I am not a snowflake

January 20 was a significant day in my life and in the lives of everyone in America, but not for the same reasons.

On January 20, 2013 I walked away from an abusive relationship with a narcissist. I was consumed with the anger of a thousand fiery suns. I had been lied to, gaslighted, verbally abused, financially raped, physically intimidated, sleep deprived, starved of food and affection, beaten down emotionally, isolated from my family and friends, and kept on a very short leash “for my own good” which led to my questioning every belief I ever had. I was a shadow of myself and I knew it. My life was a dark hole I was determined to crawl out of at any cost.

On January 20, 2017 I was on a news blackout so I did not see Lord Cheeto* sworn into the office of the President of the United States. By all accounts (not his, as he reminds us with every TV appearance by himself or his minions) it was a shining shit-show that was poorly attended. Meanwhile the first of what will become hundreds, if not thousands, of protests was quite well attended the very next day. On all seven continents! I attended my first protest on a day that should have been a celebration of one more year of freedom from a narcissist.

This has become my life –


I really didn’t want to get all political here (hence my silence) but I find silence impossible, just as I found mute acceptance impossible four years ago. Others are much more knowledgeable and well spoken than I am, and on some level it feels like shouting into the Void, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my mouth shut any longer.

I’ve done some research, read a lot of articles, talked to many people, watched hours and hours of political coverage on TV (and not just the “lying liberal media,” but FOX and other conservative outlets as well), hoping that the crawling in my gut is just an overreaction to a situation that *feels* like being back with the narc, hoping I really am just being “too emotional,” that life will go back to normal (whatever that is) and I won’t wake up with a feeling of dread, wondering what our so-called leader has blown up in the night. Sadly, the nightmare just won’t end and I feel compelled to put a voice to my fears and concerns, if only to get them out of my head.

Never having been overly concerned with politics, I am sadly under informed on the subject. Alarmingly, Lord Cheeto appears to be even less informed than I am, and that should scare the shit out of everyone. The difference is that I am working hard towards an understanding of our political system while he is signing Executive Orders and pissing off everyone he comes in contact with while hiding what he’s REALLY doing behind closed doors. Hint: he’s making deals that will one day be called treason.

Way back when he was just Candidate Trump he made many statements that showed his true colors. I was horrified that a man who said “grab them by the pussy” got the republican nomination for the highest office in the land. “Blood coming from her wherever…” didn’t disqualify him in the eyes of his supporters, either. WTF?!? There are too many examples to recount here – you’re all familiar with how trashy and small-minded he is.

But, okay. Fine. He got the job. Not exactly fair and square, but we have a process and that process landed him in the White House. No one has to like the results, but we must all respect the process. And surely he would surround himself with Smart People who would guide him and counsel restraint and common sense. Right? He said he’s a “really smart guy” and smart people know they don’t know everything and he, being a “great businessman” knows that he will need savvy advisors to help guide him in his quest to “make America great again.” Right?

Oh, but wait! Turns out everything logical or moderate he said while on the campaign trail was just a big ol’ pile of bullshit and he really does intend to rule America like a king, appointing his favorite courtiers to choice positions in his kingdom; stripping the country of all its resources to line his own pockets; killing off the peasants by relaxing regulations for all his friends so they can continue to poison the air, water and soil with no consequences; well, the list just goes on and on, doesn’t it?

But that’s not why you’re here, is it?

The bottom line is that Lord Cheeto is just like Captain Bligh** and I feel like I’m back in that Dark Place. Every time I hear him speak his lies to the press (and it’s about everything, even things that can be easily refuted) I’m reminded of being told that I’m “not remembering that [incident] correctly.” Every time he dismisses a reporter with that damned snort and eye roll as soon as they say what organization they’re with I’m reminded of how Captain Bligh would do the exact same thing when I was trying to defend myself against yet another of his wild claims of my “misbehavior.” Every time he answers a legitimate question with word salad about how great he is (and, really, can someone please give him a few new adjectives?) I’m reminded of all the late-night speeches Captain Bligh would grace me with, telling me, over and over, how I should just toe the line and do what he said so that one day I would finally be worthy of him. Every time one of his minions lies on TV about something he said, or did, or didn’t do (taxes, anyone?) I’m taken back to the times Captain Bligh’s loyal minions backed him up about something he’d told them that was completely false.

