Gramma,
Tuesday morning I looked at my phone. My daughter had texted at 10:38 p.m. that Trashcan was arrested. He had come to her condo, believing that he had a right to be there. They both called the police.
I asked for details. She was at the courthouse and didn't have anything to report. Her boss was being a jerk about her being off work again. Trashcan had called him and the corporate office to alert them that she was doing meth. We joked that as long as she showed up and did her job, it didn't seem to be a problem.
___________________________________
Girlfriend stopped in to help make plans for my annual Witch's Ball. Halloween happens to be her birthday. She chastised me for not wearing my foot brace. My foot is not doing well. Later, she called to say that her boyfriend of three decades had left a note on the fridge that he would be gone a few days--bucket list. They had not been getting along well. He was selling large items that belonged to him, like the motor home and a car. Then she found a receipt in the garbage can for a $300 antique mug he sent to somebody several states away, where an ex-girlfriend of his lived. I asked if she wanted me to come and help her pack his shit.
As I am an evil bitch who zealously protects her friends, I thought up some shit. After consulting Google regarding common law marriage in Wisconsin, I found that the equivalent is now called co-habitation law. I provided girlfriend with the details and the name of an asshole attorney. I took another friend of mine who I had coached in the fine art of divorce to her house, where we proceeded to toss the pole shed for any signs of hidden financial documents or cash. A search of the house had turned up nothing. Girlfriend had already searched the house. Sneaky Pete had his computer with him.
____________________________________
Girlfriend called to say Sneaky Pete's brother-in-law had died earlier than expected. She left a message with Pete, but he didn't call back. His sister heard from him and he was "cutting his vacation short." We had brainstormed and rehearsed for plan A, B, and C.
___________________________________
My daughter texted to say that Trashcan had made bail. He left court with the gift of jewelry. Hope he enjoys his ankle bracelet.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Monday, September 12, 2016
Not the Only Shit Show in Town
Gramma,
Sunday, I sent frequent updates and pictures to Sonny's previous owner. It made me smile. Sonny meets the donkeys. Sonny stalks the peacock and decides against pursuing something bigger than himself. The outside cat is also bigger and doesn't back down. Sonny squeals like a baby when the cat takes a swipe at him. The dogs all have bad breath. I need to start cleaning their teeth. We had no visitors or phone calls. It was eerie. I couldn't burn my hell-fire sized brush pile. It was too windy. A storm was blowing in.
My daughter called. She had met Trashcan at the vet office on Saturday. He said her dog was sick. Afraid he would do something to her baby, she did not call the police. The dog was showing signs of kidney failure. Right away I thought of anti-freeze. He threatened that under common law marriage, he would take her to court for half her condo if she didn't drop the charges. He didn't have a leg to stand on. I told her to bring it up at her appointment with the domestic violence people. "I hope you're going to nail him for this." She reiterated that she didn't want to ruin his life.
Monday morning Girlfriend called and told me all about her mediation session with the soon to be ex. He was livid that she had come in with a list of $70,000 dollars worth of hidden assets. His attorney had neglected to share that with him ahead of time. She had both barrels loaded for bear. He thought he was going to get her to walk away in exchange for her not paying his sorry ass maintenance. She will walk away with about $500,00. He will not be able to live in their nice log house by himself.
He also tried to hide that he could go back to work after his back surgery. There were reasonable accommodations afforded by way of the Union. He thought nobody would notice that he was eligible to collect retirement benefits if he did not want to attend work. She has no pancreas. Her doctors sent a letter stating she should not be working.
He wanted her to pay his attorney fees and expenses related to being sued by the nursing home after his uncle died. "Do you really want to go there Scott," she said. As the executor, Scott had siphoned money from his uncle's bank account and put it in the safe. He knew she would out him on that and the unreported $30,000 dug up in his uncles yard. He and his sisters had quite the dispute over that. I encouraged girlfriend to write a letter to the nursing home detailing the situation. Especially the part where his sister talks the uncle into selling his land to her for pennies on the dollar.
