The true test of a relationship is in the handling of the baggage.

  Here's the thing about people, or relationships, and personal baggage. You know, that stuff we all carry around with us from the past that really screws it up for us sometimes? Yeah, that baggage.

  We all have it, unless we're under 13. In which case, if you are, you shouldn't be reading this anyway. Ha-ha! Although, truthfully, maybe I should say "unless you're under the age of 5" because even before age 13 some of us had those first loves who broke our hearts, back when we still thought it looked like this: ♥.

BAGGAGE CARE INSTRUCTIONS:

• If you walk around with your baggage with you at all times, it's quite a burden. Let it go sometimes, or at least put some of it away if you just can't quite let it all lie. Leave it in a safe place. It will still be there. No one else wants it! Do so a little more every day. Maybe one day, you'll feel it's okay to leave it all, permanently.
• You have baggage, so does the other person. Help each other out. Take turns sharing each others burdens. If you help someone with theirs, maybe they'll help you with yours. It's quite nice to have and give help and it's a win/win.
• Your old, broken, torn-up baggage does not define you unless you allow it to. It is not worth anything, has no value whatsoever. You can dress it up a little, or pretend it's invisible (does not exist) when you're in a public setting.  Let out the you that existed before it.
• Baggage was meant to only be used when going away for a while. As we get older you learn to downsize for convenience. Learn how to get rid of it little by little until it's gone. It's not meant to carry with you, all the time, forever.
• Baggage is just part of your past. You live and learn from it, then grow and mature from it, and move on.
• When you find someone trustworthy, trust them with your baggage. Show each other that you are there to help with it, not to add to it. Maybe you can help them get rid of it little by little until it's gone and vice versa. After all, it's not worth anything, it's not pretty, and you shouldn't care what happens to it.
• Ask for help with you baggage. You've had it all by yourself forever. There's nothing wrong with asking someone else to help you out with it, if every now and then. Friends, family, loved ones not available? Get a professional. Sometimes a 'pro' is best as all the others are usually the cause of the baggage in the first place.
• Make your baggage known. It is invisible to others. We don't want people stumbling, tripping and falling over our baggage. You have to tell others what it is, where it is, and what's in it.
• If someone else's baggage is too much for you to handle. Don't give up so quickly. Keep trying. It's not necessary to "dead-lift" it all at once. Work up to it, slowly. If it still doesn't seem worth the time and effort to you... walk away and don't look back. It's for everyone's own good. I'm not saying you're a jerk for not giving assistance where it is needed. Some people just can't handle certain things.
• If someone is attempting to help you with your baggage, don't expect them to be able to handle it all at once and right away. Just have them take a little at a time and be patient. If you've given them ample time and they still just can't deal with it all, same as above: walk away and don't look back. It's for everyone's own good. It's not your fault or theirs. Some people just aren't cut out for certain jobs.

  I hope this helps at least someone out with the care of their (and others) baggage.

When staying in a motel/hotel: THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW FIRST!

I had briefly been a hotel housekeeper (HATED IT!) and these are some things I'd learned from that experience. Better than nothing, but a job that nearly killed my back and knees, and paid less than minimum wage, right?

When staying in a motel/hotel: THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW FIRST!


(This does not apply to ALL, but the lower scale the place, the more cautious you should be.)

First things first: If you are in the room between 6 a.m. and 11 a.m.- do not expect to be able to take a nap, or sleep. This is the time the housekeepers and others are cleaning, vacuuming, taking out the trash, and toting laundry and carts of supplies up and down the halls, which means a lot of up and down the hall traffic, noise, talking, constant knocks on other doors and possibly a knock on your door. When leaving between 6 a.m. and 11 a.m for the day, DO NOT put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign! You WILL NOT get new sheets, towels, products, etc. If you did NOT put out the sign, you should have had your bed remade with clean sheets, used towels removed and new ones replaced, and used products replaced with new ones, and trash removed from cans.

MOST IMPORTANT: As soon as you enter the room, DO NOT SIT ON THE BEDS! DO NOT SET YOUR STUFF ON THE BEDS! Carefully pull back the top two blankets off the beds with two fingers, and toss over to an out-of-the-way corner of the room. (Wash hands after!) This is usually a comforter and some type of thermal blanket. "WHY?" you ask.  You really wanna know? Those two covers are rarely changed, ESPECIALLY the top one, the comforter. These blankets are stripped off the beds, only to be put BACK ON the bed when the sheets are changed. (The sheets ARE to be changed daily! If you ever notice how you may sometimes see a little motel sign saying "Fresh sheets, changed daily" or something of the such... "sheets" does not mean blanket and comforter!) They will be changed, and washed, ONLY when obvious to the naked eye that it is dirty. But, then, not everyone has 20/20 vision, right? Say, someone dropped their pizza on it, or it has a *cough* wet spot. Greasy stains and bodily fluids on a crazy=patterned comforter dries and blends in quite well...you get the picture? Why do you think all motel/hotels use comforters with big, colorful designs? IT HIDES THE STAINS! And, don't use the excuse that you'll be cold/hot...the rooms have some type of heating/cooling capability. If they aren't working to your standards, what are ya doing there still?  Now, I cannot TELL you HOW many times I've seen where people have SLEPT between THESE TOP TWO SHEETS! I guess they think the SHEETS are the ones that are the dirtiest? No clue. And, it gives me the ALL-OUT WILLIES to see this! And, now...it does the same to you, too...huh? And, yes, this is the proper procedure in almost EVERY 'less than 5 star' motel/hotel! Especially any place where you're NOT spending more than a $100 a night for a room. Also, check for bed bugs. How? Pull up the corner of the bottom sheet by the headboard and look for black spots (the dried blood/droppings from the pest) or dead bugs and you can be MORE thorough by looking all around the mattress seam (the part where it's sen together) for the spots and corpses. More than likely, you will not see the actual live bugs, unless you're in the bed and they're already feasting on you. They only come out after you've warmed the bed for them.

Important Bathroom Observations:
If the shower/tub/sink or counter top is wet: (I mean obviously used recently, with water droplets and soap suds anywhere from the ceiling to the floor, or a wet shower curtain, because you CAN STILL 'get' things from touching a wet shower curtain!): it has NOT been CLEANED! Not only are these supposed to be cleaned, whether or not it looks as if the previous tenant used it, it is supposed to be DRIED after cleaning. DO NOT EVER USE WET SHAMPOO/CONDITIONER BOTTLES OR SOAP BARS! That means they were probably either left from the previous user, or sitting in water and/or cleaner for who knows how long.
Lift the toilet lid and seat (with toilet paper or a tissue): obvious signs of (usually) male use, such as urine spots or pubic hair, OR ANYTHING AT ALL in the toilet bowl (besides obvious cleaner)... NOT BEEN CLEANED!
Hair(s) of any type in the bathroom floor...duh! UNCLEAN! Should have not ONLY been swept, but mopped BY HAND, too! They don't have us tote around mops and buckets. We'd have to use a towel and tile/antibacterial cleaner...on our friggin' knees to clean all the nooks and crannies. (The hair thing also goes for the shower/bath drain and the sink area, too)

Now for some little things:
Coffee maker - check to see if there is a used filter inside. (Yes, it has happened!) I suggest to NOT USE. I saw someone clean the inside of one with the same rag they just cleaned the counter top off with, or using glass cleaner. EWW! Perhaps, if you're desperate, fill it with water, do NOT put in any type of filter, and do a full run-through. If the water seems clean and clear, you're probably safe to use it now, as any kind of cleaner that may have been used was surely heated to a good, high temperature and now flushed out. Maybe, for safety's sake... do it again? I say, if you are like me and HAVE to have coffee right out of bed, bring your own travel-size coffee-maker, and now you can bring YOUR coffee, too! Double awesome!
Carpet - should be free of obvious litter and dirt.
Windows and mirrors - well, if it matters, they should have been cleaned as well. But, it's a good sign as to whether or not the whole room was cleaned. If the housekeeper got all of the nose prints and streaks off, she was probably thorough. I lost count of how many greasy kid-sized hand prints and, sigh, adult body part prints I've cleaned off windows. When you think of it, seeing a child's tongue streak all over glass that just yesterday had obvious "adult usage" signs on it... ick!
Jacuzzi/Hot tub - same as tub/shower: free of hair and water (meaning DRY), and a clean filter as well. Black mold growing in a filter is not a good thing to take a bath in. Plus, the things people obviously do in those... you don't want that floating around in your tub and maybe *shiver* accidentally swallow some.
TV Remote, Telephone and Clock/Radio - these are hardly cleaned, and hard to REALLY clean.
Cups and Glasses - Hopefully you're lucky enough to have the plastic kind wrapped in plastic. Otherwise, they probably weren't cleaned with any more than water and/or glass cleaner.
Towels and washcloths - If the guest before you didn't use them, or at least didn't LOOK like they'd been used, they COULD be the same ones, plus clean ones of whatever they DID use to take their place. How do you know whether or not they were used? How do you know which is which? You DON'T! Even if they look clean, don't expect them to not give you anything.
Ice buckets - same as cups and glasses...if you must use, USE THE BAG INSERT! You don't know what the other people before you may have used it for. I've seen them used as trash cans, giant cups for alcohol, and portable toilets... don't ask. If you can't get one, don't use it.
Anything you can "call the front desk" for - obviously everyone has used those, too, such as hair dryers, irons, etc. I don't recall EVER having to clean a hair dryer or iron. Just told to return it to the front desk. Never thought about that until NOW! Unless it's something disposable or bought from the desk or those handy vending machines like razors and such and wrapped in some type of plastic cover, it won't be completely clean or sanitized.

