How to deal with the neighborhood drug dealer

A few months ago I posted a little bit about Drug Dealing Dave (DDD from here on out) and my frustration that Management at the Park refused to do anything about his obvious trafficking.

I may have mentioned in previous posts that Noreen, half of the “management team” at the park – that’s a story for another day – has Meth Face. Her teeth are broken and she has the look of a long-time meth user but she’s never appeared high in my presence and I never asked, feeling that if she was in recovery she might not want to talk about it.

She and her husband became fast friends with DDD right off the bat. I pointed out the Tweaker Parades back when the weather was warm and got only a lukewarm response out of Noreen. I pointed out the car traffic going back to DDD’s trailer and complained about his coming and going at all hours of the night, waking me up.

“He drives a taxi,” was Noreen’s reply.

Uh…I don’t think so. Not in his jacked-up mini-truck with the loud muffler and ridiculous big tires. Not in a million years. And anyway, what kind of taxi driver leaves at 0200 and returns at 0210? Suuuuuuurrrrrreeeeee….I was not buying that line at all.

After my complaint about the noise of DDD’s truck, his nighttime trips became more quiet, but didn’t stop, so I knew I had to do something more drastic. An online search led me to print out a bunch of “suspicious activity” reports which I handed out to the Mrs. Kravitz’ in the park. Conveniently, they live right near DDD and are retired. I instructed them to write down everything they saw, including license plate numbers, and when the sheet was full, to call the Sheriff out. The Sheriff was asked again and again why they didn’t make an arrest, but it seems there wasn’t enough evidence. They knew all about DDD but for whatever reason they did nothing – that pisses me off.

It wasn’t long before the Sheriff was a regular presence in the park. Park Rules state that if the police are called to your “unit” three times, you’re out, no more chances. That rule was bent for DDD and he changed his tactics. The traffic changed from cars to young people with backpacks – they would come in with a pack on, stop at DDD’s and leave with a different backpack.

Now, you could argue that maybe he’s just a friendly guy who the local kids like, right? Nuh-uh! There is no earthly reason for teenagers to be dropping by a single man’s trailer for a few minutes and then leaving. Unless they’re engaged in some sort of illicit activity, but Noreen would not be convinced. Okie-dokie, then!

The Mrs. Kravitz’ continued their work and I waited for something to happen. I would have participated more actively, but I work and couldn’t see DDD’s trailer from mine.

And then one day Noreen was out walking with the owner of the park. He’s 94 and doesn’t get out much, but on that day he was feeling good. Mrs. Kravitz #1 stopped him and Noreen on their walk and asked what was going to be done about the drug dealer. He, of course, knew nothing about it. Noreen tried to drag him away, but Mrs. Kravitz #1 would not be deterred. She’s lived in the Park for 15 years and always been upfront with everyone (to the point of being a bitch, but sometimes it gets things done) so he knew she wasn’t making shit up.

“Give him a 24-hour notice! Now!” he commanded, and just like that DDD was forced to move. He’s now in a little park near where I work, so I see him on occasion. He’s parked right next to another former park member, Kyle, who DDD got kicked out on trumped up complaints. Funny they’re neighbors again 🙂

Noreen is avoiding me now. Won’t let me get close enough to look into her eyes. I suspect she and her husband were customers of DDD and really liked having a supply so close at hand. Meth is a big problem in my little town, as are opiates, or so I hear. I’m fed up with it! The only way to get it out of our neighborhoods is if we stand together and insist they move on. If they can’t be prosecuted, it’s the next best thing since there’s no Open Season on them…

 

Irritating Weekend

I don’t know how much more I can take. Crazy Dog Lady has been pressuring me to come over and solve her computer problems since the last time I was there, back in July. I finally set a date and told her this would be the last trip until after Winter because I am not driving that route in the pouring down rain or snow. Of course, I have to go back in a few weeks for my Court Appearance (provided the case goes to court, that is) but the weekend was supposed to get her all sorted and moving forward again. Sigh.

I really have too many things on my plate right now to justify taking time off to drive two hours (one way) but I know she has no other way to get things ironed out and I try to be a Good Person and not gripe about it too much, but this time very nearly ended with me driving home, never to speak to CDL again.

You see, when I got there she had company. Nevermind that I was “scheduled” to be there and stay in her cottage and we’d had plans for a couple of weeks. She’d double-booked! Okay, fine, it was her niece and she had to leave in a couple of hours anyway. CDL is easily distracted and I had planned to be out of there by noon on Sunday – if we wasted time “visiting” the computer stuff would not get done and I would get progressively more irritated the longer she forced me to stay.

Fine. CDL insisted we take Donna for a walk in the woods since she’s from California and evidently they don’t have woods there? Srsly? I hate hiking. Sabu is not a well behaved dog, and now we’re gonna turn her and her pals loose in the woods? Sure. That couldn’t go wrong….

