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…

 

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.

 

 

“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” Part Whatever

Thankfully The Flood has abated. Who knew telling 900+ people all about the workings of my Lady Bits would shut the faucet off? Obviously I need to be telling y’all every little thing – maybe shit would start to happen 🙂

Before we get to my scheduled post, just let me relate one more work-related irritation. On Friday, the server went down at the office. No problem – I saved my drawings to my hard drive. When the problem hadn’t been fixed by 11:30 and my work was done, I left. I saw The Boss’ truck parked in front of the office on Sunday but didn’t have time to stop by to tell him the latest drawings were on my hard drive because I had somewhere more interesting to be. I don’t keep his cell phone number in my phone, so I didn’t bother to call, either. WTF he was doing at the office on a Sunday defies all logic anyway.

So I came in to work this morning and went immediately into his office (before the weekly staff/planning meeting I am no longer invited to) to ask if he’d changed the drawings and to explain the situation. Turns out he HAD made changes to the drawings and appeared a bit irritated that I hadn’t let him know I’d saved the files on my hard drive. BUT the architect changed his floor plan (again – surprise!) necessitating a bunch of changes that voided all the work I’d done on Friday. Of course, The Boss asked me what I’d done on Friday (your redlines, duh!) and was not happy about the situation, but in the end no harm, no foul.

No biggie, right? Well…no, it’s just fine with me to get paid to do the exact same work over and over again, but the $ doesn’t make up for the irritation and frustration my job makes me feel. I gotta get something more stimulating going on or I will lose my mind.

Ahem. Okay. Where was I? Oh, yes. The Thing I haven’t written about at all. For awhile there was A Boy. No, that’s not a misnomer – he turned out to be nothing more than a lying little child. No, he’s not the cause of any of my stress (which is considerably diminished thanks to getting it all out there on the blog) but now he’s gone I have a little less.

Let me explain. We met online. He seemed normal enough, a bit quirky, but in a good way. He gave off none of the Red Flag vibes I’m hyper aware of. I figured, why not have a fling? We’re all adults here and I can do what I want, right? So long as we’re both on the same page it’s all good, right?

He lives 90 minutes North of me, so I drove to see him. I never invited him to see me because Towanda is a Penis-Free Zone (until now, what with The Kid living there and all, but it’s different, right?) and I didn’t want to go there anyway.

I introduced myself to him as Sofia and somehow I neglected to tell him my real name until it became awkward to do so. He was a bit shocked, but by that time he’d been telling me little white lies for awhile and I refused to be upset by it. Even his mother said, “that boy was born with a Tall Tale on his lips!” And therein lies the reason I’m no longer seeing him – he’s a compulsive liar. About everything. Oh, it’s not all malicious, but we had agreed early on to be honest with each other, and I had been. Maybe even a little bit mean if he asked for my opinion.

Anyway. It was fun. Then it wasn’t. I was done in January after we went to Las Vegas to stay at one of his timeshares. I’d never been and he talked like we were going to have a great five days. It would be an adventure! I paid $250 for Sabu to go to Sleep-Away Camp and drove up to his place. When I arrived he was in bed. He had “thrown out [his] back” and needed to go to the chiropractor before we left for the airport. Fine. I drove. He was obviously in pain. I offered to cancel the trip but he insisted that he would be fine once his back was fixed – this had happened before.

We got to the chiropractor’s office. He did not have an appointment but they take walk-ins. The receptionist asked to see his insurance card. He claimed to have forgotten his wallet (I had seen him put it in his pocket) and told her he would call her with the info as soon as he got home. He also lied about where he worked (he was laid off at the time) and gave some other false info. Uh-huh. The Doc took him into another building and I got creeped out by the looks I was getting in the waiting room so I went to wait by the car. I kept an eye out so I could tell him I wasn’t in the waiting room when he came out and when he saw me, he came directly to the car and did not check back in with the receptionist. Since the info he gave her was false, he just got himself a free chiropractor appointment. I was livid, but he was in pain and pain can make people do odd things.