The list goes on and on, folks. I’m sick at heart. Those of you who have lived with an abusive partner understand how I feel – they all read from the same script while telling anyone who will listen how very unique and special they are.

Short of leaving the country, what can I do? I’ll tell you what I can do: I can raise my voice in protest along with the thousands and thousands of others who will not sit down and take abuse from men like Drumph and his minions. It’s an overwhelming task and it’s easy to get burned out as every new lie comes to the surface, as each executive order seeks to take away another civil liberty for everyone who is female or has brown skin, as projects like DAPL get pushed forward at the risk of the water we all drink, as refugees starve and die because our borders have been closed to “those people.”

Because there are so many protests, so many reasons to march and advocate, we all have to pick our battles or get burned out by the emotional roller coaster – anyone who has lived with a narcissist or other abusive person knows the cycle they use to wear you down, and this is no different – we shut down when it becomes overwhelming and then we’re caught in the trap, too busy trying to survive with the shred of sanity left to us to protest each new atrocity.

I’ve chosen Women’s Rights and Clean Water as my causes because no one can support ALL of the issues we’re facing today. I will be marching in Eugene and attending rallies and supporting my representatives any way I can. For the very first time as I was filling out my tax forms online, I sent donations to Planned Parenthood and the Oregon Food Bank because if those of us who have a little bit to spare don’t support those who are desperate for food and health care, we’re no better than the monsters in the White House.

*I can’t even say “President Trump” out loud because he is not deserving of the office. I will not glorify him in this way, therefore I will use various nick-names in place of the honorific. I hope you don’t mind.

**Still not ready to out that asshole, but calling him “narc” just ain’t cutting it any more. I actually called him Captain Bligh to his face once and he was confused. “William Bligh was an amazing sailor and led his men on an epic journey – they would have died without him! He was a superlative navigator and masterful captain. How is that an insult? We all should aspire to be as great as Captain Bligh,” or somesuch, was his reply. My jaw dropped. “Everyone hated him!” was all I could muster in reply. “So?” He really didn’t care, so long as he got his way, but everyone who knows him knows exactly what I mean when I use that name.


Posted by on February 17, 2017 in Uncategorized


Why Emotional Abuse and Forced Sleep Deprivation Are Effective Tools to Gain Compliance: Part 1

This. Just a small taste of what my life was like.

Picking Up the Pieces

Commonly minimized as “nothing really serious – not like physical abuse,” verbal and emotional abuse are perhaps two of the most used tools in the abuser’s arsenal.  Too many feel that it’s not really a big deal, because there are no visible wounds seared onto the flesh when these tactics are used – although crushing amounts of them can cause a victim to self-harm.  This is problematic, because in general (with exception to the more severe injuries), the wounds on our flesh – bruises, swelling, cuts, bite marks, burns, and welts – heal, even if they leave behind some tangible evidence in their wake while the emotional trauma slowly corrodes and compromises our well-being like acid from the inside where no one can see it happening.

Even as we feel it and know the harsh reality of what has been done to us, those on the outside – those who have…

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Posted by on January 24, 2017 in Uncategorized


Updates, 2017 Edition

Happy New Year, faithful readers! Is your 2017 all you hoped it would be so far? This Year of the Rooster promises to be better than I thought it could be!

Having recovered (outwardly, at least) from the Election Debacle, Juan, Sabu, Mr. Big and I have made some major changes to our lives and it’s finally time to update this here blog. Or give it up entirely in favor of something lighter. That ball is still in the air…

So. I met a guy. For the purposes of this blog, he will hereinafter be referred to as Roman. He’s lived his whole life in Eugene, Oregon and we spent the Summer exploring around town. He’s a good tour guide and quickly learned what I might like to see and I think he slanted his tours around places and events that would showcase how dismal life has been in the tiny, backward, inbred burg of Lebanon, OR. He hinted that I should move down there and begin to enjoy the Culture full time.