I changed shoes and we piled into two cars (Sabu can’t ride in CDL’s car and she won’t let any other dogs ride in hers so every time I’m over there we have to drive separately which is a total PITA) and off we went. CDL drives like a maniac but I followed and we made it. Then it’s downhill, uphill, more downhill to the creek and throwing sticks for the dogs to chase. Sabu doesn’t chase sticks. At all. Sabu wallows in the creek and races up and down the trail until she can’t move because she is now an Old Lady Dog. It went better than I thought it would as far as Sabu was concerned but by the time we’d hiked back to the cars I was panting and sore and ready for a nap. No one had mentioned hiking so I hadn’t brought proper shoes and let me tell you, tall muck boots are not made for hiking in the woods!

Then we had to have lunch. Meh. It wasn’t great and there wasn’t a spot in the shade to park my car, making me anxious for Sabu but it was a cool day.

Donna left after lunch and CDL insisted we take the dogs to run on the beach because Sunday’s weather forecast called for rain & wind. Sigh. Okay, fine. We went to the beach but Sabu was pretty much done at that point. CDLs dogs were fairly well behaved but I was not enjoying the gale-force winds whipping sand into my eyes one bit.

We got back to the house and CDL asked me if I wanted to go outside and sit in the sun. Wha….??? I told her it was way to windy for that. Well, she knows a place where we can sit in the sun out of the wind…Uh…no.

And then she nearly slayed me.

“We need to get started on the computer stuff, don’t you think? It’s already after 3:00 and I’m not gonna stay up until 2 AM like you do….” I said.

“I don’t need any computer stuff done,” she replied. “I thought you should come over and relax. Have a vacation!”

She was taken aback at the sight of my eyes bugging out of my head.

“Relax?!?!?!?” I stammered. “I don’t have time to relax! I have four hundred things that need to be done before Winter sets in For Real and relaxing is not one of them!”

I was furious. I tried to recover and not sound like a total bitch, but I had so many other ways to spend my time. Gaaaahhhhhhh!!!

I did my best to be cheerful and get some stuff done, but it was not fun. At all.

While we were chatting at the computer, trying to get some files copied onto a thumb drive, she mentioned that she had someone else “helping” her with the online stuff and couldn’t find her phone number and would I look through the emails so we could call her Sunday morning at 9:30? Uh-huh. CDL doesn’t get up that early, but whatever.

I looked through the emails and discovered that CDL had been emailing with this woman from Arkansas for almost three weeks and that she’d sent all her passwords to her! WTF?!? I reserved judgement until the phone call, which happened late, as CDL was not up when she said she would be and in fact I had to wake her up to make the call. Sigh. I was most unhappy at that point and the rain was falling down sideways already and I was not looking forward to the drive home.

Anyway, turns out this woman has no clue about anything internet related and could not make sense of CDL’s password email. I was suspicious of her going in and she only confirmed my reservations the more we all talked – she was on speaker, of course, so no translations would be necessary.

I was rather gruff with her and refused to give her unlimited access to CDL’s website or Facebook account and I know CDL was put off by that, but I explained later that she doesn’t know this woman, and based on what I heard this woman has no clue what she’s doing. AND CDL is paying her $10 an hour! In fact, she’s already sent her $60, because, “she doesn’t know me, so I had to prove I’m willing to pay her – you wouldn’t work for free, would you?”

Right. I said, “No employer in the world gives people money BEFORE they’ve done any work, and no one in their right mind just hands over the keys to their online life to a perfect stranger!”

Gaaaahhhhhhh!!!

I know some people would praise CDL for being so trusting, but this will end badly, mark my words…

The drive home was every bit as nasty as I thought it would be and I was relieved to get home at last.

The Kid is eager to redeem himself and was sober when I arrived. I’d set him to painting Towanda’s interior and he’s doing a good job. Not as quick as I’d like but I’m not paying him, so it’s fine. The change of color is refreshing and the insulating stuff added to the paint should make Winter a little bit more bearable.

It is SOOOOO Monday!

 

Summoning my Inner Calm…

This week is shaping up to set new records for spiking my blood pressure.

Mom texted me on Tuesday to let me know she’d been subpoenaed to appear in court in Newport for a trial next month. She has to drive 215 miles one way to testify in a domestic case. Well, huh. I was there when the “incident” went down and I hadn’t received my summons, and I was hoping they wouldn’t be calling me but today I got a call from “Restricted” and knew immediately what it was about.

A Sheriff was in the trailer park but I hadn’t given my whole address to the cops on the day of the “incident” so he didn’t know what trailer to knock on and was reluctant to knock until he found me. Of course, I wasn’t even there, so he would have been out of luck. I directed him to my office and he served me and left. Sigh.

After taking a look at who was being tried, well, my blood pressure went through the roof. The wrong person is on trial and I am pissed that it’s even going to trial. A look at the prosecutor and all is now clear.

When I still lived on The Coast, I had Jury Duty. It was a ridiculous waste of time for all parties and I doubt I should go into the details except to say that the attorney for the defense was a young woman who was ill-prepared and, well, idiotic. We the jury convicted because the defense had no case. It was absurd and I left with a bad impression of the defense attorney and her client.

Seems she’s moved up in the world to Deputy District Attorney! OMFG! Granted, it’s been a few years and she must have more experience now, but she has no case if she’s basing it on eye-witness testimony.

