I HATE THOSE GIRLS I'M HUNGRY I WANNA GO HOME I DON'T WANNA MOVE AWAY FROM MY FRIENDS I WAS CRYING AND YOU DIDN'T COME...EVER!!!!

If I could have put him back in my womb at this point I would have.

I settled for wrapping him in a towel, placing a band aid (if your a mama, there's no need to ask) gently on the scratch... once I found it, unwrapping the half-eaten bean burrito I'd smuggled in  from last nights "Bueno Fest", and letting Mer sob in my arms until he knew I was there RIGHT THIS MOMENT...because that's all any of us has really.

Within minutes the gaggle was upon him...asking all the appropiate questions of Mer...
Was he all right? What had happened? Would he be leaving...or returning to 'swim' with them?

He hasn't mentioned his 'wound' since.

When Your Going Through Hell...Keep Going!

I received this email an hour ago, from a friend who works for "Project Second Chance" :

"I am holding my breath along with you about the house.

Working with the amazing women that I do in this job, and also seeing what you go through, I am horrified.

Only once before can I remember being so horrified by our system.  I was in college working at a juvenile delinquent shelter.  The youth who were there were not truly juvenile delinquents.  They were unwanted – beautiful young people with no place, so the solution:

Put them in a juvenile delinquent shelter. In the 2 years I worked there I think there was only 1 youth who ever broke the law.  His case was very understandable.

Each day the women I work with are in crisis.  On any given day some are in severe crisis.  You know these stories.  A women leaves a terribly abusive husband and has no extended family for support.  She has no where to live.  The housing authority cannot help her because she cannot give them the number for the apartment she lived in 4 years ago.  Who really gives a crap about the apartment she lived in 4 years ago.  Because she does not have that number she and her children are homeless.  Oh, by the way her car was stolen….

This is just the story of one woman on one day.  Each day there are other stories and no real support.

I am impressed with who you are as a person.  I so enjoyed getting to know you better at the beginning of the summer.  I do want to continue our friendship no matter what happens with you – depression, in state or out of state, …

I enjoy reading your writing.  I appreciate the thoughtfulness and care you give to Al – the attention you give to mothering.  Your organizational skills are impressive.  You did in 5 days what some people might take months to do. 

You have so much to offer as a mother and as a person to this world.

I look forward to congratulating you when your first book is published.  I look forward to attending Al’s high school graduation, and then college graduation.  I believe there will be good things to celebrate.  Right now, though, know that I will listen to you while you are going through HELL.  Even when you can’t talk or communicate with me, I care about you very much and every day I think of you.  I respect you and care about both you and Al.

My heart and thoughts are with you!"
Love, Laura

"Bueno" Notes

I must admit, the stress has taken it's toll on me...slowing my digestion to a crawl.

Eating hasn't been the best either, since doing anything in that kitchen that resembles cooking makes me want to cry.

Weve had "Bueno" the last two nights since Al was actually sick of Happy Meals and I just don't give a crap what they cost right now. So now I'm sitting here eating Metamucil bars, trying to unlock my bowels and scrape this junk off my teeth at the same time...what ARE these things anyway?

I can't do it anymore, pretend it's all right when it's not. I'm scared to death of what will happen to us, what the future will bring not just cpncerning a place to live, but about it all.

I haven't gone to church in several weeks, mainly because I feel the hypocrisy too strongly to participate. My son and I needed that community, that village, that support. We are not the typical member, no, but we are members just the same.

I came back there broken and fragile, barely able to speak after losing Athena...I turned to them for help, more than they were willing to give, and I should have quit going last Christmas when they refused to help fix my truck so I could get to work.

I quit trying. It's too hard with the factors in my life, to do it alone...but that's what they expected me to do.

I suspect I'm having to learn the hard way, what constitutes todays Christian:

It's someone just like myself, who out of neccessity, must "Play the Game" of belief.

Is this not the reason we see so many people claiming to be born again, who's behavior is just the opposite?

I am ashamed to admit this technique has crossed my mind more than once in the last month, in order to get back in school and be sure Al is cared for properly. The future...with all it's promises, does not look very promising.

I don't think my soul can take one more judgement call by one more person, who knows nothing about me.

I'm not asking for help because I didn't pay my rent and got kicked out, or failed to follow the rules of tenancy, or anything else you can congure up...no, I'm asking for help because I did everything I was supposed to do...and got kicked out.

How fucked up  is THAT?

I sent the minister an email...no response at all, not even an "Oh man, that sucks!"

What am I doing around all these mysogynistic assholes? How did I wind up in a place emotionally where it's all right for me to even send someone like that an email?

Al's dad is playing this "I can fix the transmission on the car, but I'm not going to unless you beg me" game...It will never happen you abusive fuck!

I am sick and godamned tired of having these small men in my space...go now please, because even if I end up living in a fucking pool cabana you jack asses...it'll be MY FUCKING POOL CABANA!

Good night Moon.

Blame it on Plato

Nothing, I heard NOTHING today about the house!

Of course I didn't call the housing authority either...chicken shitakazulu that I am...part of me just couldn't handle having to explain one more disapointment to Al. Rather not go there just yet...

Besides, there's always that remote possibility my crappy luck has somehow changed... but I'm not going to sit here and turn blue.

Anyone who knows me, knows this is really just par for the flippin course with me...nothing unusual. Crap like this happens all the time in my life.

Minding my own bussiness, walkin along, and WHAM!...outa nowhere...man, I need to move to a different hemisphere or something...problem is, the curse would come with me no matter WHERE I went.

What curse? Oooh...I haven't told you about the ancient Greek curse laid upon my ancestor have I?