So. The trip should have been cancelled, but we went and he basically slept the whole time. When he was awake, he was a dick to everyone we encountered. We had a war over the thermostat in the room (he wanted it cranked all the way up with the tub filled with boiling hot water – it was like a sauna and I couldn’t breathe) he refused to go out for food but we did to the “Party Weekend” dinner and show* and he dragged me on the rides at the top of the Stratosphere (just to laugh at me, I’m convinced) but otherwise he was asleep. He hadn’t packed any clean clothes or underwear (who does that?!?) It was just awful. I understand he was not feeling well, but he should have cancelled the trip instead of being such a dick. He should have gone to a doctor like I asked, but he’s a grown man, right? I couldn’t force him to seek treatment so I kept my mouth shut.

Anyway. I didn’t hear much from him the following week and went up to see how he was feeling on the following Saturday. He was not awake. At 11:00 in the morning. He knew I was coming and he couldn’t be bothered to be awake? I figured he must be really ill and set off the house alarm so he’d be forced to get up. Long story about the alarm. He stumbled out, let me in and apologized about the mess. I won’t even go there. He was obviously drugged to the gills. He couldn’t stay awake and refused to go to the emergency room. He said all he needed was sleep. The house was a wreck and I was pissed, so I left. Sad texts from him later so I lied and said that he told me to leave. I told him to text me when he was feeling better and that, I thought, was that.

The following week I get a text from him saying that he’s in hospital and has been for five days. WTF? He didn’t seem that bad off when I saw him last. Or is this another lie to get sympathy? You see, the stories he told should have been verifiable online (they were that big) and they were not, so I questioned everything he’d ever said. I asked what hospital, etc. and called to make sure he was indeed there. He was. Well, crap. Now I felt bad. I promised to go up the next weekend and see him.

The next weekend arrived and I drove up. He was in the ICU – his bowels had quit working and they’d done emergency surgery the night before. I met his step-dad and got the whole sad story. I thought maybe having a near-death experience would change him. He said he felt like he was getting a second chance and that he wanted to be a better person, etc. etc. etc. So I visited regularly during his hospital stay and even drove three hours (each way) to visit him at his parent’s house. They are nice people, but not really my kind of people. I felt obligated, though.

He was finally cleared to go home and take care of himself and I went to see him. He was asleep when I got there. He slept most of the time I was there but I spent the night because it was too late to drive home (I don’t like driving in the dark for any long distance.) Next weekend, wash, rinse, repeat. I suffered through one more weekend so I could use his power tools to make a pair of sawhorses. Hey, I’m no dummy and he owed me, dammit!

He was cleared to start work and took a job for a “friend” who has an old house that needed some plumbing repairs. The Boy is a bit of a Jack-of-all-Trades and could not yet resume full time work. He told me that this guy, Jerry, has a 1920’s shower that needed a new faucet-gizmo. He gave The Boy $150 and instructions to order it from a specialty restoration company. The Boy went on eBay and found “the same part” for one third the price and pocketed the money. He was bragging when he told this story.

I was aghast. I said, “you’re cheating this guy and it’s gonna come back to bite you on the ass…”

“No, it won’t! I do this stuff all the time! If people are stupid enough to pay stupid-high prices when they could shop eBay, they deserve to lose their money.” He was proud of himself!

I was all done feeling bad for The Boy at this point, but curious to see how this little farce would play out, so I found reasons not to visit the next few weeks but stayed in touch via text. And then the lies came home to roost.

Via text –

Him: Once again I made a mistake and misread a person.

Me: What’s up?

Him: The guy I’m working for refused to pay me. Since it’s under the table I have no license, bond, insurance. I’m not the leg breaking kind of guy so he gets off scott free. I should have known better.

Me: Are you telling me the whole story? Surely there’s more to it than that?

Him: Nope. Everything was fine yesterday and now today he won’t pay me.

Me: Did he give a reason?

Him: No. He just kept saying ‘get off my property, you’re trespassing’ over and over again.

Me: Ah! Is this the plumbing job?

Him: Yes.

Me: Well…you cheated him. You went on eBay and found “the same part” and kept the extra money. Where else did you cut corners?

Him: True. Karma?

Me: Ah…yeah. You fucked this one up all by yourself.