Here’s what happened –

Mom and I were at Crazy Dog Lady’s house one Sunday back in July, spreading rock salt onto the weeds in the ditch from the trunk of CDL’s car. I was already angry because killing weeds was not on my agenda for the weekend and we were on a schedule. We were about to get started when I looked up the street and saw a woman walking down the hill towards us. I didn’t think much of it until she started waving her arms and yelling for help.

She started to shuffle-run towards us and a car crested the hill, moving slowly, a woman hanging her head out the window saying, “Just give me my stuff back. You can’t go to work like this. I just want the money you stole from me…” She wasn’t yelling, she wasn’t chasing, she wasn’t threatening at all, IMHO.

The woman (younger by a few years) on foot came rushing up to us, desperate for a phone. She wanted to go into CDL’s house and I held up my hands and told her to stay where she was. Something was very off about her and my hackles were up. She was going on and on about the other woman chasing her and she needed the police and wanted to go inside.

I ran in to get the phone and CDL came running out, phone in hand, asking what was going on. The woman started spinning a tale, and I say it that way because I was watching her work on CDL’s sympathy like a pro. I can’t really explain what I mean, but if you’ve ever dealt with a snake in human skin you know just what I mean – it was fake, engineered, scripted to play heartstrings and not a bit of it was true.

So. I asked the woman from the car if drugs were involved because the woman on foot was coming down from something and it was a bad trip. The woman from the car was sober and had that defeated look on her face that I’ve had myself when you know that the lying asshole is going to get away with it, again, and nothing you say is going to change a thing.

She told me that this has happened before and she’s had to move 5 times in the last year because of the drama caused by the younger woman. I said that maybe this would be a good time to make a clean break and let the drama go. The whole scene felt like something they’d played out many times before.

I’d never met either of these women before, but my narc-dar was ringing like a bell so I was watching them both. The woman from the car was defeated, depressed, humiliated, and just wanting to get out of there, which she did when the police didn’t show up within 15 minutes. She said they could talk to her at home and off she went.

Meanwhile, CDL is calling the police every three minutes, sounding more and more hysterical. Let me assure you, no one was on fire or bleeding, but the woman on foot was winding CDL up like one of those old alarm clocks and CDL was about to blow. I watched the woman very closely and could see that CDL was falling for it hook, line and sinker. When she went inside to get a sweater for the woman, an amazing change took place – the woman’s expression and body language changed completely, from tearful victim to calculating monster. I saw it very clearly. I turned away before she could see that I’d seen and CDL came back out, sweater in hand, and the woman once again became the tearful victim. BUT when she asked me for a cigarette I saw who she was and she saw that I recognized her.

It was a good show – if she knew me she would have shut down the waterworks and tried a different tack, but no, here we are.

So Mom and I spread the salt and the police came. The woman was questioned. CDL was questioned and of course told a tale of victimization because she hadn’t even seen the other woman, so focused was she on the “victim.”

I was questioned and I told the police exactly what I saw, including my opinion that the woman on foot was creating a drama-filled scene and I didn’t believe a word she said. I explained why I thought what I thought. I gave my contact info and went inside to finish crossing things off my list so I could get the fuck out of Crazy Town. Mom gave her statement and that, we thought, was that.

I had a conversation with CDL about the incident later and she was convinced that the woman on foot was horribly abused and needed help. She totally bought the act even though she only had one side of the story. She was called in to testify before the Grand Jury and told the story as she remembered it. Here’s the kicker, though – I was the only one who saw the two women approach, the only one who saw the car actually in motion (a lot of questions were asked about if the car was “chasing” the woman on foot) and I was not called to testify then – doubtless there would have been no case because I am not a bleeding heart who believes alligator tears and would have told the Whole Story as I’d seen it unfold, but there ya go.

I dunno. Now I have to appear in court and I am not happy about it. If the prosecutor is calling Mom and me to testify, don’t you think she would have deposed us? She has no idea what we might say on the stand, especially considering the wrong woman is on trial. I would think the notes the police took make my position clear on the matter, but maybe she is as green as she appeared the last time I saw her.

I mean, doesn’t she watch How to Get Away With Murder? Annalise would never ask a question she didn’t know the answer to or put an unknown witness on the stand, especially if all evidence points to said witness being hostile to her client.

As if that’s not enough, The Kid was drunk when I got home from work last night. Not a little tipsy. Not enjoying a little buzz. Fall down, slurring, stupid, pass-out drunk. He was awake when I got there but my silent fury caused him to go outside and pass out in a chair on the patio in full view of all my neighbors. Towanda smelled like a frat house.

By this morning I had calmed down enough to yell at him without putting my hands around his skinny neck or calling him names. It seems, contrary to his protestations, that if he has cash in his pocket he will spend it on booze. Fine. I told him he could do whatever he wants to do with his cash but I don’t have to live with it. I’ve been here before and I don’t have to live like this. I didn’t kick him out in August because it looked like he had some prospects and he had an attitude change and was helping me with some chores I just couldn’t get to but my patience is at an end.

Stay tuned.