Yeah it seems Great, great, great, great, great, GREAT Uncle Plato was doing some charcoal sketches of one of his neighbors teenage sons...al dente' or el fresco or...NAKED, he was drawing the kid in the nude, ANYWAY...Pops finds out about the little 'fling' and pitches a big one, heads out to Sappho where he purchases for- if I remember the story correctly, six geese, a hefer and enough Ouzo to get the whole island smashin plates- a seuth sayer, a non-mortal, a reverse gender warlock...yes, a witch.

A Sappho Witch.

My family's been going through automatic transmissions like toilet paper ever since.

At least... that's the story.

"Ghetto Guns" a Hood Review

I should find out today if we are going to get the house...you know, the one WITH A VIEW!

Well, sort of...it has an office with a window, but I'd have to share it with my washer and dryer...who cares...it has a WINDOW and a WALL.

I'm already writing multiple bestseller's...columns for The New Yorker...Children's books that rival anything old whatshername...Harry Potter's mom, wrote...

I am so THERE.

No, no I'm not actually, I'm right here...and here consists of a back-up plan. One I've failed thus far to implement, other than my friends pool cabana...hmmm.

I hate leaving this neighborhood, and my neighbors.

What solidified my decision to vacate the hood two years ago and never move back, was our place being burglarized for the 3rd time.

The last time was a direct hit on my room, bypassing the computer, stereo, electronics,...and targeting the bedroom. Ransacking from top to bottom...taking what was left of my jewelry from the previous break ins, that I thought I'd hidden well enough.

That final hit though, they aquired not only what was left of my jewelry and half a bottle of lortab from my tortuous sentence at the dental college...but both my hand guns.

Were not talking ghetto guns...just a S&W .38 and a Reuger .22...enough to stop someone if need be. Easily replaced monetarily...the sentimental value...well, the crack-heads have no clue what they got.

The Reuger was one of the guns my dad used as Foreman Scotty on his childrens show in the 60's...

A couple emailed me awhile back with info pertaining to the whereabouts of  "Woody the birthday horse" (an old wooden saw horse birthday celebrants sat on) from the show...informing me an antiques store in Chickasha Ok. sold him for $2000.00 last year..."Crack Kills" is an under statement.

Unarmed, I felt my illusion of security completely disintegrate, thus finalizing the decision to  abandon ship...leaving my precious duplex to be consumed by the bowels of the inner city.

Ironically, as I was searching for a new place...I drove past the old duplex...and she's got it for lease AGAIN.

As I was sitting in the driveway car running, doors locked, looking at all the crap my old landlord STILL hasn't repaired- the mailbox fell off as we were moving out two years ago- it's still sitting on the ground, propped up against the house. The fence fell down in a storm the summer of '03- still down-

...my old upstairs neighbor pulled in behind me, so I went up and hung out with her for a minute.

Her bathroom ceiling colapsed two months ago...still not repaired-and I could go on, but I'll save you. The point I'd like to make is this:

The couple who owns these duplexes live 30 minutes away in a wealthy (by comparison) suburb, she home schools all the kids, he's a private pilot and is gone a great deal. When he is here, he knows nothing about maintenance what so ever. Her family has the money, and bought her the properties as something to keep her busy while he's away...

...as if five home schooled kids weren't enough.

She is rude, condescending, and hateful...gaining monetarily at the expense of those living in poverty.

The federal government supports this with their housing payment standards, inspection qualifications, and guidelines.

The more I learn... the more I wish I didn't know.

This is so far from the silver spoon, privileged, childhood I had...

 

My Chinese Fire Faerie

Because in the middle of all the insanity...there is this child who, by his very existence in this world has saved my life.

My Hydra is a Gecko

Remember those rebates you were supposed to get when you purchased that stupid computer/printer/scanner/coffee maker combo last January? You either huh?

Epson went so far as to RETURN my rebate form with a letter saying the receipt I submitted wasn't legible. They returned the completely legible receipt also... 

So I'm on the phone,  tracking down the MF who has my $8o...as if I'd been hustled on the streets of Atlantic City by a common shell artist...and of course no one knows anything about whom might be responsible for the rebate.

Everyone I spoke with had a new excuse as to why I might not qualify for the rebate...

The merchant flat out said "We know nothing...don't handle the rebates, sorry"

They knew enough to use it as part of their sales pitch...conning me out of almost a grand, for a PC with such a weakened immune system I run an IV drip of Bactrim in it's hard drive twice a day...

I want my money...I'd want my money if I were an Onassis...it's not ABOUT the money.

So yesterday, in an already foul mood from the 107 degree heat three days in a row, the house being in 'transition' to nowhere, slicing my big toe wide open and being too stubborn to get stitches (super glue), a phone call from Al's dad that I knew better than to take- because he is an emotional succubus...I am on the way to "Party America" to buy Mer-boy some fairy wings for this evenings gala , when...

'Lila Grey' will not, absolutely refuses to... shift out of first.

I stop. I start. I pray. I scream. I burn the sage on the dashboard. Nada.

Now,  a "Good Mother" would turn the vehicle around... getting her child out of the heat and safely home. What did I do?

That's right, we crept to Party America by God so Mer-boy could get his Fairy wings, yes we did. Doing 10 mph the whole way, to the honking cars of the hostile heat frustrated citizens of Oklahoma City.

Because you get to a point where you just have to say...

Fuck it.

I'm going forward no matter what, and you can't stop me.  I may not be moving very fast, but at least I'm moving.

But when I look at the bigger picture of my life compared to what's happening in the world right now...my hydra becomes...

...a Gecko.

What "It" Feels Like

When the "shift" occurs you know it.

You feel it in your bones, muscles, sinew...

Electricity...with a coating of...

humility.

A "Good Mother" I Am Not

"Good Mothers" don't take risks..."Good Mothers" don't push the envelope..."Good Mothers" do not under any circumstances, when living on Welfare...in Section 8  rentals, TURN DOWN a really great house because they found something... even better.

Not when you have two weeks and counting, and the odds of getting into the LEASE/PURCHASE you just found are about a Gazillion to one.