NOW, HOW TO GET AROUND THESE THINGS:
Bedspreads: You CAN, if you must, pour a cup of water or other liquid on it. Since you should already have it in a far corner, you can "spill" on it over there. If you have a young child, say they accidentally 'went' on it (are they gonna sniff it?) or spilled their drink on it. Then, call the front desk and say you "accidentally" spilled your cup on the bed or what-not. Now, the COMFORTER you get in return will have to be one that was in the hotel's closet after hopefully being washed, waiting to be used as a replacement. But, if you get the middle blanket wet, too, it will at LEAST be a CLEANER blanket, but may also be one that has been occasionally used when a guest has called down for an extra blanket, possibly NOT washed afterward. Hopefully not.
Remote, Phone, Clock/Radio - Use carefully, as in washing hands after use, and not putting your fingers near face while/after using, unless you carry antibacterial wipes and wipe them down really good. Just don't go nuts and make it sopping wet, duh! FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS ON THE PACKAGE! Some say let air dry... some you can wipe dry.
Towels and Washcloths - You could ask for extras right away, and only use those, IF they allow you to. BEST solution if you're staying just one night. OR, if staying more than one night, don't shower/bathe the first night, then get all the towels and washcloths wet a bit (or not, just made to look used), and pile them all in the floor. You'll get the same results... nice, clean towels the next afternoon! Just, DON'T put out the "Do Not Disturb" sign, or you won't get any towels. Or...If you MUST shower or bathe the first night (after a good, long trip... sometimes you just gotta!), just air dry the first night, and do as previously mentioned!
Unclean tub/shower/jacuzzi/hot tub/floor, etc - call the desk and tell them RIGHT AWAY. They'll send someone, or otherwise fix the problem. WATCH THEM! They'll hate you for it, but it's your skin/health you're trusting them to.
Anything else - You'll just have to bring your own to REALLY, TRULY be sure. Sorry.
There ya go! Hey, and ENJOY YOUR STAY!

Oh:
And...don't expect any room to be totally clean...housekeepers don't get paid well. I wasn't paid by the hour (but most are), I was paid by the room. I could make anywhere from 2 to 4 rooms an hour, even though I was expected to do upwards of five to ten. But, I made sure to actually CLEAN my rooms, unlike the others. PLEASE tip your housekeeper! ESPECIALLY if you leave a lot of trash, mess up more than one bed, stay more than one night, or use every single item in the room. ---
Just like, if you go to a party at someone else's house! You don't just show up for the night, and leave without some gratitude to the host!

Thank you!

My definition of fam•i•ly

This is the actual definition from infoplease.com:




fam•i•ly




Pronunciation: (fam'u-le, fam'le), [key]
—n., pl. -lies,
—adj.


—n.
1. parents and their children, considered as a group, whether dwelling together or not.
2. the children of one person or one couple collectively: We want a large family.
3. the spouse and children of one person: We're taking the family on vacation next week.
4. any group of persons closely related by blood, as parents, children, uncles, aunts, and cousins: to marry into a socially prominent family.
5. all those persons considered as descendants of a common progenitor.
6. Chiefly Brit.approved lineage, esp. noble, titled, famous, or wealthy ancestry: young men of family.
7. a group of persons who form a household under one head, including parents, children, and servants.
8. the staff, or body of assistants, of an official: the office family.
9. a group of related things or people: the family of romantic poets; the halogen family of elements.
10. a group of people who are generally not blood relations but who share common attitudes, interests, or goals and, frequently, live together: Many hippie communes of the sixties regarded themselves as families.
11. a group of products or product models made by the same manufacturer or producer.
12. Biol.the usual major subdivision of an order or suborder in the classification of plants, animals, fungi, etc., usually consisting of several genera.
13. Slang.a unit of the Mafia or Cosa Nostra operating in one area under a local leader.
14. Ling.the largest category into which languages related by common origin can be classified with certainty: Indo-European, Sino-Tibetan, and Austronesian are the most widely spoken families of languages. Cf. stock (def. 12), subfamily (def. 2).
15. Math.
a. a given class of solutions of the same basic equation, differing from one another only by the different values assigned to the constants in the equation.
b. a class of functions or the like defined by an expression containing a parameter.
c. a set.




  To me, family is not just the people you are genetically related to. Family is a group of people whom you love and care about, who also express and return the same feelings to you.


  This does not apply if you are pretending to be someone you're truly not, even if you try really hard to be that person, with good intention. Well, even with bad intention, this statement is still true, right? Let's say, you are attempting to fit into a group of people (for argument's sake we'll give a good example, a church, and a bad example, a gang). In either group, those people would probably not feel the same way about you if you cannot, or choose not to, abide by their rules. To most of them, you would no longer exist. Others may still greet you in public, maybe a little head nod as they look around to see if anyone else is looking, but in both cases, there would never really be that same closeness you had, or would have had, if you'd fully made yourself into one of them. Although, a lot of people, in my experiences, can put up one hell of a front and keep people fooled for, well, ever. That takes a lot of work! I am just not capable of doing such for very long, though.


  Most people, these days I think, talk of family as definition #4. In my little world, I consider it to be  #10. Does that make me a hippie? So be it. I'd rather be a hippie, then. Peace and free love! LOL So, for future reference, when reading this please keep in mind that I am referring to family as the people I consider to be my kind of family, and not just people with relative DNA or surnames. I have many people with a genetic link to me that I do not consider family in any way. Reason for that will be stated in the latter of this blog entry.


  Family will make mistakes, but it is up to us, as human beings, to realize that none of us are perfect, and we all make mistakes. We learn from our mistakes and strive to do better the next time. I've made many of my own, and will surely make more, but I learn from them, are forgiven for them, forgive others of theirs, and we all move on. Not always. I can't help but sometimes not ever 'get over' some things. But like I said, none of us are perfect and I try to always 'forgive and forget'. It's just not always possible, yet I do try to mend the things (a very slow process) that aren't forgiven and forgotten in my mind and heart.


  Family does not turn it's back on family because of someone expressing their thoughts and feelings. Family will listen and express thoughts and feelings in return. I may not agree with the way a family member is living their life, but it is THEIR life to live in the manner they choose. Think about it, if you don't agree with their lifestyle, they OBVIOUSLY don't agree with yours, but did they turn YOU away? I'd hope not. If so, don't give up. Keep trying, just not too hard. It could be a complete waste of your time and energy and annoying to them. Although, there is family that I do not turn away, but I do what I call "tough love". I'll keep my distance in the hopes that they eventually improve or I forget whatever it was that started the problem. Usually it's for the sake of the health, safety and sanity of my immediate family. I do not apologize for this, as no one should feel guilt for. These people I live with on a daily basis are much more important to me than those people who are harmful in any way, as my children are the most important people in my life for EVER. (Yes, the space is appropriate between for and EVER.) They rely upon me, and only me, for life, health, and a proper upbringing. All the others already had their chance for this. It's not my fault or responsibility if others had it wrong or made it that way themselves.
And, these people have been given many chances to right the wrongs or to change their attitude toward certain people and things but just refuse to fix the problem. I do not like being made to feel as though I am the problem and need to change when I am not the one with the problem. Jeebs, I feel the need to explain so as not have people getting all ranty and ravey with me. For example, a person, genetically-related to me is an addict to something which is illegal to have in your possession or use to an illegal extent. This person refuses to get any help or try to be a better person but also is expecting ME to change my belief that this is harmful to them self and others in contact with them and just plain wrong because it is ILLEGAL and I am supposed to accept them and their bad habits and allow my immediate family, including my children, to be around them. I could give so many examples, but it would start being obvious who I was talking about.