 

Coining a New Phrase

Doesn’t everyone at some time or other wish they could be the one to coin a new phrase? A phrase so very catchy that soon everyone is saying it? Just me? Whatevs.

Today’s New Phrase, or rather acronym, is EPS – Entitled Penis Syndrome. Surprisingly, Urban Dictionary has no listing for this particular acronym, so Yay!

What prompted me to invent this new term? I’m so glad you asked!

There’s a sign that hangs on the back door of my office that states the two parking spaces directly outside the door are for my company’s survey crew. This sign is 24″ wide x 36″ tall and is bright yellow, white and black. It’s not small, and it’s not the only sign – there’s a slightly smaller sign in red and white that states the same message. The reason those particular two spaces are reserved (the parking lot has 12 spaces and is private, for my company only) is because the Survey Dudes back in and load & unload the trucks directly through the door and into the back room of the building. Because of the high rate of (tweaker) crime in this crappy small town nothing of value is ever left inside the trucks. In fact, two of the Survey Dudes take the trucks home every night so they are never parked behind the building when business is closed.

So. On Monday some young man* drove into the lot and carefully backed his pickup up against the back door, got out, locked the truck and began to walk towards the Big Town Hero next door. I know this because I was out with Sabu and just returning to the office and I saw him.

“Hey!” I said/shouted, “that spot is reserved. You can’t park there.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Uh, no,” I said, a bit louder now. “That spot is reserved for the survey crew and you need to move your truck.”

“I’ll just be a minute!” This time with a dismissive hand gesture at me without even turning around.

“So if they come back and don’t have a spot to park to unload the trucks, well, you’ll ‘be back in a minute’ and they can just wait for you?” I asked, getting really angry now. “Way to be an asshole!”

“I said I’ll just be a minute!” He finally turned to face me.

“You can see there’s a sign right there on the door and still you’re gonna park there, huh?” I might have had steam coming from my ears, I was so pissed at this entitled little shit.

“So what?” Another dismissive hand gesture and he was around the corner.

I seriously thought about keying his truck, but that wouldn’t have been in character for me – I much prefer to commit crimes no one can blame me for.

I went inside and asked Kyle if we had any recourse when someone parks in the clearly marked reserved spots.

“Was it my brother?” he asked with a grin.

“I hope not – I called him an asshole…”

Amanda had a better solution, though – she has printed up a little flyer, bright green, that clearly states the parking spot is reserved by City Ordinance and violators will be towed. They get ONE warning. Hah! I was quite happy to put that little missive under the asshole’s windshield wiper.

Let me just say here that there is A LOT of parking in front of Big Town Hero and he could have parked on the street all along the block, or across the street, or any number of other places. He was not disabled, and if he had been, well, there are MANY places he could have parked that would have been closer to his destination. He is just an Entitled Asshole.

BUT this was not the only piece of assholery I saw on that most irritating day of my week. Lest you feel I’m being sexist with my new catch phrase, I’d like to coin another: EBS, which can only stand for Entitled Bitch Syndrome. Why would I need yet another acronym to describe asshole behavior? Because, as I was driving Sabu to the dog park** a young woman in a red car rolled down her window, tossed out a napkin and then rolled the window back up. She actually tossed a napkin out of her car window into the street, in full view of a dozen or more people, and went merrily on her way. Who does that any more? How difficult would it have been for her to keep the napkin in her car until she got somewhere she could properly dispose of it? I would have run her down if I could have gotten over into that lane, but, alas, it was a futile thought.

Gahhhhh! That’s only the start of the assholery I’ve been witness to this week, but it’s all I have time for at the moment.

What say you – did I overreact?

* Funny how “young man” now encompasses any male under 30 in my mind.

** Srsly? When did I agree to be a dog chauffeur? Seems like all I do is work and pick up dog shit and hair all day.

 

 

Good Riddance, if it sticks

The extra-hot weather in my neck of the hood has tempers a bit more frayed than usual. The smell of desperation in the air sets my teeth on edge and makes me want to scream.

The Kid still has not acquired a job. He says he’s looking. I take whatever he says with a whole salt lick because he prefers to lie by omission rather than just tell the truth and seek help with his resume and/or interview skills.

But this post isn’t about my errant offspring, it’s about my nearest neighbor. She’s a young woman, not yet thirty, and I don’t know her whole story, but here’s what I’ve been told –

She has several children but it not married. None of the children live with her because of problems in the past. I don’t know where the children live. I saw four between the ages of 8 and 15 the other day who all looked enough alike to be siblings sitting on her porch. They came over to pet Sabu so I got a good look at them.

She lives in the single-wide trailer Lois (remember her? the woman with all the long-haired chihuahuas? Did I tell that story here?) was kicked out of. Her father and step-mom, who live in the park, worked a miracle to get that hell hole cleaned up for human habitation and I hear he pulled all kinds of strings to get her into the park and out of “a bad situation” of some sort. I try not to judge and gave her the benefit of the doubt when she moved in.

She works as a bartender at a local watering hole which means she keeps late hours, often coming home at 0100. In the beginning she would pull up onto her patch of gravel, turn off her car, slam the door and go inside. It woke me up for the first week or so but became a Regular Thing and I got accustomed enough that it didn’t wake me any more.