I began a search for suitable housing and hit roadblocks at every turn: renting a house was just too expensive (buying is not an option at this point) so I went looking for apartments only to discover that 97.6% of them won’t rent to anyone with a dog over 35 pounds, even if said dog never spent an unsupervised minute alone in the apartment. ALSO, the way they advertise rent rates is shady as hell – no mention of the “fees” for sewer/water/garbage/parking and the extra rent and deposits for pets – making the total rent way over budget. Now, I could spend $1400 for a deluxe one-bedroom apartment, but that’s not gonna happen because for those rates I should be able to rent a 4-bedroom house on half an acre! Supposedly there’s a housing crisis here in Oregon, which I usually take to mean there aren’t enough houses for all the people, but the sad fact is that most people just can’t afford the housing that’s available and nothing cheaper is being built. It really sucks, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

Then one day Roman’s cousin posted on her personal Facebook page that she had half a duplex to rent out. I never would have known about it as she didn’t advertise anywhere else, but Roman forwarded it and I made contact and was finally successful in scoring the perfect living situation. Three bedrooms (I can have a Sewing Room! Yay!) one-car garage with hookups for washer & dryer, radiant ceiling heat (more on that in a minute) hardwood floors, fenced yard and permission to plant anything I want come Spring. A full-sized oven! A full-sized fridge! Closets! Shelves in the garage for all of my tools! A real bathtub and extra large hot water heater! All for a Reasonable Price! You can bet I jumped right on it and Juan and I spent Christmas Eve there for the first night.

That first night was quite an eye-opener. I guess I didn’t realize how very Scotch I am. You see, living in what is essentially a hard-sided tent, any heat you put in (electric space heaters and/or propane furnace) quickly leaks out via the…well…every surface in contact with the outside air, and it costs a small fortune to keep the inside temps much more than 20* warmer than outside. This leads, as you might imagine, to a compromise – we put on extra layers rather than pump heat in only to have it leave very quickly and expensively. For the past 4 Winters the thermostat inside the trailer was set to 60* no matter what, and even lower than that if the outside temp was 30* or less as it just costs too much to try to get it any warmer.

Imagine my surprise that first night when I was stripped down to bare feet and only one thin layer of clothes! I don’t ever recall being warm enough for that to happen in December except that one year I lived in Phoenix! Poor Juan had to close his bedroom door, turn off the heat in his room and open a window just so it would be cool enough for him to sleep. As the week went on, I kept turning the heat down and down and down (it was never set over 60* in the first place, according to the thermostats) to try to bring the inside temp below 70*! I know! First World Problems for sure! Mind you, I’m not really complaining, just showing how very different our life is now compared to last Winter. I even carefully folded Mr. Toasty and put him on a shelf in the closet!

It feels like I’m having to re-learn what it’s like to live inside Real Walls.

Roman was a trooper through the move: loading, unloading and driving the moving truck; helping me find the perfect sofa; driving me all over town to pick up this or that thing; talking me down when my Moving Baggage had me in a bit of a frenzy. I know y’all are dying to ask – no, Roman and I did not move in together 🙂

I know have a 40 minute commute, but there are lots of Audible books on my Kindle and the drive is a good time to wake up or unwind before having to Adult at work or home, so I don’t mind. It’s an easy drive and I don’t anticipate changing jobs in the near future.

Towanda is in storage for the time being, safe behind an electrified chain link fence. I closed the Studio on Halloween and put everything in storage – much of it fit on the moving truck, but a few things remain and I’ll bring them down a bit at a time over the next month after work.

None of this would have been nearly so easy if The Boss hadn’t closed the office between Christmas and New Year’s and I’m so glad the timing of everything worked out so well. That it went off without a hitch obviously means The Universe has finally decided it’s my turn to be happy!

