Jet To No Where

Help me find out if I am on a Jet To No where…or just on stand by.

Archive for the tag “family issues”

Monday

As I blew the smoke out of my less than pink lungs, it hung in the humid air right in from of me, like a cartoon balloon wanting to tell me something. He pulled up in a white truck, newer than most…..asked me if there was a leasing office, since there was a For Rent sign out in front. That sign must have put up and down a half dozen times since we moved here in August of last year.  It was really a no brainer. No credit or background check, five-hundred dollar deposit and seven-hundred and seventy-five dollars a month for a three bedroom, one bath duplex…..eight units total for rent, most were occupied for the time being. You would never get this much space in the heart of Orlando, so we opted for just inside of Lake County…Sorrento. I was happy to finally have our own place after a few months of staying with Ted’s brother, wife and kids. Leonard was extremely laid back and not much bothered him. His better half, Crystal was extremely meticulous and had some wild mood swings. Other than walking on a few eggshells…and the fact that our travel trailer was in their backyard hooked up to the house….it was bearable. They did have a great pool, which was a Godsend for May, June and July.

I said, “No, no leasing office.” I wasn’t going to get into a full on conversation with a guy out in the middle of nowhere. He then asked if we had a groundskeeper. Again I said, “No, no groundskeeper”….landlord lived in Georgia….she’s a “don’t ask, don’t tell” type of landlord. He thanked me and returned to his truck. He didn’t strike me someone looking for a place to live. He was going through some paperwork in his truck. So, my curiosity got the best of me.  I asked him what he was looking for.

It wasn’t the first time someone had come here to ask about tenants. I did a sex offender search online when we first moved here. There was one in the next duplex. I never really got to know him…not that I really gave a shit. He had been convicted of lewd and lascivious acts and battery on a child under 16. I made my older son Jake study his face, told him to stay away from him and let me know if he ever approached him.  Little did I know that my husband of eleven years would go over there that next Saturday and confront him. The guy could have been no taller then 5’9”…weighing about 100 lbs. Ted just flat out asked him.

“Do I have anything to worry about with you and my kid”? I was watching from the front door. The guy was about 22 or so and scared shitless. I would be too if Ted confronted me. He was a huge man. 6’3”, but all chest and arms and covered in tattoos. His hands were easily twice the size of mine. No knuckles….lost those years ago in drunken fights and barroom brawls.  His skin was a reddish-brown. Al those years of construction work outside had burned his Blackfoot Indian skin. He wasn’t full blooded Indian, but enough to have the skin. Short sandy blonde hair with a block shaped head. I don’t mean that in a mean way, it’s just the shape of his head. Very good looking…and loyal to a fault.  Even after all these years, some with doubt, I never regretted marrying Ted three days after we met in 1998.

I later learned people called him Chris, but he was John Callhoun on the Florida Sex Offender Search.  There were two or three other kids with him. When you’re pushing forty, a twenty-two year old is a kid to me. No one said a word…stunned silence I guess. He finally worked up enough courage to talk.

“No, no, no….there’s no problem….it was a mis-….uh….I was with a girl and her parents…..”. He said he was nineteen when it happened. He was dating a fifteen year old girl. Her parents supposedly went nuts and had him arrested. I’ll never know the real story, but I would never need to.  They all gave Ted a wide berth as he just slightly smiled and said, “Good, so were on the same page”?

Yea…they were all over that page. The proverbial “I will beat the living shit out of you and you will be found in the trunks of ten different cars” page.  I later learned that he lived there with a few roommates and their girlfriends. How he had a girlfriend of five years, I’ll never know, but she was of age…although extremely young looking. He was supposedly an uncle to his roommate, Kenny….even though he was younger than Kenny by about six years. Through marriage they said. Kenny turned out to be not so bad after a few more casual meetings outside while walking to the mailbox. He knew the landlord personally and let us know if she was coming to town so we wouldn’t have to see her. I have never even met her until this day…and that’s fine by me. Everyone is late with the rent at some time or another and so were we. She loved her fifty dollar late fees. Hey, when you rent to anonymous people, you essentially get what you pay for. Inconsistency.

I walked over to the guy in the white truck and he spun around with a huge file and some sort of badge around his neck. I looked it over, but could only make out the word “Recovery”. He was a bail bondsman. He showed me a picture of a Latino-looking type guy and asked if I knew him. He had an address for him that was off by a few numbers and one letter. I said that he lived here, but I didn’t know him, per say. He then proceeded to show me three pictures of other people….their driver’s licenses. I confirmed who they were and that they lived with him in the third duplex over from me. The mother, father, girlfriend….all in that same file. I didn’t even notice all of their names except for the father. It was the same as the guy he was looking for. That’s why they call him “junior”, I thought.