She likes to play very loud music, but only after 10:00 PM. Yeah. That didn’t sit very well with me. My trailer is a good 20 feet away from hers but she likes to play the music loud enough that the bass makes the whole trailer shake like it’s morphing into a nightclub. I’m a sound sleeper, but this is just a bit too much. If it were good music it might be bearable, but it’s all rap and screaming and awful.

After a couple of weeks she started bringing men home with her. For a week or so it was the same guy, then she started to change it up regularly. Some of them would be leaving in the early morning hours as I was walking Sabu before heading off to work. None of them looked anything like respectable. Most of them looked like they were seriously hung over.

In the last 4 months or so she has been outside on her porch screaming into her phone and/or screaming at her current Flavor of the Week. She’s not even trying to be polite or considerate of others. One evening I heard male and female voices raised in anger and poked my head out to see what was up, only to find her father telling her that he won’t allow “that guy” into the park, that he’s a tweaker* and she’s out of line and will get herself kicked out. Loud, angry denials from her (but I’ve seen the dude – he’s a tweaker without a doubt) with lots of curse words and “I’ll do whatever I want – it’s my life!”

Said tweaker later stole a bike from another resident of the park. Said resident is of the gun toting, shoot, shovel, shut up variety and really the absolute worst person to steal from because he will find you, he will find his goods and he will make sure your ass is in jail for the maximum allowed sentence. He will not give up, and he didn’t. The tweaker was warned that he was being hunted and he returned the bike in the dead of night. I don’t know how that story ended but Steve is not in jail for battery and the tweaker has not been seen, by me at least, in the park since.

So. Last Friday I got off work at noon and went home for a nice, relaxing afternoon sipping sweet tea on the patio while enjoying Brother Frankenstein by Michael Bunker** There were a number of people chatting on the porch next door. After a bit, the girl and three men walk between our trailers and towards the back of the park where they turn a corner and leave my sight. Five or ten minutes later they come back. Then she leads another group around the corner and they all come back a few minutes later. A minivan pulls up and disgorges several people, its motor idling loudly for the next 30 minutes. She takes another group of people around the corner. They come back, etc. etc. etc. This goes on for about three hours, cars and people coming and going. Uh-huh.

The loud conversations outside last well into the dark hours and once again I’m awoken at 0230 by shouting outside. The party continued while I fumed and did not sleep. I’m not an idiot, however, and remained inside.

More of the same on Saturday, but this time the park manager observed the tweaker parade. She asked me some questions the other day and I told her what I knew. It was not the first complaint but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back and she served the eviction notice on Tuesday. A scream was heard from inside the single-wide trailer and all has been quiet since.

This whole post may seem a bit harsh and critical, like I’m not sympathetic to the plight of young women who make poor choices, and maybe it is. I just think that if someone gives you a huge hand up and a chance to better your life it’s best to be grateful, not shit all over your improved circumstances. If you want to get away from drugs and/or bad people and you move to do so, don’t invite them back in. Take the advice of more experienced people who only want to help you. Don’t alienate your neighbors with rude behavior and excessive noise. Your life won’t improve until you make the decision to change yourself.

We shall see if it sticks and she’s out within 30 days or if she’s able to wrangle a new deal. Stay tuned…

* A tweaker is someone who uses crystal meth on a regular basis. They have a very distinctive look, what I call Meth Face, and distinctive mannerisms. They are a plague on this community and a blight on humanity. I could go on and on about my views of tweakers but this isn’t the time.

** Seriously, you need to read this guy! He’s the “father” of Amish Sci-Fi, which really is a thing and is marvelous! Also check out the Wool series by Hugh Howey if you enjoy dystopian fiction with no zombies or other unexplainable crap thrown in for cheap thrills.

 

Oh, my aching back!

Seems it’s taking me a bit longer to get back into the Blogging Swing than I thought it would. Or maybe I’m just enjoying doing stuff in The Real World more than usual. It’s nice. Except for the sponge growing out of my couch, life is good.

I may have lost my mind, tho. You see, my back is sore today because I spent some hypnotically vague amount of time folding my shirts last night. Sounds insane, right? But it’s all connected, as you will see.

I’ve been very unhappy about the state of Towanda’s insides for awhile now. Most especially since The Kid moved in with me. There’s just too much clutter, too much Stuff, it’s total chaos and I have reached the end of my rope. I tossed a bunch of stuff but it still wasn’t enough. I feel like my skin’s on too tight but didn’t know quite why.

A few blogs I read have been touting this book –

I’ve never been one to “join” any sort of organizational method with any amount of ambition, but I bought the book for my Kindle and started reading. KonMari (as she likes to be called) has developed a system whereby her clients discard and then organize their possessions. “When your house is in order, wonderful things start to happen,” is my paraphrase of her main tenet, and anyone who knows me understands that I seriously need some forward motion right now.

Step one is to sort all clothing. ALL clothing. As in, gather every stitch of clothing in your entire house, including accessories, shoes and bags, and pile them in the middle of the floor. Then sort according to her method which amounts to, “if I were to see this in a shop today, would I buy it?” If the answer is “no,” out it goes. No second chances, no take-backs, no hesitation.

