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.

 

“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!

 

Will this never end?

Spent a lovely day at the Studio Sunday. Sadly, the evening was shot.

The Kid has been fairly meek the past weeks that he’s been living with me. He has been going out to help Awana at the alpaca ranch and looking for work. He’s been respectful and (sorta) helpful around the place. We’ve talked about his alcoholism and he has seemed remorseful about where he finds himself due entirely to his own poor decision making. He has been sober and as “normal” as he’s ever been.

Until Sunday. I left the dog with him because she’d have to stay in the car otherwise. I left instructions about airing the place out as soon as it warmed up outside. I put the dog’s harness on and gave him very specific guidelines about how to handle her – there’s a new dog in the park that she doesn’t like and I don’t want to have any incidents.

I arrived home at 7:30 PM to find the door open, the screen door shut and the dog inside with her leash on. I told him specifically that the dog will push the screen door open and be GONE at the slightest provocation and he is not, under any circumstances, to leave the dog loose inside with only the screen door between her and freedom. I was VERY clear and made him repeat my instructions back to me.

The Kid was passed out on the couch, curled up into a ball. Snoring. I smelled something not quite identifiable the second I stepped inside. It wasn’t foul, but it didn’t belong. I tried to rouse him but was not successful. Okay, he hasn’t been sleeping well, so I’ll leave him alone, take care of the animals and we’ll talk about it later. I had drafting to do for The Other Boss.

He came to as I was getting settled in at the computer and when he sat up I knew what the smell was – booze of some sort, definitely not beer, his drink of choice.

Sigh. Fuck. Oh, yeah, he was totally wasted. He said he bought one 12 oz beer and that’s all he had. I told him he was lying. He stuck to his story. I continued to disbelieve him. I searched for the source of his inebriation and finally found it at the very back of the pantry – the tequila bottle was no longer sealed. He had drunk half the bottle. He continued to assert his innocence, but there was no way one beer fucked him up that badly.

After a couple of hours I went to bed, after supervising him pulling out the couch and assuring him that if he puked anywhere but in the toilet he would face my wrath. I was angry enough to chew nails.

Monday dawned and he looked like shit. I had locked all the liquor in my car* so there would be no repeating of this particular episode and I was pretty sure a tequila hangover would be punishment enough but I couldn’t resist a bit of lecturing. He admitted that he couldn’t really remember the previous night. Sigh.

Yesterday when I got home from work he was busy filling out job applications online. I tried to be calm as I told him I understand he’s a grown man and I have no right to dictate how he lives his life but this is my house and I won’t have him drinking while he’s staying with me. He was very apologetic. He made no promises. I, however, did promise to do my best to hound him into staying sober, to pound into his head that he is an alcoholic and a potential drug addict (his father was both, as were/are many of my relatives) and he will not be able to drink casually and I will not put up with his self destructive behavior under my roof. Get help or I will get it for you.

We’ll see where it goes from here. I’m still hopeful he’ll make the right choices but on the alert in case he stumbles again. I’ve been here so many times. I’m really tired of it now but I can’t abandon my son.

* Yeah, I should have done it before I picked him up, but I kinda thought a sealed bottle would dissuade him and he really prefers beer. I had no idea he would be stupid enough to drink half a bottle of tequila. Live and learn, as they say.