Then my big mouth got the best of me…again.

Advertisements

“Realization is one of the most difficult acheivements” ~ Erich Fromme

by Alex Senape Vader on Monday, November 8, 2010 at 1:42pm

Is sad that is took me so long to realize that my body does not function like everyone else. Th common cold puts me in bed for a week. Stress makes me vomit and the flu puts me in the hospital. If I make a promise, I keep it, but if it comes at a price of my health, I cannot. I look and feel (most of the time) normal, but I am not. I will need a heart transplant one day and until that day I am cannot pretend I a Superwoman, Super-wife, Supermom or Super-friend any longer. I don’t like this realization, but I have to accept it. I wish others could accept it and I understand that it is not that I do not want to do something that I promised, it is that I CANNOT do it.

I try my best to stay true to my word, but I am no good to anyone, especially my children, if I am too sick to do anything. I have to start putting myself first and I will not apologize for that. I wish the people who say they love me and are family here would understand all of this, but unless someone has had a life changing health issue, no one could possibly understand. No one will ever truly know what Ted has been through or what I have been through with our health.

It saddens me….it hurts me…I do not want to hurt anyone, but I cannot be what I thought I could any longer. I cannot do it all…I wish I could. It is entirely 100% true….if you don’t have your health, you have nothing. I do have Ted and my children who truly understand all of this…. because we have been through it all together.

I always thought that admitting ones weaknesses was admitting one was fragile or not strong.  It is not. It is human.

I now realize that I am weak to a certain extent. I cry as I write this, but it is because I feel sad for the promises I cannot keep….but it saddens me even more deeply that people called family cannot understand this. I needed only to explain this one person, and I hope she understands. I thought she did….and I hope she can understand.

 Now, I have to take care of myself….I have to do this for my family, my children most of all.  I have to remove myself from all things that have an impact on my health.

 Anyone who truly loves and cares for me will understand without a word.

 Others who cannot or will not understand…..then I know I made the right choice.

“To preserve health is a moral and religious duty, for health is the basis of all social virtues. We can no longer be useful when we are not well.” ~ Samuel Johnson quotes (English Poet, Critic and Writer. 1709-1784)

 “Before healing others, heal yourself” ~Indira Gandhi

Twas’ the Night Before Christmas….

It happened last night. It was inevitable. I knew it was coming, like murky grey clouds hanging over my house….the electric smell of a storm brewing. I had avoided it for almost a year. I kept thinking to myself….just one more year, a little more time, I am just not ready yet. We were sitting outside on the balcony. I inhaled a long drag off of my P-Funk and blew it away from him, as always when he would come out with me. The smoke just hung in the air like those cartoon bubbles above characters heads….just waiting for the silence to break. Then he asked….

“Mom….is Santa Claus real?”

I stopped breathing for a second or five…all possible answers flew through my head like a swarm of locusts on a crop.

“What do your friends say about it?”, I questioned back quicker than I thought.

“They said he isn’t real…that your parents do everything…so do all the kids in my class.”, he responded. He was matter of fact. Just as if he were telling me what time it was.

“What do you believe?”, I quietly said.

“I think he’s real.”…..And there it was. The answer I didn’t want to hear. He is going to be nine years old in exactly one month. I found out when I was about seven or so. Now what? I was so happy I squeaked by last year with answers like, “Do you think I want to stay up all night and put presents together?”….”Why would you think I would do all of that…I’m tired.” I refer to myself in the singular only because in the past eight years there had not been one Christmas Eve where Ted had been awake long enough to do it all. I was Santa all these years.

Jake is extremely mature for an eight year old. People don’t give him enough credit for how smart he is or for how much of the real world he does understand. He’s in third grade, reading at a fifth grade level….and a math genius. How do you lie to a genius?

So I did the dirty deed.

I explained it all. Santa…St. Nicholas…why people created the fantasy of such a person. A person with incredible influence and power over children. How does a child get over the fact that it is all a lie?

A lie is something you tell someone to hurt them. A lie is meant to be cruel….the fantasy of Santa is not a lie….it is a way of making children understand the concept of giving. It helps them to understand how to treat one another….how lucky we are and how unfortunate others may be. It is the reason we feed the hungry, house the homeless and drop our change and dollars into those red buckets every year outside of Wal-Mart.

He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t sad. He asked one question. “Well, if Santa and Mrs. Claus aren’t real, then who I was talking to on the phone last year wasn’t real?”

Ummm…yea….here we go…..

“Well, they were real people, just not Santa and Mrs. Claus.”, I answered.

“Then who were they?”, he asked.