I’d already done a clothing purge a couple of months ago, putting all the Winter stuff into bins under the bed but I did it again with the warm weather clothes in the wardrobe. A surprising amount of things went out in a donation bag. I even purged some shoes! And I love my shoes…

KonMari recommends using shoe boxes inside drawers to organize clothing, hanging those things “that are happier to be hung up.” Having no drawers creates a bit of a dilemma, but I am Crafty and went out and bought some old wood drawers, painted them and added shelves inside. They stack inside the wardrobe and boxes sit on their shelves. Boxes that are now full of perfectly folded shirts and underthings. It.Is.A.Marvel. I kid you not.

However, this has led to a grim dissatisfaction with the state of the rest of my wardrobe. I may have lost my mind. I’m sitting at work and all I can think about are the bins of clothes under the bed and the state of the rest of the wardrobe. How many more pairs of shoes can I donate before I start to feel like I have “the perfect number?”

Where does this end? Should I keep track of how many bags (or pounds?) of crap I toss out the door?

The next catagory to de-clutter and organize is Books, followed by Papers (“just throw all of them away” is KonMari’s advice) komono (misc. stuff) and finally things that have sentimental value.

Books will be easy – now that I have a Kindle I don’t buy them any more and those that I have can be cheaply purchased on Kindle so long as I bought them on Amazon. There are a few that I will keep, but the vast majority will go. Papers will be even easier – it’s all crap and I’m eager to get it out of my space. Komono will be the longest process as I have a lot of things that would fall into this category.

Sigh. I really have lost my mind…

 

“Doesn’t play well with others”

It might as well be tattooed onto my forehead.

In an effort to meet people my age who might have the same interests, I joined a Facebook group. I lurked for awhile to get a feel for the group and it seemed fine. The people are of both sexes and the only requirements are that they live in Oregon and be over 40. Sounds good, right?

And it was until a woman posted that her divorce was final that day, and while she left with her children because of his substance abuse, she still felt sad about the end of her marriage. She left when she realized that she had “stopped living” and his constant demands for money (she worked, he, of course, did not) meant that her kids were going hungry.

I was in the middle of composing a, “Way to go! Congratulations! You did the right thing for you and your children,” response when someone else (a woman, surprisingly) jumped in with a caustic paragraph condemning the newly-liberated woman for leaving her man when he was at his lowest. “You wouldn’t leave if he had cancer, would you? Alcoholism is the same thing. You’re a horrible person who will burn in hell.” or words to that effect.

Red flag in front of a bull! To compare substance abuse to cancer is not only ignorant, but cruel to a person who is still raw from being a victim of it at the hands of the man she meant to spend the rest of her life with.

I fired off an “I call bullshit on your comparison and here’s why…” reply and sat back to see what would happen. Several others joined in to tell Sarah Sunshine (yes, that’s her name) she was wrong to abuse another member of the group and that she needed to back off. She kept on, berating everyone who disagreed with her in rapidly escalating language. And then she started throwing around the c-word. Yep. She called three women posting to the thread cunts and said that she would rather shoot up a speed ball and follow it with a shot of vodka than be in a relationship with any of us narrow-minded, judgmental cunts.

That’s when the moderator of the group deleted the post.

Okay, fine. It did get out of control and name calling is the lowest form of debate. But then he posted (twice) telling everyone that he wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior and blah, blah, blah. Okay, I get it, but he was rather condescending, and to post twice? Really? He posted again this morning saying that he had some new moderators and there would be a crackdown on “inappropriate content.” Several people started asking in the comments what exactly that meant (as if he hadn’t already outlined his New Rules in the previous posts.) It got silly very quickly and I commented that I would never post anything I wouldn’t say to anyone’s face and couldn’t we all just act like adults?

My comment was deleted about ten minutes later. No warning, no questions asked, just gone. The new moderator posted an apology to another member for deleting his comment before reading it thoroughly. What? Someone else chimed in, asking WTF was going on with the comment deleting and I asked why my comment had been deleted as it was a harmless eye-roll.

I was told, with a shout out for all to see, that I was welcome to leave if I didn’t like my comments being deleted for no reason.

And so I left the group. This always happens. I’m also a thread killer – if I comment on something, very soon everyone quits posting. I dunno. I don’t think I’m especially combative online – I really don’t type anything I wouldn’t say to your face and I don’t mean to piss people off or whatever it is I do, but there ya go.

What say you? Did I do the right thing? Am I just being paranoid and/or crazy?

 

“Relax,” she says…

I spent the weekend at Mom’s, helping with her annual neighborhood yard sale. My Sis gave me a (belated) birthday card. On the front is a cartoon woman doing yoga. It reads, “Life is a lot like Yoga. Relax. Be Flexible…” The inside reads, “…and try not to Fart.” Funny, yes? Underneath she wrote, “Really…relax a little!”

I asked a couple of friends if I seem tense. They glanced at each other, panic in their eyes, and replied that I seemed just fine, while giving me the Side Eye.