  Family is there when you need them the most (although, not always there for everything) even if they have no real way to help, they're supporting you by just being there, even if not physically. Family is there even when you don't need anything at all.


  Family isn't about giving, having or taking money (Which of course leads to: do not 'loan' money to family. You either give it to them and accept the fact you will not get it back or do not give it to them at all. Okay? Thanks.), material things, the way you look and dress, or being better at something than someone else. Family is about loving each other, in spite of having/not having, being/not being these things. 


(I accept that this paragraph seems pretty off base, but I kept it here anyway. It does explain my relation to the above paragraph, to be honest.)


  I am a person who prefers the simple life. Sure, I wouldn't turn down a brand new Ferrari or Escalade (if I could afford to keep one), or an expansive house full of expensive furniture and kitchen appliance, but I am not like most people in the fact that the type of house or vehicle I would choose, if I could, is one that is not new, or all flashy (because the vehicles now have so many computerized parts, bells and whistles that it takes ONLY a specially-trained mechanic to work on them... meaning you must pay big bucks for the part AND more big bucks for the repair and a modern home is just so "Blah"). Let's just make it easier for you to decide: My choice of vehicles would definitely be either an early 80s car (stock or slightly race-modified) or an older model truck turned into a large-and-in-charge muddin' truck. As far as a house, a nice, older home, medium-sized (maybe 3 bedrooms, 2 baths) with a bit of yard. I'd prefer to have many acres of woods, but I am just hoping. Oh, yeah...that's IF I had my wish come true. I'm not holding my breath, expecting to get these things ANY time soon.

The Amish, Orange Triangles and Freedom of Religion Clash

  Here's something that has been going on in the news, at least around here, for a while.

Amish Buggies, the Orange Triangle Sign, and Freedom of Religion CLASH

  Basically, the Amish, by law are to post a big, bright orange, triangle reflector on the back of their buggies. Most of them are refusing to do so, as it is man-made, their safety is protected by God, and the bright color conflicts with their religious belief of being conservative.

  I'm kind of in the middle about this.

  They have the right to express their religious beliefs, to follow their religion to the letter and to ride in buggies. But, it doesn't mean they should be above the law. 

  It's for their own safety. But, it doesn't stop people who don't pay attention to the road or drunk drivers from running into them, especially at night. And neither do all the rules and safety regulations for a vehicle stop people from running into another car, which is why we call it an "accident". 

  If they believe God is the only form of safety they need, as do many others who drive vehicles every day, then that's their, or would it be God's, fault if something happens, right? So, they can't sue the person who caused the accident. "An act of God" look it up in your insurance papers. I don't know if it would apply to them that way, since I assume they don't have insurance... does anyone know?

  I am not bashing them. I love them. They make fabulous foods! Never met one, in person. I've seen a few around here shopping at Walmart (yeah, some of them do that here) and am always in a hurry, but even if I took the time to talk to them... would they? No idea. I sort of idolize them for doing all, or at least most, of it the old-fashioned way. If there was a complete, world-wide black out (no electricity) I am immediately moving in one of them and will be their personal slave to learn how to exist their way.

  They'll probably be one of the few kinds of people left! 

  Think about it...

Round One and a Half (trust me, you'll see.)

  Picking up right after all that happened in the post  Aftermath of Round One; it was sometime in early 1997. I had by now turned 21 and was nearing 22.

  I was still working for my Dad at his convenience store in a little town that hardly no one knew existed except the 100 or so people that lived and worked there. Yes, worked there because right behind the store was a huge factory run by a family. On their breaks the workers would usually make a quick drive down the road a bit to come in and get snacks, food, sodas, smokes... the usual. They didn't all get a break at the same time. Seeing the same people over and over helped me get back into the world. I started to get to kind of know these people and would have quick chats with them while they browsed the candy or filled up their soda cup, which helped pull me out of my shell.

  I am a turtle in new situations. I easily retract into my shell and seem to ignore the world, although I am really paying attention to everything going on around me. Listening to whatever conversations I can hear and watching people out of the corner of my eyes (as is explained in my An Introduction to me). It doesn't matter if I am there with someone or alone in a new situation, I will sit and stare at whatever is available. A television (hopefully on), the jukebox, a wall, something, anything or nothing at all until someone gets my attention. Hopefully that someone is not offensive to me like perhaps a smelly, greasy-looking drunk or a perverted old man who keeps touching me. You know, those kinds of people.

  There were mostly men who worked at this plant, and there were a few good-looking ones, but happened to also be married or be in some sort of relationship. I do not bother with that sort of thing. It's just not kosher, in my book, to knowingly do such. (Oh, yes. I've done it UN-knowingly but once I found out, I would passive-aggressively just stop seeing him. No, that never seemed to bother them meaning I wasn't the only one or he'd just find another.) I was also on the lookout for female friends to hang out with, but the ones employed there seemed to be, why bother putting it nicely, whores. They dressed in barely nothing, even when it was cold, publicly made out with multiple guys in the same day, went home with different guys after work in the same week, AND had children they never seemed to take care of (they'd bring their into the store covered in dirt, with snotty noses, and either ignored them or yelled at them), which disgusted me. I'd have loved to bitch-slapped those girls who do not deserve to be called women. Women take care of their children FIRST and their needs come LAST. *grumble*

  Many guys there flirted with me; Old men who were divorced or widowed (no thanks), guys my age but acted like perpetual horn-dogs chasing either their own tails or the tail of any female (really, no thanks), and guys who were just gross (smelly, seemed to be on drugs, always drunk, physically dirty all the time, greasy and even all the above). I'd even told a few guys, who were all together doing a 'group flirt' at me that I was not that desperate to get laid, I had capable hands and was ambidextrous. They were confused. Score one for me, -3 for them. SMH

  There was one guy who was cute and seemed quite fun-loving. He was a bit on the short side, almost 5'2" and I am 5'6", compared to my usual liking, and drove a big, beat up truck. Uh huh, a little guy in a big truck. I always thought that was funny as hell, but I started throwing out signals to him to see if he'd bite and I'd ask others about him to see if he was single, because after a while I was wondering if he was taken and just enjoying being flirted with. I'd have respected that and pursued no further. Everyone I asked said he was single. Gay? I don't bother asking, but a guy in a big truck which usually came in on Mondays covered in mud could not be gay, right? I wouldn't think so.

  It was months of flirting, and this guy only accepted the flirtations, never flirting back. I'd had enough. One day he came in during one of his breaks, and there was no other customers in the store. Maybe he was shy, so this would be the perfect timing for him to do something. I talked to him as he walked about the store, getting some chips and a soda. I told him I thought his truck was cool, he thanked me. I mentioned that I noticed that he likes to go mudding, he did. Then he paid and left. This was just annoying. He seemed young, so maybe he's just not that experienced in this stuff. I decided, along with a couple girls who worked with me, that the extreme direct approach was necessary. If I got shot down, I can move on to another. I wrote my phone number on a piece of paper and waited until he came down here for lunch with the rest of the bunch, if/when he came in, I would just give it to him.

  That's exactly what I did, too. Along with saying "Call me, maybe we can get together some time?" The place ruptured into a bunch of "Yeah"s, "Get'cha some"s and "Go for it"s. He had no choice, now, but also had a whole store cheering him on. His face turned beet red, as did mine.

  Later that day, he called. We talked. I asked him how old he was, he said 19. He asked me the same, so I said "How old do you think I am?":

Him: "Eighteen."

Me: "No, I'm 21 almost 22."

Why does this little conversation matter? You will see.

  After a few dates (Yes, real dates!) we got to know each other. I felt, as I usually do, compelled to tell him all about myself. Oh, yeah. All of the bad stuff, too. He listened, without seeming put off by the horrible events of my past nor being overly sympathetic toward me, which is off putting for me. He met my dad and his wife, I met his father and step-mother, whom he lived with, and his mother and older sister, all of whom seemed to like us being together. 

  It wasn't much later that I was about to have my 22nd birthday. Apparently this made him feel the push to confess to me that he was not 19:

Me: "So, how old are you?"

Him: "Eighteen."

Me: "That's not a big deal. It's one year difference. Why would you make that up?"

Him: "Because I'm really only SEVENTEEN."

Me: "What the hell?"

Him: "I just couldn't tell you how old I was."
Me: "Why not?"

Him: "I thought you were 18, because you have to be 18 to work there, right? And I wanted to go out with you, but most girls want an older guy, so I lied to be older than you."

Me: "That's where you're wrong, sweetie. First of all, to sell alcohol you have to be 21 and I'm the cashier. Second, I'm not like most girls. So, how's that working out for you since you know I'm about to be 22?" I said with a smile.