“Your aunt and uncle.”, I said timidly.

“So, they lied to me.”, he responded…so quickly and with a shred of anger.

I proceeded to explain how it wasn’t really considered a lie, as it was not meant to hurt him in any way. It was merely meant to keep up with the illusion of the Santa myth. (I didn’t say that part ver batim….I skirted around that one as much as possible). At this moment,  Ted came in from walking the dog. I proceeded to tell him the entire story. He didn’t react as I expected. He was extremely angry that I didn’t “consult” him before telling Jake the truth about Santa. Really?

I mean fucking REALLY?

Three months ago Jake asked the sex question. I “consulted” him on that one and he proceeded to simply say….”Oh no, you got this one.” and threw his hands in the air. So I took it and with the maturity that Jake has, he handled it just fine, matter of fact, not really even surprised at all. He just said, “Oh, ok”, and shrugged his shoulders.

Ted was so enraged about this life altering decision I had made that he went on and on for over an hour. I defended myself, Jake told him to knock it off…that he was just fine and to “get over it”, which I found completely hysterical.

After Jake fell asleep and Owen was bathed and finally in la-la land too, I proceeded to give Ted the silent treatment. For someone who says that I talk too much and to leave him alone during an argument, he cannot stand the silent treatment. It kills him. He tries any and everything to get me to give him some sort of response…none of it worked.

About 11:00 PM, Ted got up to go to bed. I simply said, “Ted, if it will make you feel better, I’ll give you the Easter Bunny and the fucking Tooth Fairy…..ok?”

 

 

Quote of The Day

“Would you like me to give you a formula for success? It’s quite simple, really. Double your rate of failure. You are thinking of failure as the enemy of success. But it isn’t at all. You can be discouraged by failure or you can learn from it, So go ahead and make mistakes. Make all you can. Because remember that’s where you will find success.”
– Thomas J. Watson

http://www.motivatingquotes.com/success.htm

How Do You Measure A Person’s Success?

How does one measure a person’s success?

I have known many wealthy individuals who have worked themselves almost to death and for what? A bigger house. A nicer car, designer clothes, more vacations and hair by Fredric Fekkai….why are all these things so important? Do they really measure a person’s worth? Do they calculate their success or value as a human being?

I knew a woman once that would give you the shirt off of her back…knowing it was her last shirt and never bring it up in a conversation again. She had ruined her credit, had no vehicle or home and was virtually broke. I also know a man who has earned a lot of money, helped his family members when he could, but was quick to use it against them in the future. Yes, this man worked long, hard hours. He was rarely home and saw little of his children. He had everything he ever wanted, but there was always something lacking…. something more…something better to buy…something more expensive or trendier to obtain. So he kept working way beyond what should have been his retirement age.

Now, this woman died penniless, but with all of her friends and family surrounding her.

This man is still alive. He has a strained relationship with one of his children. He lives under constant stress and is still striving to obtain “the American Dream.” Most people would agree that he has already achieved it, but not in his mind. He has to have more…has to keep up with the lifestyle he has made for he and his wife. I don’t discount for one second all the hard work he has done to have this level of success…but is it really success?

I have shitty credit. It’s my own fault. I made huge mistakes and now I am paying for them. I don’t own a home right now. I rent a really great two bedroom, two bathroom apartment. This is where I am right now in my life and I am taking steps to change my life. Not only monetarily, but spiritually as well. I am truly happy with my life right now. It has improved greatly from over a year ago and my husband and I are doing more to insure that our family will always be comfortable.

Now….am I successful? In one respect, no, as my credit is shot and some months are harder than others with the bills. On the other hand, yes. I am in a much better place than last year. I am healthier, my kids are happy and my husband is much more relaxed. We have improved our lives 100% in the last year, but we are by no means wealthy. Does this mean I am not successful? Do I have to be Donald Trump to be a success? Is the measure of ones success based solely on their economic status?

Is it so horrible to die broke? I really don’t plan on that happening, but if I do, does it mean I died with nothing to show for it? My children are always well cared for. They have everything they want and need and more. We do things as a family all the time. No…we don’t go on elaborate vacations to exotic destinations, but we go to Disney-world or Universal Studios for the day every few months. We go to the park and the beach. I spend almost every day at the pool with my kids and their friends. My oldest has sleep-overs constantly and my house has become the Kool-Aid House. I write every day, which is what I love doing. I have friends that I talk to every day. But most importantly, my husband loves me and I love him. We have had some of the hardest times one can imagine, but we got through them.  We have both made mistakes, but we worked them out. We will be married 11 years on August 31st. He is the only man in my entire life that has never disappointed me.

Some would define our life as average….some below average.