Him: So I can’t play the victim part here, huh?

Me: No, not with me. Surely this has happened to you before?

Him: No. This is the first time.

Me: You’re splitting hairs. You’ve done this sort of shit before and been caught. You’re denying it to make yourself look good and I don’t buy it.

Him: True. Guess I need to get my head on straight…

And nothing else for a couple of days. Then I get a text saying he wants to tell me something but he can’t do it via text. It’s a phone conversation. Fine. Whatevs. I didn’t care and was still fuming over him thinking I’m gonna give him sympathy about his little cheating scam.

He scheduled the call three evenings in a row but failed to call at the appointed time. Always had an excuse via text. I really didn’t care.

Finally he called, late, but he did call. He started in about “misjudging people” and how something else had happend and OMG life is so hard, blah, blah, blah, again and I just lost it.

“I don’t even care about that,” I said. “I need to go back to the plumbing job. We need to talk about that.”

He was plainly not prepared to shower me with lies about that. “Uh…okay…”

I repeated the story as I knew it. “Is that right?” I asked.

“Well, yes, but you make it sound so bad…I don’t even know what to say here…”

“Right. That whole mess is a deal-breaker for me. I don’t have people in my life who think it’s okay to cheat people that way. Good bye.” And I hung up.

He didn’t even have the wits to apologize. For anything. It was fun for awhile, but damn am I glad I’m still single!

There were many more instances that should have ended it for me, but I was curious to see where he would go when I started to call him on his bullshit. I mean, honesty was our bargain in the beginning and I kept to my part no matter what, which felt really great, I have to say, but he couldn’t tell the truth about anything, even stupid stuff that doesn’t matter. I refuse to have that kind of crap in my life. Unless it’s related by blood, apparently, because The Kid is still on my couch.

So I gave The Kid his ultimatum on Thursday evening when I was sure he was sober. August 3 is his move-out date unless he’s working and paying me $200 per month rent. Six months is long enough for anyone to find some kind of paying work if they apply themselves and I’m soooo done with this Mom Gig. I told him I would drive him back to The Big City and drop him off or he could just walk out the door but he would no longer be welcome to live with me. He hid his panic pretty well and I haven’t mentioned it since. If he thinks I’ve forgotten he’ll get a very rude awakening come August 3 when I show him the door. Let’s see if this lights a fire under his ass 🙂

*Jeff Dunham. Fantastic!

 

Has it really been two years?

Today marks my two year narc-free anniversary! At 11:45 AM on January 20, 2013 I drove away from the narc’s house with the last of the stuff I couldn’t live without. I was an emotional mess but determined to escape that asshole and live the life I’d always wanted for myself.

For those who are new, read last year’s synopsis here to get caught up. Ready? Okay.

I went NC with the narc about a year ago, changing my phone number and deleting my internet presence completely so he couldn’t stalk me. Oh, I hadn’t been communicating with him for months before that, but the occasional email still came through to irritate me all over again. Life has been so much more peaceful now that all communication has been cut off.

I look back and hardly believe that was my life. It’s inconceivable to me now that I allowed one person to control my every thought, my every movement. It’s almost like a bad dream, life has changed so much.

Sabu, Revy and I are still living in a 30′ travel trailer and I recommend this lifestyle to anyone who doesn’t think they can escape their abusive relationship because of financial issues or pets – I could not afford an apartment that would accept a 50-pound dog on wages from a part-time minimum wage job, but I could easily afford to buy a travel trailer and pay space rent in a nice RV park which enabled me to have my own private space and keep my dog. If I don’t like my neighbors, I simply hire a Dude with a truck and he will drag my home wherever I may want to go. I have the option of buying or renting my own truck and traveling until the land meets the sea whenever the whim may strike. I am not tied down by a rental contract or mortgage. I don’t have to do yard work or keep up with the neighbors and their new toys and gadgets. I am a modern-day gypsy who has chosen to stay in one place for awhile.