Him: "So, uh, you're okay with it?"

Me: "As long as you don't bust out and tell me you're really 16... it's okay. So, you're not are you?"

Him: "Here's my driver's license," producing it as fast as he possibly can. "You can even ask my mom and dad. I swear I'm 17. I'll be 18 in a couple months," pointing to his birthdate on the ID.

It was cute and funny. How could I be mad? This also led to him telling me he was still a virgin. And, in my sick, perverted head... this... was... AWESOME. Also explained why even when I played the song "Pony" by Ginuwine whilst singing it out loud to him, constantly, he didn't get the hint. Now, let's get to the latter part of this interesting ride.

  We had been going out, seriously and monogamously for a few months. It was now his 18th birthday, I was already 22, which was a trip to a fabulous hotel where a cool band (to me) was playing. I treated it as a gift to myself, too. It was Starship with Survivor and an 'other band I can never remember the name to' (No, they weren't all original. This wasn't the late 70s or early 80s.) were playing in the hotel lounge. He insisted on bringing his friend, who he worked with, and that guy's new girlfriend, one of the before-mentioned whores. Yay. That was okay, though. I had all this paid for in advance and they were unable to get tickets to go to the so-called concert so they had to go to the other hotel bar, which played only country music. Ha, and ha. (P.S. I didn't like country at all back then.) *check!* Afterwards, we all met up and decided to go back up to our rooms because by now it was nearly midnight and almost time for him and I to celebrate his 'coming of age'. I stopped at a little store they also had in the hotel to get a six-pack of beer, some Southern Comfort and Coke. (I love Southern Comfort and Coke!) She was not of age and asked me to share some with her. Ah, hell to the no. She was lucky that her dude was willing and able to buy it for her. *and, MATE!* Yes, it was his best birthday ever, and he was now a man in every description, to a fellow man. *wink, wink* 

  Our relationship kept going strong. He was still very nice and considerate, but a bit needy. Okay. A LOT needy. I once broke up with him (before his birthday), and he cried. It was about a day later, I started dating him again, like nothing happened. What did I expect? I took it upon myself to date a guy, who was basically still a boy, living with his parents, never out on his own, and expected him to just turn into a man. Duh! Never happens. In my defense, I had never attempted it, and was not as aware of this until the present. I had been out on my own, kind of, sharing an apartment or three with friends, paying my own bills, taking care of myself without relying upon my parents, most of the time. Even my divorce was done all by myself, well, my side of it, and BADLY, I now realize. This guy had never had to deal anything on his own. He even had a talk with his sister and her husband about the matter of having sex: what to do , how to do it, etc which grossed me out a little. (That truth came out when I noticed him lingering a bit much in my down below the first time. He was told to 'check it out to make sure I was female and for bumps, scabs, and smells to make sure I wasn't a whore'. Wow!)

  After us being together for almost a year, and also living together for about half that time, he'd proposed to me and, of course, I accepted. We were thrilled and celebrating with mucho gusto. I was on the pill because I did not want to get pregnant. We were invited to go out with a couple of his friends to hang out at a local bar. I was drinking, he was driving. It got late, I got really drunk, so we went back home and celebrated as much as my tummy would allow. Apparently, a lot. The next day, I felt awful. I had way too much to drink and was paying the price. It continued the next day. And the next. This was weeks after New Year's Eve, and I drank plenty that night, too. THIS did not happen then. I got worried when I'd noticed that I hadn't taken my 'pill' for almost a week and my hangovers never lasted this long. Immediate trip to the store to buy a *gulp* pregnancy test. It... was... positive. This made me almost faint. I may have without splashing cold water on my face. I threw up, again.

  This was not mentioned before, but my body does NOT like being pregnant. It lets me know it, too, almost immediately, as you now see. I have been pregnant, to date, four times. The first was a miscarriage, and the second was almost full term. My last two were completely full term, and vaginally birthed, thank goodness. With every one, it was within days of conception that I became nauseous to the point of vomiting many times a day. It would last the entire pregnancy. Nope. Not just a month or two of morning sickness. My children were months of torturous vomiting, fainting and dizziness spells with some hyperventilating thrown in for fun when I got a little too stressed. Woohoo! With all that going on, I suggested we should wait until after the baby was born to get married. No way was I going to throw up during a wedding, especially my own.

  This time, I had chosen a real doctor. An OB/GYN. He was amazing. He prescribed me some pills that I could take for the vomiting, which I didn't take much. They made me so sleepy. (Also worked great for the massive headaches being pregnant caused to make worse, too.) And, since taking the prenatal vitamins just made me throw them back up immediately, he suggested me try to take half of one. If that didn't help, which it did not, I shouldn't take them or anything else which made the vomiting worse. I had quit smoking, too, except for maybe one or two a week. The doctor was fine with that, too. There were no complications, and our daughter was born just fine in late 1998. Once again, I'd proved the previous doctor was so wrong.

  Somewhere around here, I was forced to quit the convenience store, because dad sold his half to a guy who was scared of my overwhelming knowledge of the store. So, this being a possible complicated pregnancy, I just took the time off, getting unemployment.

  It wasn't until right after the birth of our daughter, the father of my child and soon to be husband decided to have a really early mid-life crisis, of sorts. After a couple weeks of giving birth, I was ready to start working again. And I was, full time, as an Assistant Manager at a fast food restaurant, nearby, working some early mornings, opening and some nights, closing. It was tough but it paid good and got me out of the house with people. Every time I worked nights and came home around 3am, I'd come home to her screaming, crying in her crib while he soundly slept in the room right next to it. I was also taking the child to daycare, picking her up, and doing all the housework, making the meals, paying the bills, while our daughter was diagnosed with Gastrointestinal Esophageal Reflux Syndrome (Apparently incorrectly, as I now know it was actually Infantile Hypertrophic Pyloric Stenosis). Damn doctors. (And, no, this cannot be blamed on my occasional cigarette as her father now has a son which was born with the same thing, thank you.) This meant every time she was fed it was immediately followed by profuse projectile vomiting. Yes, EVERY TIME. Every few hours that she'd be fed. No, she didn't just "spit up", she'd vomit and it would fly (or be "projected") for a couple feet or so. All over her, her clothes, me, my clothes, the floor, furniture, blankets... whatever was in the way. And I was the one who had to feed her, change her clothes, clean her up, clean up the mess, and do at least a couple loads of laundry a day IF I managed to have the time to get around to it. All the while, he was going out with his friends, bowling, playing paintball, drinking, hanging out at bars (No, he was still not yet 21.) and coming home late. After a while, when I had money put back for bills, it started to disappear. We shared a bank account and I found out that not only was he not depositing his check, but also withdrawing money. Now, I was fine with it before that, I was allowing him to have some fun because he was young, and I was busy trying to be a good mother and soon to be wife. My paycheck alone was enough to pay the bills and get stuff for the baby, but basically stealing the money for bills, too? Oh, hell no! I was forced to buy a pack of cigarettes to calm down. I smoked a few, over the stove, with the vent on, while my daughter slept. 

  Our daughter was about four months old when I'd found this out and decided to put a stop to this shit. I immediately stopped depositing my checks, and was only cashing them. By this time, I'd gotten a different job, working with my dad at a grocery store, in a management position and had to only work days. This helped me out a lot with getting things done SO Much easier, and I needed all the help I could get.

  I had the next two days off of work, doing the usual errands, groceries, bills (paid by cash I had) and the laundromat, then dishes and housework, and of course, I'd took care of our daughter, too. He did not come home after work. (Seems like an odd coincidence and a repeating thing for me, don't it?) It was about 3am the next morning when he came home. I confronted him about all that's been going on, with me, him, and our daughter, the money, not getting any help in any way from him. This was a bitch-rant that went on for about an hour, probably. Back and forth, yada, yada, blah, blah. I'd finally had enough of his passive-aggressive bull and asked if he still wanted to get married. Yeah, he was drunk, by the way:

Him: "Not if you're going to keep being a bitch."

Me: "I'm being a bitch? You're the one being a bitch, sweetie. I'm the one cleaning up your messes, feeding your face, paying your bills, and taking care of our daughter while I get no respect or help from you. That's what a bitch is. You're the one who's completely checked out of not only this relationship, but on being a father, as well and decides to take money from the family which was supposed to be for paying the bills and getting groceries. That's what a bitch does."

Him: "Well, then. I guess not, huh?"

Me: "You 'guess not' what? 'Guess' we're not getting married?"

Him: "Yep."

Me: "Alright then, we're done."

Him: "Just like that?"
Me: "Hell, yes. Just like that."