Good Mothers choose safety over desire, convenience over challenge, security over...point received.

I am not a "Good Mother"...this new bit of truth about myself must reside along side the insanity issue still in debate...and the realization that I...I am, as hard as it is to believe, knowing my former self...an envelope pusher.

If we don't go after what we desire...especially as mothers, we teach these little creatures to see us as less than the passionate, creative, WORTHY human beings that we are...which in turn is a reflection on them, being parts of the whole, in some twisted Freudian menagerie.

And yes, we may end up living in our friends pool cabana for the next few months if this doesn't fly...but isn't that better than taking the safe, high road every time?

Who am I if I don't try?

...I'm living in a HOUSE and not a CABANA, that's WHO...

Sacrificial B.S.

How in the...what in the...I don't...I can't...Whoa!

The house is a disaster, I'm in a war zone of lego's and boxes of junk we have no business moving any where.

My creative flow is all but zapped from my loins, amidst the wreakage of two years worth of not being able to throw away shampoo bottles.

Because...you know, they have a little left in the bottom.

How many hours of my life have been wasted, standing by the bathroom sink, coaxing the last drop out of up-turned bottles...precariously balanced on top of one another's kissing necks...

The same fate is met by any beauty, and or bath product I purchase over $5.00. Sad...just sad.

And I blame Mer-boy's inability to let any toy move on to greener bedrooms, on the lovely state of Oklahoma's five-year interference in our lives. Oh yeah.

I would rather eat glass than move.

This fact can only be made more intolerable by the vacancy in my minds eye, concerning just where we will move...two weeks, two days, and counting.

I have managed to create, by the skin of my hair...an adventure to take for the Mer-boy. He is now excited, enthused, and all around exuberant concerning the upcoming "Adventure"...

Packing 'special' items not to be lost...backpacks full to the brim of remotes for long lost cars, pieces of hot wheels track, Copper The Hamster's see thru ball, and a myriad of items only an almost eight-year-old could treasure.

My 'special' items consist of merely my child...growing at the speed of light.

I miss him.

Fear and stress taking center stage to our nightly silliness...the things we sacrifice...in the name of sacrifice.

The Midnight Whinies

I want to go home...I miss Blogger.

I miss my stupid template...I miss my stupid tags...

I think I have PTSD...

Posting Template Suicidal Drabahhhh!

I WANNA GO HOME!

Change Sucks.

Come To Pass

I need a view...a home for my child that's safe, but I really need that view ...

...because without that view, I can't write, can't laugh, can't cry,...I need that view... everything I will build upon, depends on that view.

This is all I'm asking for...for myself, a view brilliant and breathtaking, humbling paths entwined in visions of green, gold, and variants of crisp yellow.

The fear of the unknown, the loss of my familiar, the angry, hurt little boy...has broken a piece here...a piece there.

This is the part they talk about, where we are separated...men from boys, women from girls...to a place of non-fiction that makes you wish for sand boxes and jumping jacks.

Our hearts have been broken, by one who's heart has been broken.

This is how it goes.

I found a house I love. I need courage, and the heaven's to impart a blessing strong enough that it would should come to pass.
This time I want to step out of the way...and let it be.

Thank Gawd I'm Moved...to Type Pad

It's ike learning to walk all over again...but in the end, it will be soooo much easier.

A metaphor I can live with right about now.

Crack-heads Need Love Too...Also.

There are things happening in my life, too mystical for my logical mind to comprehend.

With that said...

Slummy calls me yesterday morning to THREATEN me. Oh yeah, they guy's gone off the deep end and apparently can't do much but dog paddle.

His life is unmanageable...so he believes he'll manage ME...wrong.

So two years of being kind and courteous to this jerk off went right out the flippin window...the proverbial window...the one WITHOUT a storm window on it.

Before I knew what was happening, all the people skills I thought I knew, and or had in my possesion, were gone. I was back in the hood, standing on my front porch, running the crack-heads off my property...with what can only be described as my best sailor technique. Yes, he broke me...and broke me good! Um, WELL...broke me WELL.

The odd thing about individuals like Slummy, is that when you meet them on their level...whatever that level may be...they seem to give you a curious sort of respect as a result.

Not that Slummy will reneg on his 30 day notice. Not a chance...he was still saying "30 days" at the end of the conversation, but that's just my point.

He was SAYING it, not screaming it. And I was able to let the creep know exactly how I felt about what he was doing...in exactly the words he could understand.

The crack-head.

Of Asian Birthdays, and Fire Faeries

In exactly 26 days, Mer-boy will turn... 8-years-old.

Of course we'll be living in a SHELTER, but in case we aren't, Al has decide he want's to have his birthday party at "The Asian Restaraunt"...that's the name...The Asian Restaraunt.

While your average eight-year-old chooses places like "Chuck E Cheese", "Celebration Station" or the ever popular "Incredible Pizza", my Al wants party goers and celebrants eating birthday cake with chop sticks.

"They have a dance floor mom, and strobe lights!"

What's a mother to do? This is the same child who at six months of age, consistently seperated his toys by color... not primary... but secondary.

And who at next weekends "Faerie Ball" plans on being a "Fire Faerie", smartly adorned in a set of red wings, skirt and multiple ethereal sparkly things...

...because he knows he can.

Channeling Sarah Bernhardt on "My Space"

I have never in my life...with the exception of when I lost my children...had to let go so absolutely as I am right now.

I cannot possibly do anymore than I have.

I am exhausted, the transmission is exhausted, my kid is exhausted...you can put "My kid" before the transmission...I'm just too exhausted to rewrite it.

The ghost of Sarah Bernhardt ...I'm channeling her...