Girlfriend figured she would get drunken hate calls from Scott after their session. Instead, she got drunken calls from his daughter asking "How could you do this to my dad. How is he supposed to live." Oh fucking well. Good thing she has a security system and guns. He is so pathetic that he goes to the food shelf on his way to the liquor store to load up on cigarettes and whiskey.
In the evening, we settled in to watch the Harley and Davidson special on the History Channel. Dave started reading a recent rant against me on Facebook. Then the texting began. He was going to show me. It was my fault that he was losing his house. He and his son would have no place to live. I suspected his dad was kicking him out now that his girlfriend wasn't paying $500 of the $800 monthly rent. I was blamed for breaking up their relationship. He had actually notified her on Facebook that they were no longer together.
He threatened that he would call the police and tell them that I was an alcoholic, pot-smoking, drug addicted. He would see to it that I never saw his son again. He would tell the police that I had guns and I would go to prison for the rest of my life. All in caps, littered with LOL's and HAHA's. Dave called him. He wouldn't answer. Dave left a message asking him if he needed to come over and kick his ass.
I went to bed. A text came in. I didn't look at it, figuring it was another tirade.
To be continued....
Sunday, I sent frequent updates and pictures to Sonny's previous owner. It made me smile. Sonny meets the donkeys. Sonny stalks the peacock and decides against pursuing something bigger than himself. The outside cat is also bigger and doesn't back down. Sonny squeals like a baby when the cat takes a swipe at him. The dogs all have bad breath. I need to start cleaning their teeth. We had no visitors or phone calls. It was eerie. I couldn't burn my hell-fire sized brush pile. It was too windy. A storm was blowing in.
My daughter called. She had met Trashcan at the vet office on Saturday. He said her dog was sick. Afraid he would do something to her baby, she did not call the police. The dog was showing signs of kidney failure. Right away I thought of anti-freeze. He threatened that under common law marriage, he would take her to court for half her condo if she didn't drop the charges. He didn't have a leg to stand on. I told her to bring it up at her appointment with the domestic violence people. "I hope you're going to nail him for this." She reiterated that she didn't want to ruin his life.
Monday morning Girlfriend called and told me all about her mediation session with the soon to be ex. He was livid that she had come in with a list of $70,000 dollars worth of hidden assets. His attorney had neglected to share that with him ahead of time. She had both barrels loaded for bear. He thought he was going to get her to walk away in exchange for her not paying his sorry ass maintenance. She will walk away with about $500,00. He will not be able to live in their nice log house by himself.
He also tried to hide that he could go back to work after his back surgery. There were reasonable accommodations afforded by way of the Union. He thought nobody would notice that he was eligible to collect retirement benefits if he did not want to attend work. She has no pancreas. Her doctors sent a letter stating she should not be working.
He wanted her to pay his attorney fees and expenses related to being sued by the nursing home after his uncle died. "Do you really want to go there Scott," she said. As the executor, Scott had siphoned money from his uncle's bank account and put it in the safe. He knew she would out him on that and the unreported $30,000 dug up in his uncles yard. He and his sisters had quite the dispute over that. I encouraged girlfriend to write a letter to the nursing home detailing the situation. Especially the part where his sister talks the uncle into selling his land to her for pennies on the dollar.
Girlfriend figured she would get drunken hate calls from Scott after their session. Instead, she got drunken calls from his daughter asking "How could you do this to my dad. How is he supposed to live." Oh fucking well. Good thing she has a security system and guns. He is so pathetic that he goes to the food shelf on his way to the liquor store to load up on cigarettes and whiskey.
In the evening, we settled in to watch the Harley and Davidson special on the History Channel. Dave started reading a recent rant against me on Facebook. Then the texting began. He was going to show me. It was my fault that he was losing his house. He and his son would have no place to live. I suspected his dad was kicking him out now that his girlfriend wasn't paying $500 of the $800 monthly rent. I was blamed for breaking up their relationship. He had actually notified her on Facebook that they were no longer together.
He threatened that he would call the police and tell them that I was an alcoholic, pot-smoking, drug addicted. He would see to it that I never saw his son again. He would tell the police that I had guns and I would go to prison for the rest of my life. All in caps, littered with LOL's and HAHA's. Dave called him. He wouldn't answer. Dave left a message asking him if he needed to come over and kick his ass.