I have a great job that I love in an office full of truly Nice People. I don’t feel any stress over money and feel in control of my life in a way that I never would have believed possible. I have full autonomy. I have full say over the menu, thermostat, TV remotes, social events and ALL of the bed and blankets. I go where I want to go, see who I want to see and never even think of the consequences that used to be meted out if I stepped away from his line. Every day is a blessing and joy.

Back in July I posted that I no longer heard his voice in my head and what a relief it was. It took 1.5 years to drive his voice out of my head! If you haven’t been in an abusive relationship you have no idea how deeply the monsters sink their claws into your soul. This was a Big Deal and I quietly celebrated for a couple of weeks before deciding to step out of my comfort zone and put myself out there online as “single and looking.” I know, right? I haven’t talked about that here because if it turns out to be a disaster, well, this blogging thing is supposed to be all about the successes, right?

In some ways it’s gone well, in others it’s been the disappointment I thought it would be. There are a lot of freaks out there looking for NSA kinky sex and if that’s what I was looking for I’d have my pick of any number of Slimy Dudes, but that’s not really my thing. I’ve been told I want too much from a man. I have to shrug and think to myself, “yeah, it’s totally unreasonable to narrow my choices to men who are gainfully employed, own their own car, live in their own space (ie not with Mom,) don’t drink excessively, don’t use drugs, don’t have a huge pile of debt, aren’t already otherwise involved in relationships, don’t have small children at home (sorry if that sounds selfish, but I’m all done being Mommy, thankyouverymuch!) don’t need a Mommy or fixing in some other way and who can write and spell with something close to English grammar conventions.” I won’t be a doormat, slave, maid, cook or gardener with no return on my investment and I state that right up front. Ya ain’t gonna get free labor from me 🙂

I’ll admit it: I’m gonna be picky because I can. I am perfectly happy with my single life. It’s working for me. But I also want to know if I could “do” a relationship the way I hear it can be done. You know, where two people of opposite sex are great friends who get along and like some of the same things and respect each other. It’s just not the same with girlfriends and dammit I want it all!

Anyway. This is not the place to talk about all that stuff. Let’s just say that I’m still single, still enjoying my life and looking forward to another fantastic year.

I’ve been away from blogging for awhile because I haven’t had anything to say. Life with the narc seems so far away when I’m going about my day-to-day business as to seem irrelevant to who I am now. I’m not sure where I want this blog to go now. Suggestions? What do y’all want to hear about?

To all of you in abusive relationships: there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Be brave. Throw off your shackles and walk into the light. It’s hard. It sucks. It’s scary. But it’s worth every hardship to live a life free of abuse.

Thank you all for joining me on this journey 🙂

 

 

 

Drama at the Dog Park!

Saturday afternoon Sabu and I went to the dog park on the way to the Studio, as we do four or five days a week. We’ve never had a problem – people are respectful and the dogs tend to work things out themselves while the people talk.

This particular park has separate areas for large dogs and small dogs. Sometimes people take puppies or very shy dogs into the small dog side so they can play without getting hurt. It sometimes gets very rough on the big dog side of the park, but we all understand that dogs like to play and wrestle and so far I haven’t seen anyone hurt.

Sabu, being Alpha, is often in the middle of a confrontation, breaking it up, maintaining order. Yeah, surprised the hell out of me the first time I saw it, but there ya go – she will have no fighting in her pack and has done some pretty strange things during our dog park adventures.

Sabu and I went through the first gate and into the little holding area. I took her leash off and opened the second gate as an older couple (and by older I just mean older than me – I have very little notion of age other than older than me, younger than me and “children” which has come to include anyone under 25, much to my dismay.) with a large Labrador-looking dog came in through the first gate.

Dog park etiquette dictates that you don’t bring your dog into the holding area or open the first gate until the dog before you has exited the second gate and it’s been closed, letting dog and human into the alley that leads to the park proper. Dogs can fight if they’re confined together before they get to know each other and most dogs are already over excited just being at the park – no need to add fuel to the fire, right?

They followed too closely and Sabu doubled back to see if they would be lax at the gate, letting her escape for a romp in the pond. I caught her and dragged her back.

“Is your dog nice?” the woman asked.

“Yes, she’s nice, but she’s a gate pusher. I’ll just hold her until you get in so she doesn’t knock you over.”