Him: "No crying, begging, nothing?" (Awww. He's confused.)
Me: "You've been talking this shit over with the wrong mother fuckers, huh? No. THIS momma don't play those games. I'm out. I've got a daughter to raise, not a little boy, too."

(See? He only deserves a half as he was not man enough to be legally wed to me.) LOL

  I ended up moving in with my dad and their family, again, for a few weeks, then got another place of my own and was doing just fine raising my daughter alone.

  

  

I Love World Of Warcraft, but...

  World of Warcraft is an online game that I love to play. (I suggest if you want to know what it is, to Google it, because all I want to do right now is rant, not explain the fun of the game. Sorry.) If I could I'd play it all day, every day. The assumed fact is that only geeks and nerds (yes, Virginia, there is a difference between the two) play games such as these. It could be right, but I don't consider myself a nerd, maybe a little geeky, though. Hubster and I have our computers sitting right next to each other in the front room so that when we're playing, we can help each other out (usually me helping him) by looking up things on Wowhead or Wowiki or explain quest objectives, etc.
  I'd love to sit in front of the computer screen constantly killing monsters, beasts, demons, and other people but  the dishes would never get done and the kids would walk around looking like starved pigs. Hubster is the one who got me started on this game about 4 years ago, and I have rarely gone more than a few days without playing. There have been long stretches, and it was very boring. Unlike most of the people that play, I prefer to go solo. I do not like doing anything with a group for very long. Sometimes I'll enlist the help of hubster with something every now and again, but it doesn't last more than a couple hours total to either help me kill a really high level boss or when he insists on running me through some dungeons, just him and I, to get me up some levels. (Always on his suggestion, due to his boredom. I'd just rather go about it the slow and solo way, but I give in an help him feel useful sometimes.) He, on the other hand, LOVES to do the dungeons, raids and PVP. All of which requires a group. He is even in a guild, another thing I do not care at all about (does nothing extra for me since I prefer to solo).
  Why do I not like doing anything requiring a group? Before it was because I'd get annoyed with the people in the group with me. Maybe it's just me, but it gets quite annoying when people just constantly type their bitches and complaints about this person not doing it this way or this person's not doing good enough, yada, yada. Then came this wonderful invention (sarcasm implied) called Ventrilo. This damn program allows the people playing the game to talk to each other, from all over the world, via microphone. Since hubster is in a guild, as soon as he gets on the game, he ques up with the vent (which is short for Ventrilo) and all the members who are on start with their chit-chat. OMFG This gets on my damn nerves! As I am sitting there, trying to mind my own business and concentrate on the game, all I can hear is constant chatter about meaningless bullshit going on with the other jack-offs online at that moment.
  I have all the housework done already, along with the errands I needed to do today, done JUST so I could sit and play for the rest of the day at least until the kids got home. Just now, as I was sitting there, enjoying my time doing the quests by myself, it was all fine until hubster decided he was bored trying to level a low-level character and switched to his maxed level one and do some group things with the people on. So, he switches on the vent. INSTANT annoyance. There's one chick going on and on about how she's going to run out of cigarettes before her husband gets home, there's a happy baby in the background, and another guy who's on needs to look up some person because he smokes his cigarettes through one of those old-fashioned filters... GGGGAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU CHATTY BITCH! I cannot concentrate with all that damn talking going on right next to me. Yes, this game requires significant concentration. This is why I prefer to play when the kids are at school and hubster is at work. The kids want to watch by literally getting right next to me and asking multiple questions and hubster wants to constantly pressure me into letting him "help" by running me though dungeons to get me leveled up faster or going on other group raids, etc to get better armor, etc. I JUST WANT TO PLAY. ALONE!
  I got so annoyed with the blah, blah, blah, blah, blah that I exited the game. Hubster says, "What are you doing?" "I'm done. I can't concentrate with all that fucking talking going on." I am now sitting here on the laptop across the room and blogging about it. I thought for a minute, as it loaded up, that I need to show hubster what was so annoying about it. Hubster is sitting there playing the game, in the middle of a group boss mob trying to not get killed. So, I started a random conversation that went a little something like "You hear this movie that's going on in the background? It's Apollo 13. It's a movie about astronauts who are on a space shuttle trip to the moon for the first time. What is happening is that they're up in space and there's an explosion..." His character gets killed. LOL He turns around and yells "WHAT THE FUCK!?" I reply, "See? It's not easy to play the game while all you can hear in the background is a bunch of endless nonsense chatter, is it? Sure, they all shut up when you're all grouped up doing something, but while I'm actually playing the game the whole time, they're talking about anything BUT the game and they're NOT playing! But, it's all fine if it annoys me, right? Then, there's something that annoys you and suddenly peace and quiet are important. Huh?"
  Yeah. I'm sure he still doesn't get it, but I got revenge and that's what matters. Yes it does matter.

Notice: Hubster = Husband

I'd just like to let everyone who comes here to read my blog to know that I will not be only posting bitch-rants about my exes. This is just a beginning. Believe me, I have much more to share. Such as:

  Hubster is in the construction business. He lays brick, block and stone and is damn good at it. For the past week, he has been planning to FINALLY start on a side job (one where he does the work either himself and gets a paycheck all to himself or if it's a larger job, hires fellow workers for a certain pay out of what he gets for the job) that had been offered to him months ago.
  Here's one of the idiocracies (Yes, a real word. Plain and simple definition: stupid or idiotic things) about him. This man considers anyone and everyone who will have a beer with him a buddy, a friend, and will respect them to no end. (Even if it's a son-of-a-bitch ex-boss who took thousands of dollars out of his paycheck over many, many years in the form of Social Security AND Child Support then... never... sent... it... in... with the last name Stroder who may have been reported to the IRS by an anonymous source and within a year had everything taken from him and his family by this government and is now bankrupt and cannot get or keep a job because everyone around knows he's a liar, a cheat and a thief. No, he never got any of that money back and I'm sure he never will.) Oh, wow. That was a hell of a rant, right? Anyhoo... in other words, he's quite loyal to ya, IF you have a dick. Don't ask. We'll get to that some other time, okay? I promise.
  Almost every man he has ever worked with is a "buddy", so to speak, unless that guy is lazy, whiny or just too dumb to comprehend the work. His phone contact list has more people than I have "family". The guy that is his boss, the one right under the owner (as there's not many in a small company) is a guy he's known for many years and has hung out with many times on one of those "guy's nights", sometimes too intoxicated to come home. (Yes, I do not like that guy.) I also do not like him because I have a strange feeling that he is underhanded and sneaky, and hubster does NOT get it. There have been SO many occasions where this guy would take hubster out drinking, and when hubster drinks... not only does he talk A LOT but he talks out of his ass, and ALL his buddies know this. I am sure he does this on a regular basis to get whatever information he possibly can to use against him in any way. For example, there was a time when hubster was upset with the owner and was considering quitting. The very next day, the owner magically knew about it and called hubster to make sure he was coming in to work the next day. Another example went exactly the same way as the first example. Seeing a pattern here? I was, too. I have tried to explain it all to him, in as simple a way as I could, yet nothing. Why? Because this is a man, and men can be trusted. Well, he hasn't actually said that, per se, but this is what I have assumed for quite some time, 4 years, now.
  Here's one more example which JUST happened this week. It was a Friday, and they weren't supposed to be working the next day, Saturday, and surely not on a Sunday. He got off work at 11am due to freezing temperature and that guy didn't get off work for a couple or so more hours, but after hubster came home for about an hour, then he had to leave to do some stuff for that side job he planned for this weekend. That guy tried to get him to stay and work more, but I'm sure hubster told him he had to go do something having to with that side job and that he planned on starting it this weekend, which made that guy call and call, to do his usual thing. (Let me add, this guy is like a crazy ex-girlfriend. He will call over and over and over, at any hour of the day or night, even all weekend long just to talk to him and constantly try to convince hubster to come to the bar, or come to his house. And once he's got him there, hubster is helpless to stay and drink until too drunk to leave. I fucking hate that guy. Yes, hubster has a part in this game and is also to blame which, trust me, I let him know!) Obviously, while hubster was out and about, doing his thing, he answered the phone while that guy was calling him, probably just to shut him up. I don't know for sure. (Another guess I have about hubster, is men have some kind of magical affect in their voices upon him. I sure can't get any sort of response out of him like a talking man can. *shrug* As soon as a man speaks, he has no control over himself and will do whatever they say. It's MAGIC!) Of course, hubster ended up going and hanging out with him and some of the other buddies and didn't get home until almost 9pm even though he'd said he wanted to hurry up and get back home. (Mmm hmm.) When he arrived, he was pretty lit up. He, then, told me that suddenly they have to work tomorrow. On a Saturday. When the temperature will not get above freezing until almost noon. (When it's freezing temperature or below, they can't lay anything with mud, or grout as most people call it. You can, but it takes a certain kind of additive to keep it from freezing and it's not cheap, plus it's just miserable as hell to work in those conditions.) I asked him if he'd told that guy about his side job. Hubster paused a bit, which tells me he was thinking. Thinking of whether he tells me the truth or what else he could say, instead. (Pretty obvious when he's been drinking.) He said no. I think to myself "we shall see" as he will not remember this conversation tomorrow and I will try again. (I am so damn sneaky!)
  When he comes from home from work today, he's pissed because they have to work Sunday. Keeping back the giggle, yet frustration at that guy, I ask, "Did you tell ------- about your side job this weekend?" To this, he replies "Well, yeah. Why?" Still holding back giggle/frustration, "Well, isn't that odd that he's known about your side job all along, yet it's up to him whether or not you all have to work and he decides to go ahead and make sure you are working on his job, instead?" Here, he turns into Scooby-Doo. You know, the tilted head, look of confusion and the "urrhhnn" sound. Once again, I have to just let it lay in his mind, hoping it sinks in... but, it just slides right back out of his ear. Maybe if I smack him hard enough....?