Huh. I guess people are noticing that I’m a bit…stressed? More aggressive than usual? A bit more outspoken about douchebags and their assholery? Less tolerant? Sigh.

Okay, let’s get it all out there, then, shall we? I am a bit stressed, but my reasons are sound, IMHO. Tell me if I’m wrong, ‘k?

Reason The First: My son is still on my couch. He is still unemployed. He says that he’s looking for work, but he’s been growing out of my couch for almost four-and-a-half months now. He worked for maybe one of those months. He has not paid any rent. He has food stamps for food, so he’s not draining my resources there. He has paid his cell phone bill only once since he’s been here (I can’t just stop paying it as he will need a phone to schedule all those job interviews that aren’t happening.) His feet smell because he wears an old pair of boots that probably have enough genetic material in them to become fully animate any day, therefore, Towanda smells. He does not feel the need to shower every day – it’s a waste of water, he says*, therefore the first thing I encounter when I get home from work is Man Smell.** He will not do any type of housework until I have okay-ed it. Explicitly. Yes, you can wash the dishes any time you want to – please trouble yourself to get them clean, though, ‘k?!? Yes, by all means take out the trash and recycling. Feel free to vacuum any time you get the urge, ‘k? Gaaaaahhhhhhh!

So he spends all his time, as far as I can see, playing games on his computer, using my Wi-Fi, watching TV and generally amusing himself. He doesn’t go anywhere. I don’t believe he’s looking for work but can’t prove it. He just sits there on the couch, silent for the most part, living inside his head, convinced everyone in the world is “stupid” and “useless.” There is no reason to get up, go somewhere, do something, become a functioning part of society. It’s all just a waste of time. He isn’t suicidal, though. He can be coaxed into conversation of a limited sort but would really rather be left alone. Right. It’s like I’m living with a sullen 13-year-old again. Didn’t I do this already? When does this Mom Gig end?

On top of all this, he is an alcoholic. When he’s drunk he agrees that he has a problem. Sober, he is a Special Snowflake, so special that no one in the universe could possibly understand him and his troubles, therefore making AA meetings or therapy of some sort a worthless waste of his time. Yeah, he’s pretty much said exactly that.

“Why can’t I just have a beer and relax in the evening?” is his plaintive cry.

My answer, “You are an alcoholic. One beer leads to another and another and pretty soon you’re on your lips. It happens every time. It will always be this way. You can be drunk or sober, there’s no “relaxing” in between. It sucks, but that’s the way you’re wired. Get a grip and admit you have a problem so we can move forward.”

I am sooooo over this bullshit. So. He lost his job. He wasn’t fired or laid off, he was simply not put on the schedule any more. This is a new tactic used by Slaveway and other large companies to make sure ex-employees can’t claim unemployment benefits (not that he worked long enough to get any) and have no cause to file suit for being laid off or let go for reasons other than poor performance at their job. Okay. Fine. I get it. He’s feeling sorry for himself. Whatevs.

What does he do? He starts (continues, actually, but it’s a long story) to spend all his money on beer. Not regular beer, but the fruity, 12% alcohol beers the homeless people around here drink. The kind of beer that has a stench like dorm rooms and cat shit. I can smell it the second I open the door. It pours out of his body like toxic sludge for the next couple of days as he sobers up. He drinks until he passes out. I finally took away his debit card (yeah, Slaveway doesn’t even hand out paychecks – they put your wages on a debit card that is not tied to any bank, therefore you can’t put any money on it, but they can take money out if they “make a mistake” with your pay. Cheap and crooked…) I made sure that my wallet was within my grasp at all times (I’ve been here before with his father…) and told him that there will be no drinking in my house. Period.

Things went well for a month or so. Last weekend he went with me to Mom’s. He did some yard work for her which she paid for in cash. Can you see where this is going? Oh, yes he did! I know he spent about $15 of the $40 she gave him, leaving him about $25 in his pocket. Sure enough, when I came home from work on Monday he was passed out drunk. There was no point in even talking to him – he won’t remember a word the next day, as past conversations have proven. I took to my bed with a glass of sweet tea and a book, ignoring his drunken stumbling to the bathroom some time later***.

Tuesday evening basically a repeat of Monday. The beer he likes is cheap. It takes 2.5 for him to be on his face, wasting the last .5 unless he manages to slam it down before passing out. At $2.50 each, he has about five days of being drunk before he runs out of cash.

Is this reason enough to be stressed? Wait! There’s so much more! Tune in tomorrow for Reason the Second.

* Nevermind that an RV shower is the height of efficiency, using less than 10 gallons of water per shower, compared to a “real” shower that uses as many as 4 gallons per minute. I mean, as an argument that is absurd.

** Man Smell is not a bad thing, in and of itself, I just chose to live a life without it and being forced to endure is making me really cranky. No, it’s just flat pissing me off. No need to sugarcoat, now is there?

*** I have told him that if he pukes he will be out on his ass. Period. Towanda is far too small to have a drunk puking, even in the bathroom, and he’s not known for making it to the bathroom in time. Yeah. Picture that and listen to him assert that he’s not an alcoholic.