I went to bed. A text came in. I didn't look at it, figuring it was another tirade.
To be continued....
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Open Heart
Gramma,
Before I left, I was in the process of adding another dog to our pack. I put that on hold. Sonny was a four-year-old Jack Russell. I saw him on Craig's List and fell in love with his face. For days I kept going back to look at his picture. I started showing it to Dave. "Isn't he cute? Look at that face. He needs a home."
"What are you saying? You want that dog?" A few more days went by and he said he didn't care. Jack's are our favorite breed. Nothing would ever replace Radar, but this guy looked like a fun time. There was a $250.00 re-homing fee, which was waived because there were no other takers. The daughter was allergic to him, reacting with skin rashes that bled.
To be continued....
Before I left, I was in the process of adding another dog to our pack. I put that on hold. Sonny was a four-year-old Jack Russell. I saw him on Craig's List and fell in love with his face. For days I kept going back to look at his picture. I started showing it to Dave. "Isn't he cute? Look at that face. He needs a home."
"What are you saying? You want that dog?" A few more days went by and he said he didn't care. Jack's are our favorite breed. Nothing would ever replace Radar, but this guy looked like a fun time. There was a $250.00 re-homing fee, which was waived because there were no other takers. The daughter was allergic to him, reacting with skin rashes that bled.
I made arrangements to have the dog out for a meet and greet. Her car broke down. My car broke down. I agreed to pick him on Labor Day Saturday. Dave's son was coming over with the baby. This was a rare occasion. Dave's 82-year-old mother decided to make the forty minute trek up the freeway to see the baby. It probably took her an hour and pissed off a lot of people along the way. I was feeling crappy. Probably stress. I vacuumed and picked up a cake in town.
It was unusual for the daughter-in-law to visit. Then came the bombshell. Dave's son needed open heart surgery. He planned to have it done after hunting season. I think Dave was in a daze. He held the baby. We had cake. Eleanor was going to leave. I told her we were going to the cities anyway, that Dave could drive her home and I would follow. She objected. After we dropped her off, we went to pick up the dog. It was a bright spot.
We sat outside drinking beer and watching the dogs be dogs. We didn't like the name Sonny came with. We tried other names on him. Clark kind of fit. Maybe Spanky, as in Spanky and Our Gang.
Later, when my daughter did not respond to texts or calls, I contacted the police department and asked them to do a wellness check. I got a groggy call back from her, saying she was sleeping. I will keep doing this until she gets it that I need to hear from her. She goes to work at three in the morning, that was enough to worry about. There are only two people that go in at that hour. Ashkan has lots of guns. He also has connections.
My son blocked me on Facebook and his phone. My other son called his dad to take away his brother's guns again. My daughter-in-law threatened to get a restraining order. I couldn't blame her. Early one morning there had been shooting near the end of their long driveway.
My sister texted and said she was sure she would soon be blocked. The two of them were going at it. My son was awful, throwing shit in her face about her actor son and me. She was arguing with a mean little five-year-old. I went to bed at ten, adding a sleeping pill to my cocktail. Later, I heard a text message sound. I ignored it, thinking it was one more insult from my son.
To be continued....
Saturday, September 10, 2016
Bi-polar Shit Show
Gramma,
I was happy to be home, to my sanctuary. The lawn needed baling. It had been two weeks. I had more shit shows waiting. My eldest son's bi-polar med cocktail had been changed. His insurance would no longer cover the real medication, for which he was on a five dollar co-pay plan through the makers of Abilify. For several hundred dollars more, he could have the generic. It wasn't an option. So his therapist gave him something else that he could get free samples of. I could tell the meds weren't working. His therapist said to give it a few weeks.
He started out feeling less than. Then he became easily agitated and annoyed. I could see this from his Facebook posts, where he has always shared way too much. He has no filter and no concept of discretion or appropriation of information. I got reports from people saying he had turned into a raving asshole. He criticized his best friend for his lack of nice things. He bought himself a $22,000 truck that he didn't need with money he didn't have. This is classic bi-polar behavior.