Aftermath of Round One

  Okay, so I graduated high school and married that first jerk in 1993, had my son in 1994. So, it was either late 1994 or early 1995 when my first divorce was final. Yes, I dated a bit. Not much. A boyfriend here and here, but nothing that lasted very long. Just trying to get the year straight.
  My life was full of craziness for the next year. A lot of going out and staying out. A lot of binge drinking. A lot of promiscuity. Not much thought about the future. Not much care about anything or anyone, especially myself, except my little sister. I still tried to take care of her, as our parents were going through their divorce, too. Mom was working as hard as she could to desperately keep the house we'd been living in for many years. I had moved in with them, of course, to try to help out as much as I could. It was to no avail.
  After a while, the parents' divorce was finally over. It took more than a year, as it had started before my divorce even came about, possibly even while I was pregnant. Not completely sure. This seemed to make them both happy, but I was living with mom and not really seeing much of dad, but he had a girlfriend and seemed happy. Mom started dating, which would have been nice if they weren't all a bunch of losers. The guys she'd move in with us were my age or not much older than I, but they acted like the kind of teenage boys a girl knew to stay away from unless all you wanted was a one night stand and maybe an STD. *shiver*
  She was having an apparent mid-life crisis, and I was being rebellious, at 20 years old. I didn't get to really express myself much as a kid/teen. I went to school, got almost all good grades, (except in my last two years, due to Geometry. I had an A+ AVERAGE in Algebra, but Geometry just pissed me off, and the prep/rich-kid loving teacher didn't help much, either, as I was not one.) had a part-time job that I went to nearly every day, and also came home to do homework and the housework mom insisted we do, all the while trying to have a social life and do what I could for my sister who was probably 13 at the time. Tough age for all kids.
  About six months into this crisis of ours, mom had been gone for more than a few days with a new fling and went a little overboard on the 'fun' and came back home. She did call once, to ask me to do her "route" for her, her job, because she wasn't able to. I tried, but did not succeed, as I had no idea what I was doing. Later, she got fired when someone notified a boss that I was doing it, not her, and it was done wrong. During those days, which was the beginning of the weekend, I'd allowed my sister to spend the night down the street with her friend and I went out with my friends for the night. I had planned on being home that same night, but fell asleep at my friend's house. It was the weekend, and I'd assumed my mother would still take full advantage of it, as well. When I came back the following afternoon, I think my mother was already home and she was really mad. She started yelling at me because she didn't know where my sister was, so I told her. She was still mad. She yelled at me for not being home, too, and that I was going out too much and being completely irresponsible, to which I told her I was an adult and, like her, was old enough to do what I chose. Also pointing out to her that I had quit my job in respect of her, had been helping her pay her bills and not getting any of the money from my paychecks that I earned, doing all her housework, and taking care of her daughter. That made her even more mad.
  In the end, to make this story short and keep it close to PG and non-violent, she told me to get out. I had to "move out the house, now, and never come back" and that I "had better get all my shit because whatever is left is going to be burned with the rest of the trash" she said. I called friend after friend after friend for help moving out. Finally, I just called someone I knew had their own place, who had a friend with a truck I could use, too. Before I'd left, I pulled my sister to the side, knowing that our mother was on a rampage, drunk and possibly worse, that if anything happened she needs to go to her friend's house down the street, and tell an adult. Then, I gave her the address and phone number of the place I'm moving to so she can contact me, too.
  This friend I moved in with was female with an infant daughter, and about ten random 'children', all from the area. None of them actually lived there, but they stayed there a LOT, and I soon found out why. Not only was my friend confused about her life and very busy trying to pay bills while taking care of her daughter, but she was allowing these kids/people to run her and her house over like a doormat in the middle of a highway and she needed help getting this mess cleaned up, including these ingrates. This was her house, and it was a beautiful house, a two-story with basement Victorian-style. The kind of house I'd die for with old wood trim, shutters and a porch. She was working at least 40 hours a week, and I'd quit my last job, being assistant to my mother as manager because they'd fired her. (Well, she did test "dirty", and still to this day, I'm sure she denies it. I don't know what the truth was, but it honestly doesn't matter to me anymore.) This new roommate of mine was happy to take me in, as I was grateful, and I showed her my appreciation. She had no one to watch her daughter some days except for the kids who 'visited' for most of the day, so I did so for her, since I now knew how. (Seems like irony, right?) There was a mound of laundry in the basement no less than 5 foot high by 5 foot wide... I kid you NOT... which I washed, dried and folded in a few days, for many hours straight at a time. I also went grocery shopping with her. She had a few bucks to spend, food stamps, and vouchers for baby formula. I showed her how to get the most food for the money she had. She insisted on making a real dinner for the four people that actually lived there (her, me, her female-husband, and that girl's brother whom I kind of dated until his girlfriend came back to town. Yeah, another fun mess I shall not delve into for your sake and mine). I helped her get so much food with her little bit of money, she was so happy. I also made the dinner for us four and showed her that you do NOT boil all meat, except for maybe hot dogs. Apparently, her step-mother did not know how to cook. She said her step-mom boiled almost everything when she cooked: the meat and vegetables. Weird. We also will not get into the explanation of how my friend was at one point straight, got pregnant, then soon after became a lesbian, whom I know now has at least one, maybe two more children at this moment. But she claimed she was not bi-sexual, just a lesbian now.  Even I never understood fully. I did not have to, though. It was her life.
  After a few months of living there, my friend had her baby taken away by her father and step-mother, as she needed to be, because she was not caring for her. I was. During those few months, my friend had lost all control of the people who started staying there all hours of the day and night, especially on the weekends and also of herself. These stupid kids started bringing over booze and drugs, getting wasted and having sex all over her house, and she was joining them in all of it. She had asked me to come to the court hearing and testify on her behalf. I refused to get involved, but I didn't tell her that it was because I would be lying if I did that.
  After her baby was gone, I fell into a deeper depression. I missed her daughter, along with my feelings of redemption for what happened to my son, and I missed my son. I hadn't eaten since the first couple weeks I'd moved in and made that one dinner for us all and those damn kids ate all the rest of the food we'd spent all that time getting as much of as we could to last as long as possible. Even the teething biscuits for the baby and yes, she was teething and needed them at the time. My friend had missed her appointment to reapply for the food stamps and her female-husband had stolen the rest of her money. So, I, too started drinking. Drugs, no thanks, even though they all tried really hard. I did try what they told me was pot, but it had no effect on me, and I'm sure it was actually basil from the little boy, about 12 years old, next door. I was drinking just straight alcohol, with the money my mother gave me and the cigarettes she bought me. Oh, yeah, she'd come visit me for a bit and drop these off to me. She never recalled kicking me out, and thought I had willingly moved in with this friend, although this was not realized by her until years after the fact. After a while, I started hiding my alcohol, cigarettes and any money I'd been given because the idiot kids would steal them. This went on for about four more months. I don't really remember much of it, but the one time I do remember was where I knew I'd hit my rock bottom. I'd lost about twenty pounds. I was about 160ish the last time I weighed myself before moving here and now I could almost fit into my friend's old size 2 jeans that she couldn't wear anymore. (She used to be a gymnast.) My mind was so messed up, though, I didn't realize this was not a good thing. I kept thinking "Almost!" Oh, shake my head, now.
  It was one of our area's typical summer nights, complete cloud cover, no moon shining through, raining buckets at a time, lightning and thundering constantly, and what seemed like a nearly tornadic wind. Inside the house, was pure insanity. My friend's significant other, was flipping out over her assumption that the reason my friend no longer wanted to put up with her was because she incorrectly thought she was having an affair with me. It didn't help matters any that while she was rampaging, like a giant three-year old, throwing punches at random, innocent doors and walls, stomping up the stairs, throwing clothes and stuff around their room like a moron that I then proceeded to give my friend a kiss on the lips in front of the other people in the house. It wasn't much of one, but I made it look good. It was closed-mouth and on the lips, but all the rest was an act, the arm around her, the leg-up movement (ha ha!) and the moving of my head to make it look like a deep-hard kiss. It was apparently convincing enough, from my back side, that one of the young girls, whom my friend's female-husband was cheating on her with, beamed a big smile and ran up the stairs yelling about it to her. This was followed with worse violence, so we'll move on.
  I'd just had enough. I went to the door and looked out, really wanting to just get out of the house but the rain wouldn't let up. I was desperate to leave the ruckus behind. I grabbed a couple packs of cigarettes and my still full bottle of alcohol, both of which were hidden away, and walked out the door. No one even noticed. I started walking around the block as my jacket was already completely soaked from the down-pouring rain and I tried to figure out where I could hide for a while. Lightning crashed never ending in the clouds, thunder rolled non-stop above my head as I took my stroll, acting as if it was a clear afternoon. Then, I realized that doing such at night in our downtown area (quite a bad neighborhood) was not very smart for a female, alone. I did a 360 and headed back to the house. What in the hell am I going to do when I get there? I don't want to go back in there. I could try to hide in the basement, no one goes down there, but I'd still hear the stomping and screaming from the above two floors. I got to the front door, looked inside, no one was in the front room, yet I could hear the screaming and crashing going on upstairs. I heard glass break, then someone running down the stairs and I ran to the side of the house. I never realized there was a small back yard, so I ventured. There was a large tree, with a small patch of still kind of dry ground. It looked inviting under it's branches, so I sat down. There was some rain dripping from the above limbs, so I pulled my hood to nearly cover my face, opened my bottle and took a big swig, turned my head to light a smoke (so, if anyone was looking they wouldn't notice the flash of light) and sat in the peace of the storm. It...was... nice!
  As I just sat there, about halfway through the bottle, my mind started forgetting the mess ensuing indoors and started focusing on myself. I started thinking about my son, who'd passed, how beautiful he was, and how I'd not be in this messed-up predicament if he was still alive. My eyes started welling up as I thought about how I daily sang the song "Simple Man" to him while it played on the entertainment center in the trailer's living room from my CD, and NOT a stolen one. Which led me to feel the hate I had for his father, my now ex-husband, for all the crap he forced me to go through alone, then all the relentless taunting he did to me in front of people I thought were friends of mine who, obviously, were either not or were spineless jerks. In my current state of mind, all these emotions just made me take bigger swigs, faster, and light up cigarette after cigarette, no longer bothering to use a lighter, just lighting one off the end of the other.
  After what seemed like hours, but only being about half of one, all the bottle was gone, and with the flood of emotions in the pouring rain, I was a sobbing mess. I got angry at myself. This was not the me I'd become. This is not the hard-assed, emotionless woman I tried so hard to be in the past couple of years. The woman who could be everything to everyone and not only do it all, but do it all by myself. I, then, realized that it was all an act. I had been faking it for years. I had hated what my life had become and my friend here was not really a friend anymore, either. I'd come to hate her, too, because she'd taken for granted her child, when she knew I'd recently lost mine, forever. I looked up at the sky, and for the first time, I spoke to my son since he'd passed away. I screamed, "I'm sorry!" as a crash of thunder and lightning rang out and I burst into a hysterical sob. As I sat there more, talking a drunken gibberish about how I'd failed as a mother, the lessons I'd learned to never repeat, the facade I'd put on for so long and how I was tired of it and I'd never do it again. Immediately, the storm seemed to let up as did the one in my mind. Coincidence, probably, or maybe it was the barometric pressure interfering with the neurons in my brain... never mind.
  I'd had an epiphany. It was all my fault, but it took until now to realize it. If I hadn't been acting like I could do it all by myself and stood up for myself and my son sooner, none of this would have happened. No more will I sit idly by and allow people to do wrong to me and others I love. I will no longer tolerate idiots getting away with acting like I'm the fool and they're superior. I will start standing up for myself and my family and tell everyone else to fuck off! I must swallow my pride and ask for help. Help to get out of this place, and help to heal into the person I need to be. I needed help to survive or I won't last much longer.
  Who can I ask? There's no one left. My sister was still a kid and living with my mom, who'd lost her mind and can't even remember the fight we'd had and the things she said to me. Sis needs me there, but I can't tolerate mom's behavior any more and sis had friends with good parents down the street, so she'll be fine. All the so-called friends I'd asked for help moving me here were useless, as they didn't even think about it before saying they couldn't. Bastards. Who's left? Dad. But, I really don't want to intrude upon them. He'd just got married and mom said he didn't want anything to do with us anymore because he has a new family, one of which was a son that she said he'd always wanted which was why he always treated me like a boy and she said they also just had a new baby, too. That would be rude of me. He was my only option, though. And it was a good hour drive away. I had to try, though. Even if he denies helping me, at least I'll know whether or not he cares or maybe he'll at least have a good suggestion of what I should do. He's pretty smart, as I was in the past before all this mess.
  I had to sneak back inside the house to get my wallet which had my dad's most recent phone number. It was apparent, I realized, that a few hours had passed by now and everyone was soundly passed out all over the couch and floor of the front room in front of the television while it was still on. I crept up the stairs to my room, fished through my stuff, and went back downstairs to use the phone, hoping no one would hear me. As I picked up the house phone, I heard the old familiarity of the message that "this line has been disconnected due to non-payment". Crap! Now what? I then remembered a pay phone at the store caddy-corner to the house. I didn't have any coins. I'd spent all I had on the bottle of whiskey I just drank. I really was hating myself, now. I'll have to call collect. That's the only way, now.
  I walked over to the pay phone just outside the small back yard, nervous and fidgety. My stomach was turning, churning. I was pretty sure I was about to vomit. I swallowed hard as I walked up to the phone, followed the directions to make a collect call that was my last hope. It was either fail miserably, but die trying, or complete success. It was pretty late, probably close to midnight. I could wait until morning but, how would I be able to do this then, when everyone is up, bothering me and starting their bullshit all over again? "I hope he still has the same phone number."
  His wife answered the phone. I asked her if I could talk to my dad, trying to hold back sobs of joy, although she had surely heard them. Dad got on the phone, and I couldn't hold it back anymore. I burst into another hysterical sob. I simply managed to get out "I need some help. I need to get out of here as soon as possible." He asked me where I was and told me he'd come get me tomorrow afternoon.