They came in, closed the gate and I let Sabu go, turning my back and calling for her to move out into the main part of the park.

The man was holding the leash and not taking it off the dog – a real no-no at the dog park as dogs on leashes can be very defensive towards dogs not on leashes. You’re supposed to take the leash off in the holding area so the dog enters the park with no leash, thereby minimizing confrontations – when Sabu doubled back again to have a sniff at the new dog. Because she’s Alpha, she bumped him on the shoulder to let him know what was what and he stumbled, causing the woman to start shrieking at me.

My back was partly turned, but as soon as I realized Sabu wasn’t at my side I whirled around and tried to grab her. She was dodging around, not at all sure what the yelling was about but not willing to move away from this new dog – he was now part of her pack and if the shrieking woman wouldn’t shut up, well, something was about to Get Done about the situation.*

I leaned down to get a grip on Sabu’s harness, noticing the woman’s feet and getting distracted. She was wearing flip flops and her feet were all twisted up. A bunch of things ran through my head and I finally settled upon “ballet dancer” as an explanation and tuned in to what she was saying. I mean, Sabu hadn’t done anything wrong and I was confused about what the woman was so upset about.

“We just spent $6000 on surgeries for this dog! We saved his life and now he could be hurt again! He’s only just been cleared to go out on a leash and now this! Get your dog under control!” and on and on in this vein at high volume.

I finally got a good grip on Sabu and looked the woman in the face.

“I’m sorry! You do realize this is an off-leash park?”

“Of course!” she snapped back at me. “It’s just that he hasn’t seen other dogs in so long we thought it would be good for him to come here but I can see that no one keeps their dogs under control and I spent all this money blah, blah, blah…”

That set me off. “You can’t expect to bring a dog to an off-leash dog park and not let it be a dog. All the other dogs here are off leash. All of the dogs are big dogs. If your dog is recovering from an injury you should not have brought it here.”

I was fuming and not about to let this entitled bitch make me feel bad about my dog being a dog.

I mean, really?!? Often the pack running in the park will bomb down the alley and crowd the gate when a new dog comes in – it’s all part of the Dog Park Experience. This woman was out of her mind bringing her injured dog inside the park.

They finally just walked it around the outside of the fence, where it got to sniff noses through the fence, which is what they should have done in the first place!

Stoopid people! Really soured the rest of my day.

* Sabu allows a certain amount of growling and barking when she’s at the park, but if a dog sounds like it’s being hurt or is squealing with fear, Sabu is right over there, sorting out who the problem dog is (not the one making the fear noises) and herding it away from its victim. It’s amazing to see. If two or more dogs are playing and they get too loud, either growling or barking, Sabu races over to be sure no one is getting hurt and if one dog is being too rough, in Sabu’s opinion, it will be corrected, severely if need be, before being allowed to continue playing.

One day there was a smaller intact male dog who was humping every other dog. I mean, he was really trying with everything that moved. This caused the other dogs to start hopping around to avoid him while still playing their game. Sabu took one look at the the situation, ran over and herded that horny little shit away from the other dogs. She then grabbed him in the middle of his back and repeatedly pushed him down onto the ground until he submitted to her. There would be no more humping while Sabu was on duty. Little Dog was not hurt and his owner was not unhappy about Sabu’s discipline (thankfully) and peace once again reigned.

 

 

People Suck – Part Whatever

After lunch Sabu and I were on our typical walk, down the alley, around the corner and up the street. We walk this way Monday thru Thursday, rain or shine.

The first house around the corner is owned by the neighboring church and stood empty for well over a year. I believe it’s generally used to house the pastor and his family. It’s a nice house, two story, large with lots of windows.

Some months ago there was a flurry of activity as the house was readied for new tenants. I thought it would be a new pastor and family, but instead a white trash family of dubious origin and a bunch of kids ranging in age from four to OMG surly teen moved in.

Now, before you get all up in arms that I used the term white trash, let me explain. These people ARE white and they ARE trash. How do I know? The crap that has started piling up in the yard, the belligerent, tattooed miscreants smoking and drinking on the front stoop, the language coming out of the mouths of everyone over there, the damaged vehicles (looks like they like to drink AND drive for entertainment) and on and on. These are not quality people and I wonder if regular church goers are sorry they rented to them.