He and his girlfriend came over in the new truck. He was paranoid that everybody was talking about him and his truck, questioning whether or not he could afford it on twenty hours a week at the YMCA and his disability check. He loudly, in caps, ranted on Facebook about how it was nobody's business, that he always paid his bills, which I knew not to be true. When he walked to his truck, I asked girlfriend how long he had been this way. "About a month. I can hardly stand it." I carefully asked him why he bought a new truck.
He ranted about the thousands of dollars in repairs he had made on the truck he had traded in. He got $2000.00 for it on trade. I shook my head. He has always been instant gratification impulsive with his spending. Girlfriend let me know that during visitation, he had been making his nine-year-old son cry until he asked to go home. I notified my ex-daughter-in-law. The rantings became manifesto's. He alienated friends and family, burning bridges and sinking boats.
My own misguided post on Facebook drew a lot of interesting feedback. Basically, I said I was fed up with people who pretend their families are perfect, posing their lovely pictures and words, while behind the scenes they were mean to each other and hid ugly truths. I ended by saying that this façade made other people feel bad about themselves. My rant had been precipitated by some personal business with family. The real people gave positive feedback, while the guilty objected. The controversy I had stirred up made me smile and have another beer.
My bi-polar son called in a rage, saying his girlfriend was uncontrollably crying because I had made her family sound so pathetic. That was not my intent. He insulted me every which way to Sunday. I could not get a word of defense in edgewise. I was just like my evil mother. He called me Joan and Mommy Dearest. He said they would never speak to me again. I took the post down. I had made my point with the right people.
His girlfriend decided to take a bunch of pills, which she did frequently when frustrated. It was her second trip to the hospital in a month. She was not taking her bi-polar meds or going to mandated therapy sessions. Neither was my son. And it only got worse with the confrontational tirades.
I was still reeling from Denver and decided not to engage with him. It would be pointless. In his mania, he was unreachable.
To be continued....
I was happy to be home, to my sanctuary. The lawn needed baling. It had been two weeks. I had more shit shows waiting. My eldest son's bi-polar med cocktail had been changed. His insurance would no longer cover the real medication, for which he was on a five dollar co-pay plan through the makers of Abilify. For several hundred dollars more, he could have the generic. It wasn't an option. So his therapist gave him something else that he could get free samples of. I could tell the meds weren't working. His therapist said to give it a few weeks.
He started out feeling less than. Then he became easily agitated and annoyed. I could see this from his Facebook posts, where he has always shared way too much. He has no filter and no concept of discretion or appropriation of information. I got reports from people saying he had turned into a raving asshole. He criticized his best friend for his lack of nice things. He bought himself a $22,000 truck that he didn't need with money he didn't have. This is classic bi-polar behavior.
He and his girlfriend came over in the new truck. He was paranoid that everybody was talking about him and his truck, questioning whether or not he could afford it on twenty hours a week at the YMCA and his disability check. He loudly, in caps, ranted on Facebook about how it was nobody's business, that he always paid his bills, which I knew not to be true. When he walked to his truck, I asked girlfriend how long he had been this way. "About a month. I can hardly stand it." I carefully asked him why he bought a new truck.
He ranted about the thousands of dollars in repairs he had made on the truck he had traded in. He got $2000.00 for it on trade. I shook my head. He has always been instant gratification impulsive with his spending. Girlfriend let me know that during visitation, he had been making his nine-year-old son cry until he asked to go home. I notified my ex-daughter-in-law. The rantings became manifesto's. He alienated friends and family, burning bridges and sinking boats.
My own misguided post on Facebook drew a lot of interesting feedback. Basically, I said I was fed up with people who pretend their families are perfect, posing their lovely pictures and words, while behind the scenes they were mean to each other and hid ugly truths. I ended by saying that this façade made other people feel bad about themselves. My rant had been precipitated by some personal business with family. The real people gave positive feedback, while the guilty objected. The controversy I had stirred up made me smile and have another beer.