"We're going to live in a SHELTER! Oh my poor BAYBEEEEE! I've worked so HAAAAARD to be a good MOTHERRRRRRR! Why MEEEEEE? Why MEEEE? (Oops, forgot an "EE") How has is come to THIIIIIS...no where to LIVE, no where to TURN? WHY? WHY? WHYEEEE?!!!!!!

...All right...Mer-boy needs to go to the pool today, there's only so much insanity one can expose their offspring to.

Speaking of INSANITY...I put this THING on that THING...My Space...I want to pull it, but need the comic relief. Ok, I'm being completely serious here...

What's up with me attracting people with names like Kaligula, LastOldCowboy, 666, etc.? I'm sure these individuals are great human beings, but it's about MARKETING people...there should be a booming business for anyone brave enough to start it, just NAMING people for My Space!!!

No...but thanks, I have my hands full.

I did allow myself one stupid friend...and I know the guy! Yeah, I'm that weird, in a super freaky, protective of my child kind of way...so why have a MySpace page to begin with? Like I said...it's flippin hysterical. I'm just not that lonely...yet.

Midnight at The Oasis...

...HEAT ADVISORY NOW IN EFFECT UNTIL 7 PM CDT SATURDAY...

THE HEAT ADVISORY IS NOW IN EFFECT UNTIL 7 PM CDT SATURDAY.

ABNORMALLY HOT CONDITIONS WILL PERSIST THROUGH SATURDAY AS
AFTERNOON HEAT INDICES REACH 105 DEGREES...WITH NIGHTTIME LOWS
ONLY FALLING TO BETWEEN 75 AND 80 DEGREES. EXTENDED PERIODS OF
HEAT CAN RESULT IN HEAT RELATED STRESS. DRINK PLENTY OF
FLUIDS...STAY IN AN AIR- CONDITIONED ROOM...STAY OUT OF THE
SUN...AND CHECK UP ON RELATIVES AND NEIGHBORS.

"Mother...is that YOU?"

• I overslept for my "Relocation Meeting" at the housing authority, because there's no airflow to my room, resulting in me tossing/turning/sweating all night long.
• The frustrated liberal arts  major, stuck working for the Public Housing Authority, refused to honor AGAIN the 15th (or 74th) letter submitted by one of Al's Specialist's requesting additional space for his equipment, thus allowing me the financial relief needed to buy FOOD for my child. (we only qualify for a 2 bedroom voucher, and I've paid the difference out of pocket for this 3 bed, desperate for the space and having had repeated requests turned down, been willing to tolerate Slummy's slumminess)
• I now know every square inch of this town, and I was mistaken...there are 78 Pentecostal Churches...not 74.
• Every house I find that's livable and in a decent neighborhood, is consistently OVER the Public Housing Payment standards by $100.00...at least.
• Last, but the most dramatic...I've been doing this in the triple digit heat since noon.

The Federal Government decides the payment standards...how much house will $575.00 a month get a person? I will pay almost $200.00 of that 575...it's not free housing. They pay even less if you rent an apartment, duplex, or condo. It's 30% of your gross income. You see why people DON'T try and get off assistance? You get more if you don't try at all.

At the "Relocation" meeting, like I'm a refugee...I guess am, the mighty frustrated one is telling everyone to hurry up and get a place, because there are major cuts coming down the pike...as in, those just issued vouchers will be cut first.

I'm ready to load Mer-boy up in that stupid SUV... grab Satan the cat...Cooper The Hamster...and head to Key West, where Mer-boy can swim till he grows gills, I can write with Hemingway's Ghost, and Satan can chase Parrot fish into the sunset...

The Welfare Snob

Here's the deal...I'm a snob. I hate to admit this fact, but I am...a big fat snob. The thought of moving ANYWHERE that individuals find it appropriate to leave their trash cans at the curb all week long, thus forcing repeated trips to the street to deposit ones rubbish, makes me ill.

I find cars parked in that same street, let alone facing the WRONG direction, a sign of plain laziness, not to mention the dangers this presents for any children that might attempt to play outside.

I'm a snob...on Welfare. I'm mortified by the utter lack of care people have in their homes. You don't have to be wealthy to care for your home, or yourself. I've been doing this rental house search thing for over a week now, and the conclusion I've come to is this:

We are a nation of apathetic slackers who point the finger and blame rather than step up and clean the car parts out of the front yard.

I'm looking at properties in such hideous stages of disrepair I'm not even sure they're livable. In neighborhoods so invested with drugs you can smell the sulphur when you exit the car, so riddled with crime I wouldn't feel safe VISITING let alone LIVING there.

This is my America. This is your America. This is Al's America.

Why? Because no one gives a hamster's ass. These are the dream homes of the post world war two baby boom, abandoned to no one in particular. These are the real casualties of Urban Renewal...left on someones doorstep with a note that says "Please find me a flippin home"

I am stuck between worlds, lost in a concrete jungle town that boasts 74 Sonics and as many Pentecostal churches. The clock is ticking...I'm running on empty, and America the beautiful for amber waves of grain... does not give a crap.

When All Else Fails...Read About Black Holes and Quantum Physics?

I am not a religious woman. In fact, some of my more conservative, fundamental friends... all one of them, even call me an Atheist. Yet in my attempt to explain the pain and loss in this life to Al, I've found myself veering towards the fundamentalist version of a "Slippery When Wet" sign.

The loss of Cooper The Hamster on top of the impending loss of his home, friends, backyard, bedroom, blah, blah, blah. On top of the loss of his dad, on top of the loss of his sister, on top of the loss of his mother for a year-which proved to him, he says, that God did not exist- has just about done Mer-boy in, regarding any belief at all in an omnipotent being of light.

I am methodical, logical, and had it not been for science and the invention of ovulation detector kits, am convinced I would not have become a mother. It was my will that made it so... not any airy-fairy supernatural occurrence deemed a "Miracle" by my 'one' friend.