There does not appear to be a male head-of-household, only an assortment of young-ish men half-dressed and smoking on the front step most mornings. No, they aren’t all the same guy. Sigh. It’s ugly.

Anyway. I’m not usually one to judge so harshly, but I’ve had a couple of run-ins with the woman in charge that make no sense and leave me angry and wanting to hit someone.

The first time, I was pulling my car from the alley onto the street. There’s a hedge that partially obscures the sidewalk until you’re right up on it. She was pushing a stroller with her 4-year-old daughter walking alongside. I came up on the sidewalk and she yelled at me for pulling up in front of her.

What? She was 10 feet back, was in no danger of being hit and I was moving at a crawl anyway. I looked into my driver’s side mirror to see if it was clear to back up when she started yelling again, this time calling names. Sabu started to snarl and claw at the window, so I pulled out into the street to her curses and bellowing.

WTF? That’s some high-class parenting right there! I couldn’t believe she was so nasty over nothing.

Today Sabu and I had another run-in with her. We were walking by her yard (strewn with lawn chairs on their sides and assorted broken toys and bits of trash) as she was pulling up in her (barely running) car with a child in the back.

Sabu did what dogs do – she peed on the edge of the grass. OMG! You would think she left a big, wet pile of crap for the reaction we got.

“Do you let that dog do that on everybody’s yard?” She was red-faced and shouting at me, gesturing at the grass.

“She just peed. If she’d pooped I would pick it up…” Stunned by her reaction, I kept walking.

“You didn’t pick it up last time! You never pick it up, blah, blah, blah…..”

I was getting angry now and turned fully around to look her in the face. “I always pick up her poop. Always!”

“You didn’t the other day!” She’s really winding up now and I’m getting mad enough to do something I’ll regret.

“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t this dog…” walking away now, trying to hold my tongue.

“I have five witnesses in the house who saw you! It was YOU!!!”

Fighting to stay calm, I said, “You’re wrong. It wasn’t me and it wasn’t this dog,” before turning and walking away.

She continued to shout at me but I tuned her out.

WTF? I’ve had people stop, in their cars, to thank me for picking up my dog’s poop. I am known for picking up after my dog in a neighborhood where no one bothers. Why does this woman have such a chip on her shoulder for me? What did I ever do to her but let her daughter pet my dog?

Gaaaahhhhhh!!! People like that give this town a bad name. What a crappy way to end my lunch break on a Monday afternoon.

 

New Glasses

I’m getting old. There’s no denying it. When I came back to work at my current office I noticed that the new “normal” was to print the text itty, bitty, really, really small on the half-scale drawings. What ever happened to 1/10th of an inch? What ever happened to keeping it legible? Gaaaahhhhh!

Anyway. I couldn’t read the littlest text and it’s maddening. I found myself bringing the paper close to my face and looking under my glasses – a charming look I’m sure. Looking from under my glasses and then up to the computer screen has been an exercise in frustration for months and I finally did something about it.

Because my prescription is so high (-8 +) they had to send out for special lenses and it’s been two weeks of waiting. The sunglasses arrived last week and they’ve been great, but they’re too dark to wear in the office and I haven’t had a real feel for what these new progressive lenses are going to do for me.

I had bi-focals as a kid and I understand how they work. They aren’t as expensive as progressives and were my original plan. I’ve talked to a lot of people who have progressives and they all hated them, so I thought I’d go the bi-focal route. Until I sat down with the frame guy and he explained what progressives are and that it takes 30 days for your eyes to train themselves. Awana* piped up and said that she loves her progressives and I was sold. I’ve since talked to three other people who wear progressive lenses and they all love them, too, so I guess my opinion was outdated.

At this point everything is a little wonky, but I can see the itty bitty print AND the computer, without moving my head, so I think it will be a Good Thing.

* I’ve never had a Fashion Consultant help me pick frames before and this was a great experience! Awana knows what looks good and she has no trouble saying, “You can’t wear those!” likely saving me from a year’s worth of sighing every morning at my reflection in the mirror, wondering what the heck I was thinking. Many thanks, Awana!