Why is it so important to be wealthy and powerful to be considered successful? Does it not count to have a loving family and friends living a less than middle class life? The middle class has been totally screwed lately, but they continue to pick themselves up, brush off and start over.

I was middle class once. I screwed it all up. I am below middle class right now. I don’t plan to live paycheck to paycheck for the rest of my life….who does? But life happens and people screw up. What else are we supposed to do? I could drop into a deep depression, make my kids miserable, ruin my marriage and really make my life a royal fuck up. But I am choosing to pick myself up, brush off and start all over again….with the help of my husband. We did it before…we will do it again.

 I would say that sounds pretty successful.

The Reality of It All….

It finally happened. I saw them both. We were all in the store. It was just a coincidence, happenstance….or are there no coincidences? I followed them around the store while my father longingly looked back as his unsympathetic wife walked faster and faster. It was as if he were trying to stop, but couldn’t. I could tell by the look on his face. It was ….”I’m sorry”….”I love you”…..”I have no choice.” She was cruel but her crocodile tears were starting. They always came….she was a professional. She could have won an Oscar so many times over the past 30 or so years…it was a true hidden talent….but I knew that’s all it was…a talent, acting…not real tears. Maybe this time she was genuinely scared. Scared of my wrath, as the anger was growing on my face. Scared of my letting the truth out, calling her out on her lies and manipulations. But I saw the slight grin surface a few times around each corner. She knew what she was doing and didn’t care. What made me sad…more than anything was that my father was going along with it all. Dodging me, pretending to ignore every time I yelled to him…asking him….”Please, please stop!…I need to talk to you! I have to talk to you!” I started to cry….the kind of cry that is almost inconsolable. Sobbing, my chest heaving with every breath and step I took.

It was as if I were in slow motion. I was trying to catch up so desperately, but there were people everywhere. The store was so busy and flooded with potential consumers that just seemed determined to block my every move. I finally caught up to them. I didn’t say a word at first. I just stared at my father for a minute that seemed like a lifetime. The type of stare that buckles your knees and says everything without uttering a word. I was puzzled, dumbfounded, hurt, shocked, visibly upset…but only slightly angry. My chest hurt so badly. I was squeezing as if I were in a vice. It seemed impossible to speak, but I finally could.

“Why are you doing this.”, I sobbed to him. “I just don’t understand. Just what am I supposed to say to Jakob”. I started to yell. “He is only eight years old…a little boy…he doesn’t know what he did “wrong”.” I was now spewing at him.

He had no defense. He knew he was wrong. He had hardly spoke to me in the last year and a half and had called Jake about ten times. His wife, who Jake had called Mom-Mom at one time, had not spoken to him in over two years. No phone calls, letters, holiday or birthday gifts that she picked out. He only received what my father picked out and signed her name to the card.

“Jake has done nothing!”, I screamed. “He is so innocent and good-hearted. He is kind and wants to know why “Mom-Mom” doesn’t care about him any more. He wants to know why everyone he has known for the past seven years has disappeared out of his life. He wants to know what he did “wrong.” I finally screamed at both of them.

She was “crying”…. A meek, simple sob that would absolutely be figured out by the majority of strangers and most family members. I knew it so well. My father was always reeled in., but he was different this time. He seemed to know that she was the reason, but he had no choice. He kept stumbling over every word. He couldn’t complete a sentence. He was crying now too. I have seen my father cry a few times, but not like this. He was truly sorry, empathic….with a look on his face that said everything. He was helpless. He was a pussy.

“We can’t trust you. We never could. You have always caused problems for your father and I will not see him hurt any longer. I am done with all of your bullshit for all of these years.”, she spit at me. Her eyes were dark with nothing behind them. I had heard this speech so many times before. It was ridiculous. I could not have possible been that bad for thirty years.

“What does that have to do with my son!” I screamed into her face. I was up close to her, intimidating and angry. I always knew deep down she was scared of me. Scared that eventually my father would finally listen to me. That he would would hear how she treated my sisters and I over the years. I was never afraid of her. I never backed down from a fight with her. I called her out on every evil, manipulative move she made. She had said to me so many times over the years….”I will deny everything I say to you, so don’t bother saying anything to anyone because they will never believe you.” She was right….they never did.

I was pleading with my dad…..”Daddy, please…why are you doing this to Jake?….I don’t want you to hate me, but it doesn’t matter if it means you’ll stop what you are doing to him. Jake is so sad some days. I don’t know what to say. I am sick of lying….telling him that you and her are so busy…that you work so much, even though you are supposed to be retired. I am tired of having my son think your wife is a good person when she absolutely is not!”