Then, just when I'm certain the sphere of spiritual enlightenment is all but closed to myself...a hamster restores not only mine, but Al's faith also. In what exactly I do not know...but we gots da feva! Can we get a hallelujah?... Hallelujah! Can we get an Amen?... Amen! Can we get a...

Cooper The Hamster has returned!

Right through the same hole in the kitchen he exited through 24 hrs ago. Frazzled, tousled, and definately looking as though a common house mouse had had her way with him...but returned none the less.

The hole dear readers...leads into the backyard. The HUGE backyard, swarming with predators able and willing to consume a naive , provocatively dressed young hamster on a hot mid-western summer's night.

And yet...

they did not.

 

Cooper The Hamster's Last Ride

So Al...being Al, was packing his toys by color and functionality, and playing with Cooper The Hamster at the same time. When out of the blue, as things in our life ALWAYS come...he had to poop. Twenty minutes later I hear Al scream, in this blood curdling, helter skelter way, that every mother has nightmares about hearing, but usually never has to experience first hand. "Mom!...C...C...Cooper's GONE!!!!"

OH SWEET MOTHER OF GOD, COULD IT GET ANY WORSE?

Seems that while Al was packing, Cooper The Hamster was sitting in Al's Bratz car. Nature called and the only preventative measure my son took was telling Cooper he'd be right back...While Al was reading Readers Digest, "Mia and Miguel" came on, prompting a speedy finish and a long forgotten Cooper The Hamster in the girlz convertible.

It wasn't until I was trying to get Al to locate his Flip (as in Flop) so we could get out the door to his Dr.'s appointment...that Al noticed the abandoned vehicle...

The flood gates opened, and it hasn't stopped since.

A week's worth of holding it in, set loose by a hamsters dash to freedom while wearing a pink sparkly scarf and six inch boots.

The Tao of Shit...Er Crap

In a song by "The Cowboy Junkies", the title of which I can't recall, she says (paraphrased no doubt)

In times of crisis a man falls back on what he knows best,

a thief to stealing, a...crap, I can't remember the stupid lyrics...

Watever. The point she's making in the song is, when shit get's bad we resort to whatever behavior wer'e the most familiar with. Lying, cheating, stealing...it's human nature. Truth. Deny it and I'll call you a liar. Lack of faith in times of crisis is nothing new, hello, even Jesus was ...well,...asking why? If you go there. Lately, people are telling me "Just have faith it's all going to work out." Um... I didn't have it to BEGIN with, now your telling me I should? Oh, OK. It's that belief in a pupeteer like god that concerns me...you know who you are...as if god has nothing better to do that sit on her IKEA loveseat pulling strings! If I do this, than god will make that happen...or if I don't do...you get it. I don't have that type of faith, sorry folks. I'm happy if that works for you, but please keep it away from me.

My faith, if you will, involves shit rolling downhill. It involves human nature, reaction to crisis and nothing more. It's about what I choose to do with what's presented to me. It's about side-stepping, if at all possible, the next load of shit.

If you will please, two possible scenarios

Scenario #1 "Is that a load of shit coming towards me...I can't tell, maybe it won't hit me...maybe it's not shit at all, maybe if it IS shit, it doesn't smell too bad. ...but I'm still not sure it's shit, and besides, it's definately not MY shit so it can't hurt me...karmically speaking. I'll just wait here and see if it hit's me..."

Scenario #2 "What the...is that a load of shit coming towards me?...I don't care who's shit it is...it's time to MOVE MY ASS OUT OF THE WAY!

There you have it. My kind of faith. Faith that I will know better the next time. That is, if I survive todays shit- storm.

It doesn't have to be an IKEA, It could be a Valentino...

Oh, I Been Workin' On The Railroad, All The Live-Long Day...

The filing fee for the contempt charges against Al's dad is going to cost me $42...$42 I don't have to formally charge a man for non payment of child support. Child support court ordered in the amount of...sit down...One hundred and twenty seven dollars...a month.

$127.00 a month...he can't pay...1-2-7...127...one hundred twenty seven...SELL PLASMA...fly a flippin SIGN...It's $127.00 a MONTH!

I spend that on groceries in a week. I spend that on gas in two weeks, if we don't GO anywhere.  What genius computed this figure? Child support...127...a month...A MONTH! It's not Al's fault the loser isn't working...so they base it on my income...because dumbass (claims) he isn't employed. At what point will mothers stop getting completely screwed for getting screwed...nevah!

Things gotta change Georgie...things gotta change. I don't know how a man so poor he can't pay his child support, continues to live in a $250,000 home...do you?

It's An Illusion

Of late, the story of the little creature clinging fiercly to the rocks at the bottom of the stream has come to mind...apparently I am a clinger...clingon...Klingon. I cling...to just about anything that's bad for me, yet familiar, consistent, and THERE. Oh yes...it's gotten better by all means, but still...I'm a clinging little creature...and this over-priced, poorly finished rent house I sit in... are the rocks.

What's downstream? Who cares! I have these crappy rocks I'm clinging desperately to, leave me be! Nothing could be better than these crappy rocks...nothing I say, now GO AWAY!

So cling... See ya.

Is this how I want to live? No, but I'm afraid. Maybe I'll just let go a little. Nope. No way. My crappy rocks are EVERYTHING I HAVE. Hmmm. Where are all those other creatures going?

Come on...come with us...it's better if you let go...ride the current!

Ride the current! Are they crazy, we'll all be crashed against the rocks and killed! Those creatures are nuts...how can they take such risks with their very lives ... how can they let go without KNOWING what's downstream!

Hey...maybe they're right...maybe these crappy rocks AREN'T all there is in the world...maybe it's just an ILLUSION? I won't know unless I try...

So the little creature timidly released his grip on the crappy rocks...and was instantly smashed to smitherines, dying a horrifically painful and excrutiatingly slow death .. . At least that's how I remember the story.

...maybe I should read that book again.