I hope 2017 will be as good to you as it has been so far to me 🙂


Posted by on January 3, 2017 in Uncategorized


Arguing with a Narcissist – YouTube Video

Yes! This was my life every day with Captain Bligh! He “begged” me for “communication” as a ruse to browbeat and gaslight me and “prove” his superiority over and over again. Does this video sound like someone you know?

Wendy Powell's Life Coaching

My YouTube Channel has hit over a thousand views in about three weeks. I have no way of knowing if that is “typical” or below average or whatever. But the thought of people spending over 128 hours watching videos of me talk about narcissism. Strange thought.

Here is “Arguing with a Narcissist” a little five minute video. Enjoy!

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Posted by on November 22, 2016 in Uncategorized


Defining the Abuse

Here’s a little essay that’s been sitting in my Draft folder for a long time. Someone close to me is suffering at the hands of an ex and perhaps this short list will help enable some emotional distance for them –

Being able to label your abuser’s disorder is a valuable tool, but not nearly as valuable as being able to label the specific abuse that s/he dishes out. Because of my personal experience, I’ll use masculine pronouns, but remember that abusers come in all shapes, sizes and genders.

Just saying, “he’s mean to me,” is not enough – if you tell others they will want specifics (if they even believe you) or they tell you to be nicer to him, and if you’re struggling to identify within your own mind just what the hell is going on, “mean” is much too vague. Chances are, once you learn the names of the abuses you are faced with every day you will be able to better see just what is going on and make a decision as to whether or not you can live with it. It can be very helpful to write down incidents soon after they happen (if it’s safe for you to do so) because so many abusers alternate between bouts of extremely abusive behavior and bouts of “loving” or at least less abusive episodes, which keeps their victim off balance and confused as to who the “real” person is, akin to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of the famous story. They may even convince you an episode never happened, causing you to question your perception and even your sanity. Rest assured, it’s all part of the abuser’s plan to keep you quiet and in their control.

The following are definitions with examples as they applied to my personal situation – your mileage may vary. Definitions from Out of the FOG, a wonderful repository of information for those who are involved in some way with people with personality disorders. They have a forum, too, if you want to get support from others in the same boat. Many thanks to JetGirl for the link.

Baiting and picking fights: Starting an argument for no reason, or making an accusation about one thing while maneuvering you into making an admission or concession about something else. With M, this usually meant he was wanting me to give permission for some sort of behavior that he knew I didn’t approve of by getting me to admit that I’ve done something similar in the past, or he wanted me to do something that I didn’t agree with and would hound me until I agreed just to get him to leave me alone. The property tax fight is a good example. Also the whole Facebook thing. And everything from where to store the dog food to when to take a shower – it was all about winning battles for him and he would stop at nothing to make me admit defeat, whatever that meant for him at the moment.

Belittling: A passive/aggressive method of establishing superiority. M did this with just about everyone and it took me a long time to figure out that his offers of “help” were nothing more than put-downs cleverly disguised – I couldn’t really get upset because he was “helping” me and I was taking his “advice” the wrong way if I protested his interference.

Bullying: Physically towards the dog, emotional towards me. Something new every day.

Catastrophizing: Inflating some incident or state of circumstances into a “worst case scenario.” Property taxes. Toilet seal. Old Dog dying. My FB friends. The list goes on and on and was designed to take attention away from whatever issue I was protesting against.

Chaos Manufacture: The practice of unnecessarily creating an environment of confusion. When the first words out of M’s mouth after two weeks away from home were, “I was hoping you would have mowed the lawn,” before any type of greeting were a clue that he was going to make the next few days hell. He would begin a conversation immediately upon my arriving home from work that was designed to put me instantly on guard or to make me angry, just to get a reaction. He then accused me of being a Drama Queen. I never knew what to expect when I picked up the phone or saw him – he would attack out of the blue over nothing to keep me off balance.

Circular Conversations: Obvious what this is – a conversation without end designed, in M’s case, to exhaust me and force me to agree with whatever his agenda was on any particular day. Of course, his stance on any disagreement can and would change whenever he felt whimsical, making it even more difficult maintain a stance on anything.