My bi-polar son called in a rage, saying his girlfriend was uncontrollably crying because I had made her family sound so pathetic. That was not my intent. He insulted me every which way to Sunday. I could not get a word of defense in edgewise. I was just like my evil mother. He called me Joan and Mommy Dearest. He said they would never speak to me again. I took the post down. I had made my point with the right people.
His girlfriend decided to take a bunch of pills, which she did frequently when frustrated. It was her second trip to the hospital in a month. She was not taking her bi-polar meds or going to mandated therapy sessions. Neither was my son. And it only got worse with the confrontational tirades.
I was still reeling from Denver and decided not to engage with him. It would be pointless. In his mania, he was unreachable.
To be continued....
Friday, September 9, 2016
Texting Trashcan--Domestic Violence
Gramma,
The text messages and calls from Trashcan continued. I told him I was coming out to help my daughter. I said I was bringing Dave and my son to take care of the Mexican. Undaunted, he said, "Good, you will probably need them to get her away from him and the drugs. I want her to get the help she needs."
"I'm going to get her the help she needs," I said. He kept texting, asking when I was coming out. Then, in one of his texts, he dropped a bombshell. He said she had been raped and molested much of her childhood and teen years."
"Who did this?" I asked. He didn't know, but was sure it was the reason she was acting the way she was.
I called her. I asked if it was true. There was loud silence. I knew it was true. I was in the car with Dave. We were coming from the cemetery. It was the one year anniversary of his daughter's death from MS. I had all I could do to not start screaming. I was holding my throat, trying to sound calm. "Yes," she said. When I got off the phone, I told Dave to cover his ears. I screamed for a good five minutes, deep, primal screaming that left my voice hoarse.
When I got home, I booked a flight for the next day. Dave had taken the rest of the week off to mourn his daughter. He had the dogs to keep him company. My daughter protested my coming out. She said she was staying with a friend and had no place to go. She did not want to return to her condo because he would come there and she was afraid. I said we would change the locks. I planned to take the rail into Denver and Uber from there. When she realized I was not taking no for an answer, she said she would pick me up at the airport.
We went directly to the police station, where we spent several hours with an officer who specialized in domestic violence issues. She gave my daughter a pep talk about pressing charges and not feeling bad about it. The DA had pictures, testimony from her, and the hospital records. They would go forward without her if necessary. My daughter didn't want to ruin Trashcan's military career of seventeen years. He only needed three more years to get full retirement. There is zero tolerance for domestic violence in the military. He would lose everything and he knew it.
He kept lighting up our phones with attempted contact. "Tell her not to do this, I have nothing left. I want to work this out. She's lying. The Mexicans told her to say this. They did this to her." The police took pictures of all text transcripts. I wrote a three page statement regarding the phone calls. His lawyer told the police he hit her once with an open hand.
Trashcan refused to turn himself in. For some reason he was not working. He was in hiding. His attorney said to call him when they had the warrant and he would come in with his client. The first night, with new locks, we both slept with one eye open. There was an Order for Protection waiting for him. The order stated that he should return her dog immediately.
After a few days, I brought up the topic of rape. I told her about my rapes. It was strange that I had never talked about them. She opened up a little bit. When she was fifteen, she had a boyfriend. Because she wouldn't have sex with him, the kids taunted her. She was labeled a lesbian. Three boys decided they would fix that. She wouldn't say who. "It doesn't matter. Some of them were dead," she said. A co-worker had also raped her when she was not on birth control.
I bought her groceries. We went to some second hand stores looking at clothing. We took a drive into the mountains and explored a little town. We spent more time at the police station. We got contacts for domestic violence resources. She went to work half a day, then almost a whole day before taking me to the airport. An advocacy appointment was set up for the day after I left. Labor Day was coming up. I asked the police if they could arrest Trashcan on Friday, so he would have to spend a three or four days in jail. There was not much more I could legally do.
To be continued....
The text messages and calls from Trashcan continued. I told him I was coming out to help my daughter. I said I was bringing Dave and my son to take care of the Mexican. Undaunted, he said, "Good, you will probably need them to get her away from him and the drugs. I want her to get the help she needs."
