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!

 

Seems all I do is bitch around here…

Life has been very busy around here of late, most of it going just slightly off center in the most irritating of ways – hanging the skirt on Towanda and discovering the sticky snaps don’t stick, losing the base of not one, but two dress forms that I needed to set up a display in the local Art Guild Shop, having the scheduled time for said display set up moved to a completely different day at the last minute, like I have all the time in the world to do this shit, The Kid still being unemployed and needing a haircut, just to name a few.

But this post isn’t about most of that. It’s about (again) assholes and petty thievery.

A week or so ago, The Kid and I were working on Towanda’s skirts (not yet aware of the snap problem) and I moved my bicycle from where it was chained (totally in the way and I wasn’t using it anyway) to laying under the trailer, mostly out of sight of casual passersby. All was well.

On Sunday afternoon, Yvonne and I were outside talking over her tomato plants when we observed a young woman with a baby stroller enter the park, phone in hand, looking at the screen and turning this way and that, almost like she was lost and looking at a map or something. We remarked upon it but soon went back to more important discussions* and forgot about her.

Sabu has been particularly growly in the evenings, for lack of a better term, waking and stalking about growling low in her throat and even barking on occasion. I put it down to her being cranky at not having her usual number of outings at the dog park and figured it was just her arch-nemisis, Scooter, out strutting around like he owns the place (in his mind, he does. They’re basically the same dog in two bodies) and told her to hush.

Last night after I’d gotten in bed I heard a sound like a door slamming. Sabu jumped up and barked a couple of times but we didn’t go outside. All was quiet after that and I thought no more about it.

This morning when I took Sabu out for her morning walk I noticed a piece of metal siding I’d stashed under the trailer lying in the grass. The siding had been under my bicycle. A closer look confirmed the bike is gone. The thief must have pulled the bike out, it got caught on the siding and the sound I heard last night was the siding crashing about as they made off with my bike.

Fuck. It was not an expensive bike, but it was mine and the thought of fucking tweakers making off with my stuff boils my blood! So far in the last three months or so a couple of bikes have gone missing in the park as well as two bike trailers. My guess is that the girl with the stroller was casing the park to report back to the thieves where the easy pickings were to be found. Yvonne said she’d seen her a few times, wandering around like she was looking for someone.

So now I’ve become a victim of theft. I am hopping mad. I do not own a gun, but I do have a high-powered taser and the desire to see just what it does to a human being. If Sabu gets growly again, well, we’re gonna hurry outside and have ourselves a little look-see. Pretty sure I won’t go to jail for tasering a would-be thief, but I’m willing to take the chance at this point.

Life is getting too irritating to bear right now, what with the Peri-menopausal rages, wildly irregular periods and now I think I’m having hot flashes during the day and I’m waking up at night because I’m too hot. Me! Too hot under two thin blankets in fucking October! If you knew me at all you would be picking your jaw up off the floor at that last sentence, I assure you. Cold in the morning, flashes of hot during the afternoon, cold in the evening, despite adding layers and the temp being in the mid-60’s, and waking up in the middle of the night to throw off the covers.

Fuck. Just fuck.

* Like whether Drug Dealing Dave is really dealing drugs (yup! I’d stake my reputation on it) or whether we should give him the benefit of the doubt (Yvonne’s idea – she thinks he’s getting a bad rap based on stories he’s told her that don’t come anywhere close to adding up.) He’s still in the park, despite the efforts of The Old Ladies to get him out. They’re calling the Sheriff regularly about the excessive traffic of his “friends” but Management (Ha! what a joke!) at the park remains convinced that he’s a Good Guy, but they are very likely customers in his meth trade…OMG! I am so furious over the whole situation, I can’t tell you! Meanwhile, the tweaker parades have stopped being so obvious but Drug Dealing Dave races into and out of the park multiple times each evening and Management will hear nothing about it. There is no other explanation for his activities or the traffic around his trailer. None. Not even in the wildest, kindest, most ignorant imaginings of a total moron.

 

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.

 

“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!

 

“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.