Now, let's make the rest of this short and sweet:

  They took me in. I found out that I had been fed a bunch of "misinterpreted feelings" about my dad and his family. Yes, he had remarried. Yes, he had a new family. No, they were not replacing me and my sister. No, they did not have a new baby. Yes, he still loves me and my sister otherwise he'd have just turned me away. And, come to think of it, my dad did not treat me like a boy. He showed me things he thought were useful for me to know, which has came in handy many times in my life. I shake my head, again.
  They immediately took me to a doctor and I was put on some serious antibiotics for pneumonia and bronchitis and his new wife was cooking non-stop and nearly force-feeding me all kinds of food. This was not taken well by my stomach, but after a while, it gave up the fight and did what it was supposed to do. I lived with them for about a month, started working for my dad at a convenience store he was partners in owning and managing. They moved me into my own place, albeit above an old pervert, but I was happy finally having a place of my own. It was a nice, small place, and it was peaceful. It was a two-story house, with the above turned into the apartment I now lived in. The old man's office was downstairs, which he was only at for part of the time during the day to receive calls and rent from his other renters elsewhere. It was great to finally be alone and well.

Husbands... I've had a few (Round one)

  Yes, I am on my third (husband) and I swear my last one. Add to that the serious relationship with one of my daughter's fathers, and that's enough to make you either give up or go lesbian. Believe me, I've given both serious thought after all the BS I've put up with in the earlier days. Then, I had a lesbian friend who acted just like those male 'players' toward her girlfriends, yes... more than one, which totally changed my mind about switching teams and I like sex too much to give it up and would not ever have enough money for batteries to keep me satisfied, because who wants to use something plugged in to the wall in that area? *shudders* Plus, that makes it quite inconvenient for so many reasons.