 

Finally!

For the past year and a half I have been physically free of the narc but every single day I have heard his voice in my head. We argue about everything and I always win. I know, it sounds crazy, but I’ve feared that one day I would see him drive by or he would stop by my office and provoke me into causing a scene. Irrational, I know, but he has been so entrenched in my head that there was not much I could do.

Last week I saw that he had a new blog post up – I visit one of his blog friends and he’s in the sidebar. He was back from his epic sailing trip. I read the post. I visited his flickr page. He has found someone new! Her name is Heather and she can drive the boat – he has a short video to prove it!

As the pictures scrolled by I found myself smiling. Really smiling big. He’s found someone new! He won’t be coming after me, slithering into my life, embarrassing me at work or harassing me on the street! He is now otherwise occupied!

OMG I could not be happier! I fairly bounced out of the office (you don’t think I’d waste precious “spare” time at home with surfing the ‘net, did you?) confident that he was at last gone forever.

And you know what? I haven’t heard his voice in my head since then. Thursday, I think it was. Glorious silence! No internal arguments, no debates, no imaginary scenarios playing out day after day.

I think I’m finally free of him.

That evening I was walking Sabu and spied a new neighbor, Stan, walking his dog, Blue. Yowza! What a hottie!

Whatever, you may say, but I haven’t looked at a man and had any impure thoughts since I left the narc. I almost feel like I have a new lease on life. Hard to describe.

And, no, there is never going to be anything between me and Stan – I’m feeling free, not insane 🙂

ETA: Jackie wondered what they look like and I’m feeling just bitchy enough to add this picture and a bit of commentary –

From left to right – Chuck (I’ve mentioned him before) Chuck’s new gal, some really tall dude, Heather and the Narc. There’s a better pic online, but I chose this one so I could tell a little story.

The last time I saw her, Chuck’s wife of 30 years was losing her marbles. She was lucid sometimes, but it was clear she was going downhill fast. I’ve searched for her death notice online but did not find it. There are quite a few pictures of this couple (the narc calls she and Heather “crew” for their sailing trip – two boats, one couple on each boat) that show they are much more than just friends. I find this repugnant – if the wife is no longer mentally present in the marriage it’s perfectly OK for a man to take a lover, but let a woman do the same thing and she gets all kinds of crap thrown at her. Loyalty, ’til death do us part and all that. Hypocrites! Anyway. There ya go.

 

And we’re back!

June was a busy month!

Sabu got her new Summer ‘do –

She was humiliated with the bows, but she’s sooooo much cooler now. A little razor burn has been bothering her, but today she’s doing much better. She looks so small! I need to get a new harness in a smaller size – I had no idea her fluff added so much to her girth!

Revy developed a new strange habit –

As if mauling anything made of rubber wasn’t bad enough, Revy found this (unfinished) blanket and has been dragging it around, chortling softly. He drags it into the kitchen, lays on it for a few seconds, drags it under the table, into his basket, etc. etc. etc. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but it’s strange to watch. I think he needs to get out more…

I ripped out half the carpet in Towanda and am thrilled with the results – you can read all about it over at Travels with Towanda. Awana and I have designated July RV Renovation Month.

The last alpaca was sheared on Thursday and it feels like I’ve been running ever since. Mo got a call from a woman who needs her five alpacas sheared and it looks like we’ll be taking our little show on the road.

Mom’s neighborhood yard sale is the second weekend in July and I hope to get pictures this time – it’s always a hoot.

July is shaping up to be a very busy month.

In news relevant to this blog, the narc (hereinafter referred to as Captain Bligh) is living the Good Life, sailing up to Canada with friends, where he will pick up his boat and spend a few weeks sailing around and having a wonderful time. How is that fair? Shouldn’t he be covered with boils or something?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled with my life right now, but it just doesn’t seem fair that he’s going on as if I never existed, all the lies he told me being proven by his very actions (I needed to give him more money, more time, more support for his hobbies.)

Maybe he’ll be lost at sea…