Denial: When his lies didn’t work, M would simply deny that he said or did something hurtful – when confronted with his e-mail correspondence with an old lover, he denied it. When told that I knew he was lying he Deflected, changing the subject so that it turned back on me.

Emotional Abuse: “Any pattern of behavior directed at one individual by another which promotes in them a destructive sense of Fear, Obligation or Guilt (FOG).” This one covers a wide range of behaviors and was the first “official” term I learned. Pretty much every post here details the emotional abuse I suffered, so no links on this subject 🙂 It bears repeating that the abuser uses the non-disordered person’s natural empathy against them to keep them from leaving – if you’re so concerned about how leaving will make you look to others, or you are overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, it’s that much harder to even think of how to get out of the relationship.

Gaslighting: I experienced A LOT of gaslighting at the hands of M. Looking back it was maybe the most powerful tool he used – oh, he didn’t want to convince me I was crazy, just that I didn’t see reality like “normal” people do and I needed his guidance in order to “make something” of my life. In the end, it did make me feel like I was losing my mind.

These were the Top Nine for me, but your milage may vary. Do check out the other 91 ways an abuser manipulates their victim at Out of the FOG.

For me, once I was able to name the Crazy I was living, I was able to gain some emotional distance and begin to move away from my abuser. Without this emotional distance and the rage that came with finally knowing I was not imagining things I would not have been able to break free.


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An Open Letter To Donald Trump From Some Angry Women.

Trying not to blog about the joke our presidential race has become, but THIS is too important not to share –

Drifting Through


Dear Mr. Trump… can I call you Mr. Trump? Is that ok? I want you to be happy, that’s very important to me.

Before I get started, let me say this letter isn’t from all women. The Trumpettes surely won’t approve of this message. But this is from most women.

We see right through you. We have all known you at some point. Your ways are not unfamiliar to us. We see through you because we’ve been dealing with you our whole lives.

We heard you call women pigs. And disgusting. And stupid. And bimbos.

We watched as you called a former Ms. Universe “Ms. Piggy” and then spent four days continuing to insult her.

We see your weakness. Your lust for attention at any cost, your need to denigrate women. We see all of it. And we’re mad.

Yes. We’re mad. And fired up. And here’s the thing about us……

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Posted by on October 13, 2016 in Uncategorized


Where the fuck is the Karma Bus?

In many ways the Summer has been the best of my life, but in other ways it has sucked sweaty donkey balls.

This is a long one, folks, so if you don’t want to wade through my Brain Dump, the short story is: “management” at the park is killing cats with full support of the Owner who does not need the money “[you] people” pay in rent and if we don’t like it we are welcome to move. The male half of the “management team” is verbally abusing elderly, disabled residents while the female half of the team ensures the Owners are kept inside and oblivious to conditions in the park. I believe the “management team” is robbing the Owners, but the misogynistic, philandering, asshole husband of the actual owner will not hear anything coming from the mouth of one of “[you] people” because he is smarter and richer than any of us will ever be and he would certainly know he was being robbed. HE is not killing cats, but he’s glad they’re “being taken care of.” He fully supports the team he hired and will not hear any of our tales and if we don’t like it, we are welcome to leave.

EDIT: Turns out it’s not at all illegal to kill cats, even if they aren’t your own. It is, however, illegal to kill wildlife, such as nutria or raccoons. Wish I’d known that back in 2014…

All the stuff:

The rent in the Park went up to $400 and we got nothing but trouble for it. I wrote a tiny teaser about getting a new cat, Mr. Big, and while this post has to do with him, it’s not his story, but here’s a random picture for those of you who visit to see pictures of cats –


So. A few months ago Noreen (the female half of the “management team” employed by the owners of the park) bitched about the amount of cat poo in the flower beds over near the Big House and how she hated cleaning it up. She directly blamed Yvonne and I, seeing as how we live closest to said flower beds and we’re “trouble makers” and need to be taken down a few pegs. Now, neither of our cats ever went near the Big House to our knowledge, but we both volunteered to come right over and pick up any messes left by our cats because we’re good neighbors and don’t want any trouble.