 

Monday, Monday

The first week after the Time Change really sucks, doesn’t it? Why the fuck is daylight savings time still a thing?

What? It’s not Monday? Crap!

::Looks at calender on computer::

Right you are! Tuesday, then. Whatevs. Does it really matter? Seems like I’m at the office, drafting at home or asleep any given day, regardless of the calender.

Oh, and The Kid is Right.Fucking.There. whenever I’m home. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Kid, but I really wish he would find somewhere else to be on occasion.

Oh, wait! He got a job! Today was his first day. It’s nothing earth-shaking, just the seafood department at the local Slaveway, but it’s the first step to getting his ass off my couch and I ain’t complaining.

He got up at 0615, took the dog out, brought her back in and fed both dog and cat before my alarm even went off. You know I wasn’t asleep, right? I had been awake for half an hour, just in case his alarm didn’t wake him up. Doesn’t every Mom do that? Only me? Whatevs.

He left before I did, leaving me almost five full minutes of peaceful, silent bliss. I sat on the couch, breathing deeply until the smell of his boots intruded and then I breathed a little less deeply, gazing around at my space. My mind was able to block out the clutter that is Not Mine for a few precious minutes and I was content.

Which leads me to the point of this post. I am an introvert. I need some time every day when I am totally alone, no sound, no responsibilities, no movement other than my own if I am to remain congenial and sane. The past three + weeks I have not been alone unless I was in my car and that was usually on the way to a place where I would be faced with people and being all polite and shit and I was wound up about that but trying to keep calm so it doesn’t count. Also, traffic, which is not restful at all when you drive a tiny car in a land of monster trucks.

I am tired. My emotional tank is empty. I’m still recovering from a nasty cold so physically I don’t feel all that great, either. I get no absolute privacy and it’s beginning to show in my attitude.

Okay. Maybe there is no point to this post. Maybe this is just an explanation of my absence. I think about posting every day and then don’t. Also, there’s some Stuff that I want to share but don’t know quite how to share, or even if I should, if it’s all that relevant to this blog, or anything, really, and so I dither.

Anyway. Happy Monday!

 

A Typical Work Day

Hot on the heels of my Frustrations post, Aussa posted a snapshot of her typical work day. This post was followed by Goldfish’s Average Day, which looks an awful like mine – not all that strange when you consider we do similar work for (what sounds like) similarly idiotic people.

My day –

0730-ish: Arrive at the office. Leave the dog in the car as an excuse to go outside in an hour.

0732: Make the first of what usually ends up being six cups of hot tea.

0735: Sit down at desk and open web browser. Doesn’t matter what else is on my plate for the day. Those emails won’t answer themselves and if I don’t check up on social media a baby will cry in Japan or something equally horrible.

0830: Retrieve dog from car and walk around the block. If I’m lucky she’ll poop. If I’m unlucky she won’t and will keep up a high-pitched whine for the next 90 minutes until we go out again.

0845: Return to desk. Glance over Work for the day. If it appears it will take longer than 30 minutes to complete, open the relevant files and draw a couple of lines.

0900: Back to the interwebs for inspiration because while I was “working” 827 new ideas flew into my brain.

1000: Walk the dog. Hopefully come away with the prize in the plastic bag if I didn’t on the earlier walk.

1015: Back to my desk and interwebs or Work, depending on which seems more pressing.

1130: Whoa! Lost track of time there! Doesn’t matter, though, because now it’s lunch time 🙂

1230: Back to work. Actually work on assigned project. Get 90% done and await the inevitable changes by micro-managing co-worker. They arrive right on cue at 1330 and I am ready, having refreshed myself by looking at clothes storage ideas on Pinterest.

1345-1400: Make changes micro-managing co-worker took 15 minutes to explain in 3.2 minutes and head outside for a smoke break.

1415: Look around my desk to see if any of the files contain anything interesting to work on. Everything has information pending and nothing is a rush job. Great! Back to the internet, where I write a blog post, work on my website or edit patterns. I feel woefully behind on all the personal stuff I really want to get done, what with all the interruptions throughout the day, none of which are as important as the person harassing me thinks they are.

1530: Time to walk the dog again! If the sun is shining the neighbors will be out and I might get lucky enough to glean some gossip or let someone pet my dog.

1545-1650: Make the last cup of hot tea for the day. Check in with The Boss to make sure he hasn’t thought up something else for me to do. Back at my desk it’s more time wasting after finishing up the work I was expected to finish today. If I get lucky there will be more work tomorrow. If I’m really lucky it will prove to be challenging.

1700: Quitting time! We don’t punch a time clock and I am often the first out the door.

I don’t consider myself exceptionally bright but when held up against the right people I am fucking brilliant and my talents are wasted.

AND I’ll be totally fucked if they’ve installed a keylogger on my computer 🙂

Srsly, I love my job. My co-workers are all wonderful people who just don’t give me much fodder for this here blog. No scandals. No one is hooking up with anyone else in the office. No boozers. No drug users. No sexist assholes. No bad language or inappropriate gossip.

Wait. WTF am I doing at such a boring place? Oh, right – the paycheck.

What does your average day look like?