"Illusions" Quotes

Paraguanian Rituals

So I spend the morning looking at all these CRAPPY rent houses, fuming because I'm not able to BUY a decent house, and blaming everyone from Slummy to the cat...again, yes it's back to being the cat's fault.

Mer-boy is begging to go swimming, and I'm crashing back into the black, but concede due to the REAL transmission slipping all over God's green earth during the rental search. Is this REALLY my life? Yes...so suck it up sista.

Upon arrival at the pool, the vicinity of which I'm beginning to detest with the aplomb of...I don't know how to use that word..aplomb. So when we get there, the 14 yr old Life "Guard" tells me, "We don't open until 12:00 today"...(it was five freakin minutes till.)  Mer-boy and I sit in the car for five minutes, the entire five minutes I utelize to rant about the democratic process being sadly amiss at the PUBLIC swimming pool...who's public?
One glance in the rear view at Mer-boys  eye's rolling Kate Hepburn style over the ceiling of the tranny-slippin REPUBLICAN Sport Utility Vehicle I just HAD to have, told me I'd jumped the sanity mother ship.
Fine.
We go back to the entrance and the last thing I want to see is anyone I know who is HAPPY.
What do I see?
Not only is it someone I know who's HAPPY, but someone I know who is CHRONICALLY happy...ALL the time. (I hate redundancy) "Oh hey girl what's UP! How are you! Hey Al!  We're having Raines Birthday Party! Wanna party! (!!!!!)
Mer-boy is at the kids cake before I could get through the gate...trying to stick his finger in the side THROUGH the box. To make it worse...it was a BRATZ cake, but he held back with only minor squeals of delight.

I mentioned something BRIEFLY about my housing situation, waving a newspaper in front of her happiness...desperately tryng to come up with a good enough excuse to forego any participation myself with the damn happy people.
Wrong move..super happy girl at that point starts taking ACTION in the sense that she can fix, with her happiness, what I alone in my bleak, black, bitter, (just happened that way, the bbb thing) state cannot.
Either someone dropped something, or the sound barrier was broken, but I saw an opportunity and took it...making my escape to the chaise Oklahoma Parks and Recreation has embelished with my name to match the butt indentation. Within an hour the place was aswarm with party-goer's and guardians, of which I knew most if not all...from a life pre Al's return from Foster care. Choosing to sit alone and wallow in my bbb, rather than spread about my contagion... or visa versa.
In certain regions of Paraguay, they call this bizaar form of flagellation... "Seelf-Peet'ay."
So glad I'm not in Paraguay.

Rent House On Memory Ln.

"Kid Cuisine" meals are exactly the same price as "Happy Meals"...what's up with THAT?

Al and I just saw a great rent house, ... and it's way out of our price range...by about $200.00 a month is all...not to mention HUD would never approve it. Is the pesimist in me showing?
Cain't have poor folks livin' too well now can we? Wouldn't want 'em to git too cumfertible, now would we? Naw...gotta makem feel as crappy as we can now, ain't that the truth?

I think there should be some type of "Points" program for people who take care of their rental property, pay their rent on time, don't have complaints filed against them, etc., but can't come up with the money to buy through the Assisted Homeowners Program, so that decent tenants have an opportunity to excel in the voucher program and live in increasingly better properties.
Yeah, I know that's not the real world.
The deposit on the place is $500.00 and it's a 2bd, 1 bth with a PORCH that's just spiritual. A bar in the kitchen, a big bathroom, custom drapes...and trees! Tons  of trees.

As it turned out, the owner grew up down the street from my cousins until she was eight...she was my cousin Shannon's best friend for a while...I remembered her from 35 years ago, riding our Big Wheels up and down the Cul de Sac. She remembered my dad, and the show...which is ironic considering. So maybe she'd drop the price about $200.00...just for old times sake? Sure, and maybe I've still got that scar from where I crashed my B.W. into her and then my cousin Trevor.
She's going to check with her husband about doing a sec 8, and call me. If they want to try, I'm willing to try. Whats the worst thing that can happen...HUD denies the request for tenancy and we're out on our asses because I gave them all my money for the deposit? It would be that way no matter who I tried to rent with. People want deposits UP FRONT, this is why on sec 8 you're supposed to have a place lined up BEFORE you turn in your written notice.

Which by the way I did today...crying at the fax machine in Kinko's while Kinko's guy is staring at me the whole time. Home is home...it's been "our home", I don't care what Slummy says. This is hard as hell.

To Quote My Favorite Communist...

So last night Al and I are watering his garden, and he is VERY concerned about what will happen to it...how will we move the plants, if they will be all right. You know where I'm going don't you?

Nietzsche be damned...but the analogy of one of my favorite Commies seemed more fitting than ever at that moment. To Al, he kept fixating on the "...kills us" part, but I think he got the point. I am through the worst of it, settling in to a state of acceptance that can only be described as  reluctantly hesitant. Waking up this morning at my normal 6 a.m. rather than the almost 8 of the depressed squall of recent days. A call from Slummy at 7:30 demanding this months rent, or face eviction failed to ruffle me. I flew right back at him...expressing my disapointment in his behavior as of late...and my inability to accomodate ALL of his demands, thus forcing him to choose between me being out in 30 days...or getting his rent money.

The main thing on my mind today is this: Will he stay sober through this? How can I not add to his grief and pain, while still taking care of my son?

People will lash out when hurting, not out of malice, but because they don't know any other way. I don't believe in my heart that Slummy is a malicious, cruel, man...not for a minute. I believe he and I are very much alike...and he is simply in enormous pain, and has no clue what he's doing.

He only knows he must get somewhere safe quickly, and this house is the closest he has to 'safe'. He needs this house probably more than we do right now.

I can accept that. I don't have to like it, but I do have to accept it, if I want peace of mind...