“I don’t understand.” I said as more and more tears were streamed down my face. All three of us were unaware of anyone else in the store. The people all seemed to go about their business in slow motion. They were all a blurry haze of everyday life passing me by. My father didn’t seem to care either. Normally he would avoid any public display of this sort. His wife kept looking around…as if anyone really could give a shit. They had lives to lead, bills to pay, grocery lists to fill. She was always putting up a front. No, no…nothing is wrong in my life…I have the perfect life…a huge home, a rich husband…and I was able to turn him against his three daughters…it was so easy.

What kind of man lets that happen? What kind of woman lets a man choose her over his children?….But we are talking about her. She hates kids. She hated us as kids. Now as adults, she saw no reason to find any possible imperfection or nuisance to make my father’s life so miserable that he was willing to ignore his daughters. At that very moment… I didn’t care what he was doing to me. I was protecting my son. I was standing up for my child who loved unconditionally and didn’t understand what he could have done that was so awful that his own grandfather hardly spoke to him…..that his so-called Mom-Mom hadn’t talked to him in over two years and hadn’t step foot into our home in over three years in Pennsylvania before we moved to Florida.

My father just kept sputtering…trying to catch the right words. There was an obvious look of  “I am so sorry for all I have put you through over these years. I wish I could change it all. I wish I had a relationship with you”. It was everything I ever wanted to hear, but it wasn’t why I was so angry….Jake…why would he torture a poor little boy that he used to take almost very weekend to fly in one of his planes. Jake loved it so much. He would tell everyone he could…”My Pap-Pap is a pilot. He has his own planes and lets me fly them all the time. I know how to fly a plane.” He was so proud…so sincere….it broke my heart.

It ended almost as quickly as it started. We were being pulled apart by her. My arm was out stretched….with so much pain on my face. He had the same look of pain. He kept asking me, “Do you need anything? Does Jake need anything? I’ll give you whatever you need! If you need any help. please let me know!”

I yelled… “No. …I don’t need or want that kind of help! I don’t need your money….I need for you to be a grandfather to my son! Don’t do to him what you did to me! He doesn’t deserve it! He did nothing wrong!”. Tears were flowing so much that I could see any longer. She was pulling him father away. I was screaming at him.

“Call Jakob!..Call your grandson! He doesn’t understand! He just a little boy you bastard!” It was my final good-bye as she whisked him far out of my reach. I was sobbing so heavily. I didn’t answer the people…strangers asking me if I were all right. My mind was boggled and nothing was resolved….as always.  I had a glimmer of hope that everything was going to go back like it used to be… but  it was gone as quickly as it came.

The sobs kept coming. I couldn’t control it…I was inconsolable. I hurt so badly for my child…..Jake loved him and her so very much…..I had never felt such pain and controllable grief…it was a loss greater than any death I had ever experienced….because it was a chosen loss…. by my father.

I woke up grasping my chest, tears streaming down my already soaked face. I was crying during the whole dream. I still could not control it. Jake was sleeping next to me. I hugged him so hard, but not enough to wake him. I love him so much…..everyone always tells people that you will never know such a love until you have children….I never believed it until I had Jake. I would die and kill for him. Everything was so fresh and real. I was there. My dad was there. She was there. It really happened….it couldn’t end like this? Why was it all a dream!!! Why was my son going to still question himself and what he did wrong to have this all happen to him.  I was still crying, but starting to become angry.

I got up and went to the bathroom. I washed my face off and brushed my teeth. The clock said 1:46 AM. I cried the whole time.

It’s 2:58 AM now. I am done with the dream, but I am still sobbing uncontrollably. I had to wipe my eyes so many times just to see the screen. My chest doesn’t hurt any longer. I am starting to calm down. Jakob had a sleep over with his cousin, Skylar. She keeps waking up and moving around, but I think she is still sleeping. The computer is right next to where she is sleeping. I am going to check on her.

I just can’t believe it is over. It was so real. It still seems within my grasp….like maybe when I fall back asleep I could pick up where I left off…but that never happens in my dreams no matter how hard I try.

I guess no matter how much I say that I am OK, I am still not over all the hurt from my father. Maybe I will call a therapist in the morning.

Devil May Care….

I despise all of the social websites being used as a platform for airing out ones feelings when they don’t have the balls to confront the someone in person or by phone.

Since my last blog, my family drama has increased. It seems a certain someone did not like what I had to say and proceeded to post her attitude all over Facebook.  This act also allows one to drift completely off topic into issues that were not even an issue to begin with. So, if my family member wants to use the web as her platform instead of talking like an adult….I see no reason why she shouldn’t get what she wants. Who am I to deny her that right…..