We thought that was that and went on with our little lives, not knowing a war was brewing and we were about to be caught up in the middle of it. We watched our cats and brought them in when they would come in, but Mr. Big is a fantastic hunter and it seemed cruel to lock him up when he was doing his best to kill all the moles and mice “management” has been complaining about for months. I did point out his kills whenever I saw Noreen and thought maybe it would count in his favor.

A couple of weeks later we were informed that “management” had set up a live trap over near the Big House to catch and “take care of” any cats who were dumb enough to get caught. I fear that’s what happened to Revy. Diane’s cat went missing and she spent all day looking for her. Just after dark, here she came from the direction of the Big House, racing home, terrified and unwilling to go outside for a long time. Was she caught in the trap? It looks suspicious, but there is no proof as the trap mysteriously disappeared that night…

A few weeks later Glenn (the male half of the “management team” employed by the owners of the park) marched up to Yvonne’s trailer at around 0800 and threw a plastic grocery bag of cat poo at her feet and began to yell at and berate her for the mess. It was clear that the bag contained way more poo than could be generated by any one cat overnight, but he was insistent. There were two witnesses who heard him yelling at her, but, being women, they did nothing for fear of him turning on them. He waited until I had left for work to act out his little drama because he knows good and well that I would have been over there, stun gun in hand, to defend Yvonne, no questions asked – he’s a bully and a coward and won’t even look me in the eye.

Before I go on, I need to say that Yvonne is a retired Air Force veteran who is disabled after her spine collapsed. She might be 5 feet tall if she could stand straight, but she is forever bent over and uses a walker to get around. She is compassionate, kind and always willing to lend a hand to anyone in need. She is the perfect example of a Good Neighbor. She is quiet and does not want any drama or trouble. She just wants to live a quiet life and be left alone.

After this attack, she refused to call the Sheriff, even though everyone pleaded with her to do so. She was still visibly shaking when I talked to her after work that day. I was enraged but she asked me to keep quiet and not cause any trouble. Fine. It’s not my battle to fight.

Some days later I was informed by Noreen that it was “against the law” to let my cat outside without a leash and a first violation would force her to “write me up.” I told her that the park is in the County and there is no law on the books about cats, therefore her position is entirely unenforceable and she needed to find something more productive to do. A second offense will result in a $50.00 fine, she informed me. And what about my agreement with Alice about my cat, the one we made when I first moved into the park? The laws have changed and I can count on being asked to leave upon a third violation.

Well, huh. I did some research, and there is no law on the books about cats with the City, County or State, but the Manufactured Home Park Association has two rather vague paragraphs about it being the Owner’s responsibility to clean up any “unsanitary” conditions around the park – nothing specific about cats, mind you, but plenty of room to interpret however they like.

Soon, a notice went out about pets needing to be under control at all times, paraphrasing one paragraph and totally leaving out the paragraph about it being the responsibility of the Owner to maintain “sanitary” conditions within the park. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not inclined to follow directions based on paraphrased “laws” handed to me by a tweaker who is about as shady as a person can be, so I went on my way and ignored her and her fucking “laws,” as did everyone else who has cats in the park.

And then I really stepped in it. I was going to Eugene for the weekend and Mr. Big refused to come inside. I asked Yvonne to keep an eye on him and call me if anything hinky went on and away I went. She called me on Sunday afternoon to say that Mr. Big had disappeared somewhere near the Big House and she was heartbroken to have to give me the news. I rushed home, conferred with her for a minute and marched over to “management’s” trailer where I banged on the door in a most un-ladylike manner until Noreen answered.

An aside: who in their right mind wears sunglasses inside a dimly-lit trailer and keeps them on when she steps outside onto her shaded porch? Yeah, a tweaker who knows I know she’s high and doesn’t want to face my wrath.

I asked if she’d seen my cat. In her syrupy false voice, wringing her hands, she replied that no, she hadn’t seen my cat.

I asked if I could look in the trap we all know is set up behind the Big House, just to be sure, ya know?