"I'm going to get her the help she needs," I said. He kept texting, asking when I was coming out. Then, in one of his texts, he dropped a bombshell. He said she had been raped and molested much of her childhood and teen years."
"Who did this?" I asked. He didn't know, but was sure it was the reason she was acting the way she was.
I called her. I asked if it was true. There was loud silence. I knew it was true. I was in the car with Dave. We were coming from the cemetery. It was the one year anniversary of his daughter's death from MS. I had all I could do to not start screaming. I was holding my throat, trying to sound calm. "Yes," she said. When I got off the phone, I told Dave to cover his ears. I screamed for a good five minutes, deep, primal screaming that left my voice hoarse.
When I got home, I booked a flight for the next day. Dave had taken the rest of the week off to mourn his daughter. He had the dogs to keep him company. My daughter protested my coming out. She said she was staying with a friend and had no place to go. She did not want to return to her condo because he would come there and she was afraid. I said we would change the locks. I planned to take the rail into Denver and Uber from there. When she realized I was not taking no for an answer, she said she would pick me up at the airport.
We went directly to the police station, where we spent several hours with an officer who specialized in domestic violence issues. She gave my daughter a pep talk about pressing charges and not feeling bad about it. The DA had pictures, testimony from her, and the hospital records. They would go forward without her if necessary. My daughter didn't want to ruin Trashcan's military career of seventeen years. He only needed three more years to get full retirement. There is zero tolerance for domestic violence in the military. He would lose everything and he knew it.
He kept lighting up our phones with attempted contact. "Tell her not to do this, I have nothing left. I want to work this out. She's lying. The Mexicans told her to say this. They did this to her." The police took pictures of all text transcripts. I wrote a three page statement regarding the phone calls. His lawyer told the police he hit her once with an open hand.
Trashcan refused to turn himself in. For some reason he was not working. He was in hiding. His attorney said to call him when they had the warrant and he would come in with his client. The first night, with new locks, we both slept with one eye open. There was an Order for Protection waiting for him. The order stated that he should return her dog immediately.
After a few days, I brought up the topic of rape. I told her about my rapes. It was strange that I had never talked about them. She opened up a little bit. When she was fifteen, she had a boyfriend. Because she wouldn't have sex with him, the kids taunted her. She was labeled a lesbian. Three boys decided they would fix that. She wouldn't say who. "It doesn't matter. Some of them were dead," she said. A co-worker had also raped her when she was not on birth control.
I bought her groceries. We went to some second hand stores looking at clothing. We took a drive into the mountains and explored a little town. We spent more time at the police station. We got contacts for domestic violence resources. She went to work half a day, then almost a whole day before taking me to the airport. An advocacy appointment was set up for the day after I left. Labor Day was coming up. I asked the police if they could arrest Trashcan on Friday, so he would have to spend a three or four days in jail. There was not much more I could legally do.
To be continued....
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Seven Week Shit Show
Gramma,
It's been a seven week shit show since I last posted. My daughter-in-law is raging hormone pregnant with number three and ornery as a billygoat kept from his harem. She has been punishing the five-year-old and the eight-year-old for their age appropriate transgressions by not letting them visit gramma. They are driving her nuts. Way to shoot yourself in the foot. I would have jumped at the chance to be rid of them. We had it out. I called her a very bad word and she heard about it. It was accurate, but for the sake of the grandkids, I apologized to make nice.
Then I had a bike accident. A friend in our bike club rear-ended me when we were taking off from a stop sign. Both our bikes went down. My right foot was trapped under the floorboard with about 800 pounds of weight on it. My bike was weighted down by the bike that ran into me. There were two riders on it, so more weight. The other bike, which was stuck on my tailpipes, had to come up first.
When my bike was lifted off me, I had to lay on the road while the pain subsided. We were about seventy miles from home. I asked Dave and the other guy to help me up by grabbing me under the armpits so I didn't put weight on it. I didn't take my boot off for fear that I wouldn't be able to get it back on. It hurt, but I rode my bike home anyway, stopping for a few beers on the way.
