Gramma,
The new granddaughter finally arrived. She's a noisy model. Her days and nights are mixed up. Mom gets no sleep. She complains often on Facebook at all hours of the night. Mom wanted to call her Jazzerine. She wanted to call the first one Aquila. Though I do not object, these are not white girl names. The protesters won. She is called Lundon Violet. She is breast fed, so I will not be relieving mom for awhile. Baby formula costs more than alcohol.
Three of the grandkids spent the weekend here. So mom got a break from Bubba acting out because he is no longer the baby. He just started kindergarten. He is always fun to have around. He likes to be very very busy. The other two kids are older and do not want his company. I need to have this set of three at the same time, as otherwise they would not be able to see each other at all. Ollie's dad is not welcome anywhere but the bar these days.
We decorated for Halloween, This is a big tradition. There are menacing, bloodthirsty weapon wielding clowns, complete with dead bloody doll babies and stuffed rabbits. Blood spattered toddler sized zombies colonize outside the iron gates. Anybody trying to invade will be shanked by rose thorns. I do this for the kids who ride the bus. Today, I will zip tie upside down skeletons to very long poles. They will be reminiscent of Cirque de Soleil. These will flank the gates.
Lighted spider webs stretch across the gates. There is a Bates Motel sign. The "vacancy" light flickers. There are caskets in the yard. Skeletons sit on a collection of colored toilets talking on phones, drinking beer, holding their skeleton dogs on leashes. There are witches, signs, pumpkins, tombstones and spiders. The annual Witches Ball is always the last Saturday of the month.
Inside the house, the kids form a chain gang on the stairs to bring up boxes of decorations. Veve helps set up the villages while the other two fight over the I-Pad, making Grampa testy. Purple and green cobwebs are stretched on the chandelier and over pictures. It looks like Halloween threw up all over the house. I am overwhelmed by the mess.
Kids are noisy things. And demanding. Also, they always want something. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. Can I have a donut. Can I have fudge for breakfast. GRAMMA, tell them it's my turn. Bubba spilled his milk. You made me. Ollie won't put away the scooter. He used it last. "Did you fart Bubba." "No, my ass blew you a kiss." Wonder where he got that. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I was just holding him back by the throat. Can I pick some flowers to bring to mom. There is enough racket to give the devil a headache.
And so it is, with great amusement, that girlfriend's partner of thirty-some years is leaving her for a woman with six frequent grandkids. Freeloader has no concept of cute, adorable tiny ninjas of death who are the right height to punch you in the balls. He has no experience with grandchildren, or children period. He does not like them. He does not like noise, or to be interrupted when he is watching re-runs of Jerry Springer. Kids monopolize the tv. It is best to let this happen, as the alternative is more noise.
The new living space is tight. It is likely section 8. There is no garage. Except for his storage unit, Freeloader will have no manspace to call his own. The kids will be in all his shit. No escape. The new girlfriend gets around in a golf cart. Freeloader will be picking up and dropping off kids. He has always been tight with money. He has plenty, he just doesn't want to share it. He contributed $400 a month to live with my friend. This included his own office, bedroom and pole shed. And he was ornery. Had I known, this would not have been happening. She lives paycheck to paycheck.
AND, there is a new grandbaby, freshly hatched. We wish we could see the shit show up close and personal. Freeloader reignited a decades old relationship on Facebook with a woman who had wronged him every which way to Sunday. He is over seventy. He has visions of reclaiming his studly self. She smokes. He hates smoke. Nothing like kissing an ashtray. He snores like a Harley. She talks incessantly. She is on disability. He will be the meal ticket for many.
AND, he is headed for South Carolina with his Indian motorcycle in the back of his pick up truck. He paid cash for these things. The bike is too heavy for him to manage since his back surgery. There is a record-breaking hurricane heading up the coast. His girlfriend has been biting him in the ass for days to get out there and drive her to safety. It is a two day drive and the truck is acting up. The bike will be pelted with hail. A tarp will not help, as it will beat on the bike and rub the paint raw. We think this is funny, because we are shallow that way.
He didn't even say goodbye to his cat. Weed and paraphernalia was left behind. After a lifetime of toking, he is quitting. I am amazed that guys never quit thinking with their dicks. The honeymoon will be short. We figure he will beg to come back in the spring. "You can come back to Minnesota, but not here," she will say. We will laugh and drink and smoke in the hot tub on the deck. Maybe we will take a bike trip to South Carolina to see the devastation. Stay tuned....
Showing posts with label shit show. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shit show. Show all posts
Thursday, October 6, 2016
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Men Behaving Badly
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 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.
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....
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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