Her reply in reference to my last post concerning a truly stupid issue:

“I dont owe you knowthing! I just qoited what my brother stated to me that early morning!  Oh and you call  the land lady right back afiter i called you  was mature !  Amy was standing right next to me! Its is all good we took care of it !I am over it! Oh and I am truly glade you had time to check on your niece though ! I am greatful my brother did ! He made time for her while no one other than my mother and eddie and teddie and justins family !Oh and from what I hurd for other sorces you brought  a little of it on your self with the house and not all that you say was true ! I dont care if you dont like were you lived !From what I see it seemds like you never wanted to be there in the first place! Let alone in florida ! From the whole time you lived there you not onece came over just to visit us only when you need something or if it was a birthday or hoilday! So yes I see its all about alex! I dont care ! I am me and we help you guys out when need and only greatfulness was my brother!”

Which was promptly followed up with this:

“Alex I truly hope your happy maybe you will stop bitching so much and finally be happy! That what was truly on my mind begreatful for what you have and not what you dont have!!!!!!!!!! Have a god day! I am done with this topic and drama! ;0) Please kiss the kids for me!”

Spelling and grammar not corrected…that’s exactly what I was supposed to decipher…..and that is a lot of exclamation points. Do you think she wanted to emphasize something?

Men would never dream of doing something like this. They hash it out quickly and it’s over. Women, on the other hand, have the wonderful tendency to drag their bones of contention on for days, weeks, months and use emails, letters, social networking sites and the web as tools for their annoyances. I am just as guilty, just not as angry.

My question is this: Why do we, as women, let tiny words on a web page get to us so badly? They are just typed words, right? Or is it that we don’t like everyone else we know on that social networking site to know our dirty laundry? Why does one simple sentence require a litany of words just spitting back at you to make a point? It all seems awfully desperate and angry, yet not enough to have a real conversation.

I, myself, could care less who knows what about me, as long as it’s the whole story and the complete truth. Others just like to throw out whatever they have just to try and hit a nerve. Whatever the reasoning one has for not sucking it up, acting like an adult and picking up the phone instead of hiding behind a computer…I’ll never know.

I haven’t had much inspiration lately for writing, but I have also been moving and under a lot of stress….or maybe I just needed a little aggravation?

I am right here, Angie, when you want to apologize for all of the lies and nasty things you have posted about me. You had the floor and now you need to act like an adult.

But, like you said, “I dont owe you knowthing!”.

Stranger Than Fiction

My family and I just moved. We moved from a private duplex that came with an assortment of all kinds of problems (SEE POST “If Momma Ain’t Happy….Ain’t Nobody Happy”) to an absolutely wonderful apartment complex. The place is HUGE! My oldest son, Jake, loves his new room and the fact that he has his own bathroom. There’s a pool, tennis courts, workout room (not that I will be using it or anything), car care center….everything I could ever want. And it’s cheaper than the old duplex.

If you read my previous blog mentioned above, you know why I couldn’t stand it there any longer. While I was moving, many people came up to me asking about the place, as there was a “For Rent” sign in front of it. I told them the truth. There were pros and cons.

No credit check….great for everyone hit hard by this economy. No background check…great for all you criminals out there….not so great for the law abiding part of society. Low deposit…pro. Cheap place that is large…pro. Landlord lives out of state….pro and con. First $200 of repairs is tenant’s responsibility….con. Late fees were astronomical…con. Landlord was understanding at times of financial hardship…pro.

I could list much, much more, but it’s none of these factors trump the neighbors. The people and their children that live in these duplexes are crazy….and I mean calling the police, guns being shot off, domestic violence, stealing my cable and the alcoholic that thought that my duplex was his one night and passed out on my front lawn crazy. You just can’t make this shit up.

So, my sister-in-law decided to “help” a friend of hers by recommending that she take the place, as she and her children have to leave her abusive husband. I tried to explain to my sister-in-law that this was no place for children. I had always told her all of the bullshit that happened at this place, but she just explained that she never really heard of anything bad happening over “here”. WTF? Did she not hear me? Was I speaking a foreign language? If she was such a wonderful friend, why not offer her to stay in her five bedroom three bath house? Sure, my sister-in-law is married with five kids, but who wouldn’t do that for a woman being abused and threatened by their husband?

A few nights ago I received a call from my sister-in-law (let’s call her Angie for now). She was very angry that her friend called to see our old place and the crazy bitch that lives in one of the duplexes (she shows the places for the landlord) said that the landlord didn’t want to rent to anyone that knew my husband and I because we never paid the rent on time and owed over two months rent. Yea. Not true…we were only breaking the lease.