If you are reading this, my request is simple: Send him your good energy, your healing thoughts, your prayers...however you define this excercise in collective existentialism...he needs it more than Al and I.

I want to thank some people who's support and encouragement has been my sustenance. Who have been there for both of us, and who's patience with my healing and reeling over the last few months, giving of much needed 'breaks',  laughing in all the right places...has much to do with why we call ourselves 'Family', and why I'm ABLE to accept and survive this situation.

Laura McMindes Tempie Nichols-Rood Larry Gable Jerry Corbett Jr. Beth Dunlap B. Cain and many more...on channel 4

We get back out of this life what we put in to it...everyone knows this, but how many of us BELIEVE and live by this? For me to see all that I have in my life..the immense abundance of love...it always takes something pulling me up out of my 'garden'. And so far in my life, every uprooting has never ceased to make me stronger.

Mi Vida Loca ... Oy!

R.E.S.P.E.C.T....That's What dogs Give To Fleas.

It's been so long since I was depressed, I almost thought I was coming down with the flu instead. Bird flu of course.

The fear is that I've lost my ability to write. (Shut up) That it will be this way forever. I'm not seeing alot of hope to begin with, but the loss of my writing...I can't even fathom.

We have no money to move. I pay all my bills in full on the first of the month...he told me we were out on the 3rd. Yeah, we live that thin. The jerk has almost $800.00 in deposits he owes me...like he'd give the deposit back when he won't sign a piece of paper to help me out. -when he delivered the 30 day notice today, I had a letter typed up for him to sign confirming that I had been an excellent tenent, and was only leaving due to his needing to take occupancy of the property...he said "No I won't sign it, I'm tired of you making me your victim!"...was he talking to ME or his WIFE?-

I'm sitting here unable to do anything to help my son...because of what? Because of someone elses crap.
I spent the day on the phone calling agencies for help. My TANF worker said "Go to a shelter, I don't know what to tell you." Yeah, you didn't know what to tell me when they cut off our food stamps either lady...your just doing your job. She also told me two years ago to stay on welfare, because it was too hard to get off. I laughed "Muahahaha, she doesn't know who I think I am!"

See...I never listen.

A Post From "Betty"

"Do not call me "Mer-Boy" Well what am I supposed to call you? "My name is Al--You can call me Al"... Dun dun da da. Dun dun da da. Dun dun da da...

You were all waiting for that one huh?

The Investment-Property-Previously-Known-As "Home"

Maybe that last post wasn't appropriate, but I'm just about fed up with assholes... So The Slumlord finally returns my call this morning, it went something like this:

Slummy- "You have to be out in 30 days, I've already talked to an attorney and I have every right to do this."
Dummy- "Is there any other solution besides uprooting my kid?"
Slummy- "No, your kids not my problem-you have 30 days."
Dummy- "There has to be another option, how fair is it to let your personal problems interfere in our business agreement?"
Slummy- "Because it's MY HOUSE!!!" (It's MY TOY!)

After the call ended and I threw-up, I sent out a general e-mail to about twenty of my friends, briefing them on my situation and detailing my specific housing needs in the hopes that I might be able to find a place within the limited time frame. It's incredibly difficult when you are sec 8 to do this in 30 days. Toss a child with limitations into the mix and the other factors in our life...and it can seem impossible...without calling in the troops. So I did. I never used Slummy's name, nor did I refer to him as "Slummy" at any point.  In fact, the only reference to him at all was "My landlord and his wife are getting a divorce and he has decided he wants to live in our house. we have 30 days to find a place. This is non-negotiable."

Tonight Slummy calls me again:

Dummy- "Hello"
Slummy- "I WAS going to give you until the first of September, until I got a phone call a little while ago."
Dummy- "Whaa-at are you talking about?"
Slummy- "I'm talking about you putting my personal business on the computor. Not cool. 30 days!
Dummy- (in my head) Did he just say "on the computor" ?
Dummy- "Do you want me to forward you a copy of what I e-mailed?"
Slummy- "No, I know what you said, you said 'my landlord', that's enough. 30 days, OUT!"

What am I supposed to say "Hey everyone I need some help because...I just really want to move quickly!" It's not my job to keep his secrets. He made HIS personal business MY personal business when he chose to kick us out of here, all I did was ask people for help with MY damn personal business.

He really believes he's that f-ing important.
"I WAS going to give you till Sept. 1st..." that's crap I hear Al and his friends say to each other. "I WAS going to let you have my blue eyed shining dragon card, but since you didn't play with me at recess, now I'm not going to."

... I should never have moved in here, I should have known something was very wrong with this man from the moment I saw those blue kitchen cabinets. I mean no one paints anything that color...except maybe a carousel.

Mer-boy's Mama

Mer-boy's Mama

"Aaaaaaaaaa-ah, We Are Your Sluuumlooords!"

"Aaaaaaaaaa-ah, We Are Your Sluuumlooords!"

I'm physically depressed. Like there's

I'm physically depressed. Like there's another kind.

I felt my neurotransmission slip this afternoon. Wonder what a rebuilt runs?

To make matters absolutely perfect, it's pouring down rain. Never in my life do I remember it raining on The 4th of July. Not once.

Al is in OCD hell, cleaning, counting, it is wearing us both out. He's worried about what will happen to his garden. I should call The Slumlord and ask HIM what will happen to my sons garden.

The funny, well not funny, but tragic thing about all of this is Mr. Slumlord was taken from HIS mother by the state when he was five-years-old. He was in an orphanage until being placed in a foster home, where he was abused by a foster parent until he escaped to the streets and raised himself.

Do you see how this goes, round and round. His mother was an alcoholic, not a monster. She had a disease.

Whatever, f-him, the bitter wounded creep.

Neurotransmission...that's funny.