Two weeks later, I had ex-rays done. With two fractured toes and a fractured ankle, I went home with a mechanical walking brace. It is man-sized, and I hate it. Feels like I'm dragging a log around. I don't wear it consistently, but I wore it through the airport on an emergency trip to Denver. It got me better seats on the way there and back.
My daughter's boyfriend put her in the hospital. She had a black eye, concussion, dislocated jaw and he had pulled out plenty of hair. The doctor gave her the name of a good plastic surgeon.
Her boyfriend called before I found out about this. He was distraught and told me my daughter was on meth and seeing a Mexican guy with tattoos on his neck. She wasn't making her condo payments and hadn't been to work in awhile. My heart sunk to the pit of my stomach. He didn't know why she was doing this and he wanted to get her some help. He wanted to work things out. He had been crying non-stop over their broken relationship. He didn't understand. He had done so much to help her. Then he says, "I shouldn't have done it, but I hit her."
After a long, pregnant pause, I asked "Why did you hit my daughter?" Because she just kept pushing me and pushing me and pushing me. And he was crying. After I hung up, I called my daughter. Reluctantly, she admitted that she was in the hospital. She didn't want me to come out. She sent a picture to her brother. I asked him to send it to me. She was the face of domestic violence. Ashkahn had made it sound like he had hit her once.
He kept frantically calling and texting both of us while we were on the phone. He wanted to know if I knew anything, if I had heard from her. I said I had not and that she rarely responds to my calls or texts. He knew that was true. He just wanted her to get help. I said, I will be out to get her some help."
to be continued....
It's been a seven week shit show since I last posted. My daughter-in-law is raging hormone pregnant with number three and ornery as a billygoat kept from his harem. She has been punishing the five-year-old and the eight-year-old for their age appropriate transgressions by not letting them visit gramma. They are driving her nuts. Way to shoot yourself in the foot. I would have jumped at the chance to be rid of them. We had it out. I called her a very bad word and she heard about it. It was accurate, but for the sake of the grandkids, I apologized to make nice.
Then I had a bike accident. A friend in our bike club rear-ended me when we were taking off from a stop sign. Both our bikes went down. My right foot was trapped under the floorboard with about 800 pounds of weight on it. My bike was weighted down by the bike that ran into me. There were two riders on it, so more weight. The other bike, which was stuck on my tailpipes, had to come up first.
When my bike was lifted off me, I had to lay on the road while the pain subsided. We were about seventy miles from home. I asked Dave and the other guy to help me up by grabbing me under the armpits so I didn't put weight on it. I didn't take my boot off for fear that I wouldn't be able to get it back on. It hurt, but I rode my bike home anyway, stopping for a few beers on the way.
Two weeks later, I had ex-rays done. With two fractured toes and a fractured ankle, I went home with a mechanical walking brace. It is man-sized, and I hate it. Feels like I'm dragging a log around. I don't wear it consistently, but I wore it through the airport on an emergency trip to Denver. It got me better seats on the way there and back.
My daughter's boyfriend put her in the hospital. She had a black eye, concussion, dislocated jaw and he had pulled out plenty of hair. The doctor gave her the name of a good plastic surgeon.
Her boyfriend called before I found out about this. He was distraught and told me my daughter was on meth and seeing a Mexican guy with tattoos on his neck. She wasn't making her condo payments and hadn't been to work in awhile. My heart sunk to the pit of my stomach. He didn't know why she was doing this and he wanted to get her some help. He wanted to work things out. He had been crying non-stop over their broken relationship. He didn't understand. He had done so much to help her. Then he says, "I shouldn't have done it, but I hit her."
After a long, pregnant pause, I asked "Why did you hit my daughter?" Because she just kept pushing me and pushing me and pushing me. And he was crying. After I hung up, I called my daughter. Reluctantly, she admitted that she was in the hospital. She didn't want me to come out. She sent a picture to her brother. I asked him to send it to me. She was the face of domestic violence. Ashkahn had made it sound like he had hit her once.
He kept frantically calling and texting both of us while we were on the phone. He wanted to know if I knew anything, if I had heard from her. I said I had not and that she rarely responds to my calls or texts. He knew that was true. He just wanted her to get help. I said, I will be out to get her some help."
to be continued....
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