I have never even met this woman who needed a place so badly. Ted, my husband, told Angie not to let her friend use us as a reference, as we were breaking the lease, for the obvious reasons. So, Angie said this to me on the phone: “Now Teddy fucked it up for my friend.” Oh no. She did not just say that. I said what I needed to say about her comment about my husband and that was it. Ted immediately called her and said the same. Done.

The friend got the place. She started moving in yesterday. If Angie was a true friend, she would have told her about all of the bullshit that goes on. But no….instead I see this on Facebook:

“…Is very happy that i could help a friend and her girls out of a life threating situation! They are blessed for the new home they have and they reminded me and all the others how greatful it is to have a roof over your head and away from danger ! I am so truly happy that those girls are safe and happy now! God bless to them and mt god help you in your future journeys! Love Lots”

AND….”Is loving life and we are truly happy and greatful for what we have! we are also very blessed and greatful for what we have and dont take it for granet for what we dont have ! If its not the greatest place to live -be greatful you have roof over your head! If you dont like the food on your table be greatful you have food!”

Great. I copied and pasted both of these paragraphs, so that is exactly her grammar and hers alone. It just really pissed me off. Maybe I am reading too much into it. Maybe I am using Facebook like MySpace…a childish game directed at individual people who want to say things to but just don’t have the balls to say it to their face.

Maybe it’s exactly what I think. Angie is a self-righteous hypocrite who doesn’t care what she says to anyone and her pride is much more important than any family member or friendship. I wrote back to her requesting an apology for her remark about Ted to me and him….I doubt I’ll get one.

My question is this…..Why do adults feel the need to act like children these days? Is it because they feel age creeping up upon them and want so desperately to be young again? Do they want to be “cool ” for their kids?

This may seem like a small family squabble, but it is the culmination of so many remarks by Angie that has reached it’s breaking point.

Or maybe I have reached my breaking point.

If Momma Ain’t Happy….Ain’t Nobody Happy!

My family and I have been living in a duplex for close to a year now. It wasn’t perfect when we first saw it, but it was big, had a good school nearby, was reasonably priced and easy to move in. No, it wasn’t perfect, but I wasn’t prepared for what was to follow after moving in.

First of all, I was away when our move in date came, so my husband moved in and took pictures of all the previous damage left behind. The amount of dead roaches was innumerable. They were in kitchen draws, on floors, under the stove and refrigerator…anywhere you could think of. Of course, there was no walk through, so pictures had to suffice. He cleaned like crazy. Grease from floor to ceiling in the kitchen…it was disgusting. But, honestly, I had lived in worse places in college. But I have kids now, so we were determined to make this place as presentable as possible.

 I can handle roaches, broken faucets and peeling tiles. We sprayed and hired an exterminator. My husband can fix or build anything, so small repairs were not an issue. We installed a couple of new ceiling fans, repaired door jams that were broken upon move in. I painted a room or two. It was mostly tile, so a few throw rugs here and there were fine. The bedrooms carpets left a lot to be desired. Even though I was informed they were professionally cleaned, the stains were clearly visible and the smell was distinct….pet urine. We scrubbed them to no avail. The peel and stick tiles throughout the living room were peeling up and breaking apart. They were stained and black….a magic eraser couldn’t even get the shit off.

But, you get what you pay for.

All of the cosmetic problems aside….I had no idea what we were getting into with the neighbors. There are four duplexes for a total of eight units. All of them were rented when we moved in. Jake is eight and there were plenty of kids his age here to play with. Big mistake. These kids were rotten….and I mean future orange jumpsuit wearing rotten. Jake is the first one to tell me if some kid acting like an ass. After a few incidents of bulling, other kids smoking and swearing and the usual bullshit, I decided that these were not the calibre of children I was comfortable letting my son play with. One kid used to come over everyday….even school nights…and stay all day, eat dinner and my husband ended up walking him home at 9:00 PM. I never even met his parents and they never came looking for him. I felt bad for him. Until the day he shot Jake and another kid with a BB gun. Then I called the police.

There were multiple calls to the police. These kids were always left unsupervised. No parent was ever around to keep tabs, make sure they were safe, or make sure they were fed for that matter. I was the only parent outside yelling at all these kids when they were all acting like assholes. I quickly became know as “the bitch”. I told a fifth grader who had been bulling Jake that the day I moved in was the worst day of his life. He didn’t answer. All the kids that Jake used to play with now wanted to beat him up. But, here’s where they underestimated Jake. He has had close to six years of karate. The kids were fair at first. Jake would come in and tell me that so-and-so tried to hit him and he punched them in the face and gave them a roundhouse kick. I have always told Jake not to be a bully and stick up for smaller kids….don’t hit other kids, but defend yourself if you need to. Well, he did.