I'm trying to clean coke

I'm trying to clean coke off the keyboard at 3:45 in the morning, because in my stressed out state I sleep walked, got my bag of white chocolate M&M's out of the freezer, grabbed Al's 'special treat' coke out of the fridge and I was GONE! The only thing that woke me up was dropping the coke in my lap, splattering it across everything within a five foot radius. I may have been dancing with the coke prior, I just don't know. So here it is INDEPENDENCE DAY, and I'm facing yet another life changing event as a direct result of my LACK of independence. I'm really f-ing angry about this. Al has his garden, his friends, his HUGE backyard--No, they are not his, they are The Slumlords and I need to get over this dramatic crap if I'm going to help Al get through this. Here it is the first of the month, and my electric bill is almost $200.00 because of said Slumlords unwillingness to fix the ductwork to the back bedrooms--for two years. In order to get it cool enough back there to sleep at night, I have to run the system at almost 65 degrees. Last summer I slept on the couch all summer, Al on a palet on the floor. When OCHA came out to inspect the unit, they informed me a/c wasn't even required to pass inspection, so be grateful I had any at all. When I've approached Slummy about it he tells me I'm crazy, there's no temperature difference. I gave up because I wanted Al to have a good place to live. Let's see how he likes it sleeping back there. Dipshit. Maybe I should leave him my space heater for the winter months in the Antarctic bedroom? Yep, lack of independence, or dependence on abusive men in one form or another.

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's Thanksgiving Day again. What the hell is she talking about now?

Last Thanksgiving Day, which incidentally was also my birthday, my Slumlord pulls up in his Jaguar while my truck is in 73 pieces in the driveway so my neighbor could try and revive it one last time, and informs me he's giving me my 30 day notice.

Seems he and Mrs. Slumlord are getting a divorce and, well, I keep the place so nice and all-he is going to move in here.

No I'm not kidding. Lucky for Al and I, The Slumlords made up, started a new business together, and everything's been peachy ever since...until today.

Are you going to tell me the SOB couldn't have waited until AFTER the 4th of July to drop this bomb on me and my kid? Are you going to tell me the SOB couldn't go uproot some tenant without a child? Or buy a f-ing house of his own? Hell no, not when he can be a bully.

Weak bastard.

I had some friends come get Al so he could watch fireworks, because I'm just not in the mood for some reason. I feel so beat. I know there are people we can stay with, but that's not the same as having a home you raise your family in.

These tears, shit I feel as if I've failed this child in so many ways. That I would tolerate this man's shit for two years just to keep my son in a good neighborhood. I don't want to post this, but if I don't I'll keep it all to myself, festering.

Why this hurts so much is because I trusted the man, I believed he would never do this again. I naively believed if I did all the right stuff, good stuff would happen. I was actually going to approach him about selling me the house, doing a lease-purchase so I could keep Al in this area.

What a jack ass I am.

I don't know how to do any more than I am. If I knew how, I would.

If Al's dad would pay some child support, if I could get my credit clear enough to qualify for a home loan, if, if, if. This is just STUPID. Shut-UP already! Ya whiner.

(Post-post: I posted this, then pulled it, then posted, pulled, posted, pulling won-I left and went to watch the night- sky match my insides, but ended up talking politics, and green chili's with the Minister and friends.

The reason I'm re-posting (?) is that when I returned to the-investment-property-previously-known-as-home, I had a comment about one of the multiple 30 second posts from earlier this evening. It's not always going to be cute Al stuff, it's not always going to be my smart ass crap, life sucks sometimes a whole helluva lot. It just seems sometimes like its never ending, especially when your in it.

Is that a meteor?

 

Blog Oklahoma Tag Cloud (top

Blog Oklahoma Tag Cloud (top 50)- oklahoma, politics, tulsa, family, music, religion, life, news, humor, christian, blog, christianity, conservative, kids, movies, photography, writing, art, dogs, faith, poetry, books, catholic, progressive, technology, culture, design, friends, history, law, political, sooners, sports, bible, blogs, cats, democrat, fiction, health, justice, knitting, love, media, military, mom, philosophy, podcast, programming, teacher

Yes, Dog and Cat are seriously in the top 50 tags here. As are podcasting military moms who sit around anaylzing why knitting has caused a progressive decline in christian family values. It's just not funny, the bible teaches us so...

I could play with this till my brain comes out my ears. Oooh Al, don't step in that honey, get the cat AWAY from it.

I can't believe I have

I can't believe I have my very own 3-D Danny button and link to his site! I'm like five-years-old again! Danny Williams is one of the crew my dad ran with, and another early television pioneer. He did bit parts on dad's show-"The Adventures of Foreman Scotty", but had his own children's show, "The Adventures of 3-D Danny." (these guys were creative with the titles) It was a time when the world was more full of grace in many ways, and live children's programming was at it's zenith. At least in my mind.

The last time I saw Danny was at my dad's funeral in '94 on a cold November day. Sitting there next to my then Attorney Fiance', wrapped in a $25,000 piece of animal and feeling as if my world had just slipped out of view beyond the horizon-leaving me an emotional orphan in a world I knew so very little about. I had promised dad in the hospital after the Do Not Resuscitate orders were signed, that I would walk him through to the end. Not that he was coherent enough to even know I was there, but it was a promise I made and kept.

After the funeral, as people were paying their respects to the family-which also included this In-bred/dim-wtted/I.Q. of 14/all 6 of her kids have different fathers/hanger-on/succubus/wouldn't let my brother and I talk to dad alone/greedy/and all around general crappy human being of a stepmonster. But I've worked through all that.
Danny walks up to me and, right in front of the monster says "You look just like your mother, she was a beautiful woman."
This is why Dan is still 'the man'.

From the progressive media project

From the progressive media project and S. Beeney comes an article on the question of nationalism within our own borders. It's a long story how it wound up in by in box, so I'll spare you for now . The irony lies in the timeline, having received the article literally hours before the 20/20 special aired last night. Full Story Here