“Oh, we don’t have the trap any more! The raccoons have moved on so we don’t need it any more…” This was the first I’d heard of a “racoon problem” and I told her I knew it was still set up and demanded to know if my cat had been caught in it.

“Well, it was a live trap, so he wouldn’t have been hurt – we just don’t have the heart to kill anything!” Uh, huh. I reminded her of the Great Nutria Genocide of 2014 and she got all huffy and said, “Oh! So we’re murders now?” I threw up my hands and walked away, knowing I would not get any satisfaction.

Later that evening, just at sunset, Mr. Big showed up. I was actually inside but Diane saw him come running and knocked on my door to get my attention. He was a terrified mess and acted like he’d been confined – I know how he acts after having him in his crate for a couple of hours when I first brought him home – it was the same behavior. I scooped him up and have kept him inside since, where he has proceeded to shred everything that displeases him, including my arms and hands.

Then, it got personal. Yvonne and I (no one else in the park – this will become relevant in a minute) got Pet Violation notices in our mailboxes. We were specifically called out and informed that another violation would result in a fine and a third violation would result in expulsion from the park.

Now, we are reasonable people, Yvonne and I, but after asking around to see if anyone else received a notice (there are at least half a dozen residents who have cats that roam around and like any semi-rural area in this country, there are dozens, if not hundreds, of stray and feral cats wandering the neighborhood) and discovered that no other residents received violation notices. Obviously, this new round of bullshit was directly related to my confronting “management” about the disappearance of my cat.

Yvonne and I decided to go have a talk with the Owners and see just what was really going on – I hadn’t actually seen Alice for two years and hadn’t spoken to Walt for at least 18 months, and Yvonne hadn’t met either one of them.

Cut to the chase, our complaints are irrelevant and we are free to leave if we don’t want to follow the rules as set out and implemented by the “management team.”

When told of Glenn’s attack of Yvonne, Walt shrugged and made the universal hand gesture for “So? Why should I care?”

When asked if he knew cats were being trapped and “taken care of,” he actually SMIRKED at me and said, “Well, I’m not doing it, but I’m glad it’s being done!”

He then started lecturing me about how much money he has and how he doesn’t need the rent that comes in from the park residents, how they’re pouring all the money back into the park to make it look nice so “you people” have a nice place to live but he doesn’t need any of us. I said that he needs to get out into the park so he can see for himself that nothing is being cleaned up, repaired, monitored or in any way tended to outside what he can see from the windows of the house.

The icing on the cake for me was this exchange:

“You might not realize this, but I don’t need your money. I don’t need the $12,000 a month the park brings in…”

I held up a hand. “Wait! How many spaces are there in the park?”

“There’s forty,” he replied.

“40 times $400 is $16,000 dollars a month…”

At that he exploded, “You don’t think I’d know if I was being robbed! How dare you!”

“Hey, I’m just doing the math and I’m trying to tell you that you don’t know what’s going on outside and people are worried about you…”

He started a circular speech about money again and Yvonne and I just left.

It seems pretty clear that the “management team” is keeping the Owners inside and away from the park residents, but we can do nothing. Noreen is their primary caregiver and they will hear nothing against her. They fully support the team they have hired.

Meanwhile, no other residents have been told to confine their cats. “Management’s” dog continues to run loose at every opportunity, pooping all over the place (That’s a $50 fine!) and actually bit Yvonne the other day. When she tried to talk to the Owners about getting the dog’s vaccination info so she didn’t have to seek medical treatment for possible rabies, she was yelled at, shut down and told to go away. AND there’s a guy on the back row growing marijuana on his roof, people are tying their dogs outside their trailers for hours (Yvonne was specifically told she was not allowed to do that) and several trailers regularly have laundry hanging outside – a direct violation, I was told.

I need to move but my need for justice, and yes, maybe a bit of revenge, has me hesitating to do anything too quickly. I can’t help but wish there was some way to call the Karma Bus directly. There is much more to the story, but y’all are surely tired of hearing me rant by now so I’ll sign off and get back to work.


Posted by on September 13, 2016 in Uncategorized

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