Soon, he had beat every kid in this wretched neighborhood, no matter what size they were. That’s when they decided to gang up on him. They couldn’t beat him one on one, so they resorted to fighting dirty. I watched out of the window everyday when he played with one of the two good kids in the neighborhood (they were not allowed to play with the Manson Children either). Jake was great…never afraid….I stepped in lots of times. I saw the fifth grader pouring gasoline into a soda can one day. I took a picture with my phone….I am all about getting the evidence. Ted, my husband, went to tell his mother, as no matter how bad a kid is, it is always because of an underlying problem in the home and really not completely their fault. The mother quickly called her son on his cell and he denied it, so she said…”he said he wasn’t doing it.” Ok. Ted just said that when he ends up in the hospital with second and third degree burns that he had warned her. Thankfully, he never did do anything stupid.

They wrote “Fuck your mother” on my sidewalk outside my door. They told every chance they could that I was mean and a bitch. Jake just told them to shut up unless they were in his face…then he punched them. It took months, but these rotten kids finally realized that I was not going to stop watching their actions and that Jake was not a kid to fuck with….so they finally stopped.

That’s when the new neighbors moved in. Two domestic calls to the police later…not even by me…and I told Ted I had enough. We are preparing to move as I type.

Here’s what makes me so angry: These kids have no one to look up to. The parents are not around. If they are, most are usually drunk or just inside the house not giving a shit what their kids are doing. I have always believed that everything begins in the home. So, it was inevitable that these kids are the way they are. If you do not teach your kids values and morals early…this is what you get. I see a future of saddness and prison for most of them. I don’t care what they think of me…or the parents for that matter, but throughout all of this nonesense, I did try to talk to some of them and tell them to be kind and to be friends with everyone. It was to no avail, but I felt obligated to do something that they were not getting from their parents.

Once, Ted went outside and played football with all of these kids. They were happy, friendly, nice….not the little pricks that picked on my son. They were getting what they craved so desparately….attention.

It is amazing what happens when parents just pay attention to their children.

Potentially Explosive

I write everyday. On line, in journals, on napkins…anywhere I can. It has always come so easily, naturally…effortlessly. I have never been someone who was at a loss for words. I have always been the one with the quick comeback, funny joke….cute little quip. Right now…..I’ve got nothing.

I have so much to write about. My mind is full of so many things that need to get out that I am just overloaded. It’s not writer’s block…it’s  anti-writer’s block. I don’t know where to start. I don’t even want to start most days. It’s like I know my mind is going faster than my fingers can type or write. I know it will be a nightmare to try writing, so I don’t even start. My head literally hurts. I know it can be potentially explosive.

But, I have been sick for a couple of days, so I have had time to think, sleep, puke and relax.

I have written about my family in past blogs….about their choices and mine…how I now know where I stand (or fall for that matter).  After two weeks of unanswered phone calls, I finally got in touch with my grandmother on her cell phone at “the home”. She sounded so defeated, broken….just not the woman I knew before. I know she is going to 89, but ones life circumstances changes a person…and I don’t believe that she is happy…no matter what I am told.

Anyway, she said my father was having some tests for his heart….that he “wasn’t feeling well again”….her words. Last year he had the same issues and was tested for heart problems. He claimed to be fine, but I don’t think he would really tell me if he were not. So, I wrote him an email asking if he was OK. I can’t call him, as he is only allowed to speak freely when alone…without the presence of his wife. I am waiting to hear back from him.

This is what bothers me. No matter how my family feels about me, why am I not privy to any information on anyone’s health or well being? I sometimes think that some one will be dead and buried before I am informed, just because of the grudges that are being held. It has been over 18 months and no one has budged. I can’t imagine how this is still happening, as it took my mother’s death to bring my family back together at one point almost nine years ago. I can say all day long that I have to move on, let it go….they have seemingly got on with their lives, what is holding me back?

It hurts. It is a completely devestating feeling to have so many individuals in your life…and your child’s life….for almost a decade and then…..gone. It is like a death….there is mourning, anger, regret….all of the same feelings as a death. So, I guess I am to assume that when any one of the members of my family are to pass during this silent treatment, that I have no more emotion to feel?

Have I done it all already?

Everyone’s family is dysfunctional in one way or another. No one has the perfect set up. But when dysfunction turns into total alienation it is a completely different feeling.

I sent an email to the most important members of my family last Friday. I told them I loved and missed them.  I said I wanted to say it while I still could…while there was still time…before it was too late. I said I didn’t expect anything…I just wanted them to know.

I received no response from two of them, one sent an Obama joke and the other a TMZ video.

This brings dysfunction to a whole new level.

Post Navigation