  Round one -
(By 'Round One", I mean these are going to be long, somewhat-detailed explanations of long-term relationships and feel I should break it up into portions for your safe viewing and reading pleasure.)

  I was young (18), dumb AND naive. Someone should pass a law that you shouldn't be allowed to get married until you are 25. Unless they want to, say, jump a motorcycle together through 5 'Fiery Hoops of DEATH' and if they complete it successfully (alive) while managing to not break up because they argued over who was going to drive, whether to wear the sparkly outfit with sequins or the black leather-and-studded one, and how to do it the correct way.  Although I know for a fact that I would've attempted it, back then, because I was that dumb.
  This man was okay. We hung out with his friends, my friends, and all together. I could hang out with my friends without him, he did the same with his. It was all good. I ended up becoming pregnant. Not a shock because I was not using any protection, but because he claimed that he'd "had sex with many girls and none of them had got pregnant" so he "must be sterile". Now, those are his exact words. I had assumed that this is a non-manly thing to say. How many guys would admit to something like that, being only 20-ish? I took his word. Problem: I was only 17 and still in my Senior year of high school and did not want to tell my parents. After a month or so I told them. I know, it should have been sooner, but I waited until after I turned 18, which was also not long after Graduation. You can't change the past.
  After that, I told this man that I informed my parents and it was his turn to tell his and that my parents wanted to have a talk with him. All that happened in a day or two and he suddenly wanted to marry me. I did ask him if it was just because I was pregnant and perhaps his, mine, or both of our Dads made him feel he 'needed to do the right thing', as per the old saying. He said it was not, and I accepted.
  Nonetheless, within a month or so of that, the pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. I could not ever wish one of those on my worst enemy! It is the most horrible pain and suffering I have ever, even to this very day, gone through! I asked this man if, being that I was no longer pregnant and still wanted to make sure that was not the only reason, if he still wanted to go through with the wedding. He said he did, and we proceeded.
  We had a dinner before the wedding day and all the people were invited. I had my three best girlfriends with me there, and we took off when it was all over. I was informed, later that night, by my soon-to-be husband that this was not acceptable behavior, as it was rude:

Me: "Why? Did I miss something important?"
Him: "No, it was just rude to run out while all the family was there having their first meal together."
Me: "I asked everyone if it was okay with them for me to leave with my friends as we had girly things to get done before the wedding and they said it was fine."
Him: "It doesn't matter, MY parents thought it was rude."

I didn't give a crap. It was MY wedding, too, and this was the last night before I would be married and I'll do as I please. But I apologized and called his parents to do so to them, as well, even though they said they were not offended in any way. I assumed that they were just being coy. I was apparently wrong, as I'd found out later.
  The day OF the wedding, me, my little sister, my mother and my best friend, who was my Maid of Honor were all getting ready. My friend takes me aside:

Her: "We can get out of here, now."
Me: "What? What do you mean?" (with a giggle)
Her: "If you really don't want to do this, we can get out of here right now."
Me: "Why would I want to do that?" (still giggling)
Her: "Just so you know, if at any time, you even THINK about not doing this, let me know and we can run to my car, jump in and drive away. I just want you to know this."
Me: "Okay." (and I shrug it off)

We continue getting ready as if nothing had happened, although I kept wondering.
  DURING the actual ceremony, my Maid of Honor and Bridesmaids kept making faces and we had giggled a bit. This man, during the ceremony still, told us to stop. We did not, as this only made it worse. He just stood there, straight-faced. Well, maybe I should say, pissed-face, in his ugly-ass white tuxedo WITH tails, during the rest of the ceremony. I should have taken my friend up on her option.
  Immediately following that, he let me know that I was being childish throughout the ceremony as it was a serious moment, that giggling and cracking up during our own wedding ceremony was almost sinful. (Wow, so serious for a man who knocked up a 17 year old virgin, who was, at this very moment, recovering from a miscarriage. He's lucky I was able to stand the whole time!) Once again, I should have taken my friend up on her option.
  The next day, due to his overindulgence of alcoholic beverages the night of the wedding, since HE was of age (another reason you shouldn't be able to marry at 18... and/or the legal age of drinking should be raised) and I was not, we consummated. Whereas a few weeks later I found out I was pregnant. Again.
  Things after this started going weird. I had a job at a fast food restaurant that I had since 16, which I loved. He had a good-paying job, with great benefits, since before I knew him. After a while, I started asking him about the bills:

Him: "I don't pay the bills."
Me: "What do you mean you don't pay the bills? They have to get paid."
Him: "I mean, I give my parents the money and they pay the bills for me."
Me: "So, now that we're married, I can do that for us instead."
Him: "No. They've been doing that for me for years, now, and they like to do it so we'll just let them keep doing it."

What kind of "grown-up" man does this? The one I'd married. Yay. Mind you, I should have known, since I'd never seen a bill in the year I'd known him. But, who even thinks of stuff like that until it's too late? I also should have seen that all this leads to what happens in the near future. Which is, he starts staying out late, a lot. Occasionally, not even coming home until the morning after leaving for work. But, I assume he's having his fun while he can since sometimes I was not home, working some nights, and I, too, was still hanging out with my friends sometimes. But, being pregnant and working, I did not have the energy to stay out all night long. Nor, could I do anything which may hurt the baby like drink or put myself in possible danger.
  Then, we had the emergency Cesarean section to deliver the baby, due to my high blood pressure and swelling (pre-eclampsia) which was not made better by the delivery, as per the norm. This just made my body madder, and went into full blown toxemia. I was pretty out of it while this went on for three weeks, I think. I recall seeing my father, once, (he lived a distance away and worked a lot, so it was nice). My mother a few times. And my husband, once. I had to get really pissy with the doctors and tell them to allow my baby in the room, or I'd leave. They felt forced to oblige, and realized when my son was in the room, my blood pressure, which was near stroke levels even with all the meds I was pumped up with, go down a bit. I had three organs fail, my liver, intestines and stomach. I had a procedure, known as the Swan, where they inserted a catheter to monitor my heart closer down through my neck. This was painful. I awoke during the procedure with a giant, white light above my head, about 8 people in surgery scrubs around me and blood gushing out of my neck, in PAIN! Whereas, they held me down with a horrified look on their faces, and I fell back asleep. I assume they dosed me again. My body held in so much water, from the fluids being given to me and my digestive system was not working so it was all done by IV, that I was over 300 pounds and they weighed me daily by using a bed with a scale built in. Those damn nurses, whom I now love every single one in the world, woke me up every hour, on the hour, to take my vitals, give me medicines, help me eat (later), and wash me as much as they could. Bless those angels of no mercy. My mother told me, years later, that the doctors had only given me a 15% chance of survival. I showed them! I was out in around three weeks.
  THE DAY I got out of the hospital, my husband took me took his parents' house, where he was apparently living, unbeknownst to me. They insisted we live there until we found a place to live. I was given prescriptions for high blood pressure, pain, iron, and an anti-coagulant medicine. Upon arrival, he wanted to have sex. I was still in the middle of the 'pregnancy aftermath' (if you're a mother, you know what I mean) and was told to not do such, plus the fact I was on medicines for my blood pressure and just got out of the hospital. I made him aware if these things, yet he was quite persistent, still.

Him: "But, it's been so long since..."
Me: "Uh, yeah. It's not like I had any while I was in the hospital, either."
Him: "I would've asked you then, but you were always 'out of it'."
Me: speechless

I refused.
  I'd attempted to help with our son as much as I could. This was my first time being a mother and, although I had a little sister, I really didn't know what to do besides change a diaper and wash him. My sister was breast-fed, as was I, and I couldn't do that since I had been in a medically-induced coma for my first couple weeks after giving birth and now on all kinds of medication and supposed to be on bed rest for a few weeks. He claimed that my so-called lack of help with our son was making his parents mad that they have to do it all for me. Even though I re-stated my doctor's orders to him, it was not good enough. I was supposed be doing it all, was my understanding of this conversation.
  Soon after that, his parents took him to look at places for us to move into. (Thank goodness!) They decided on a *shiver* single-wide in a trailer park. I was not pleased, but went along with it. I had no choice since they'd already made the financial arrangements. Without any input from me. (Grrr!) Whatever. It had one of those garden bathtubs with fake French doors to the master bath, and I dug that, but that was all I liked about the situation.
  A few days later, when he'd been out late with his friends. I got up to get the baby and noticed a very large roll bar with lights in our son's room:

Him: "I didn't think you'd find that. I was going to get rid of it today."
Me: "What do you mean 'you didn't think I'd see it'? It's sticking out from under the bed as I go to get the baby! (giggle) So, what is it doing here?"
Him: "Well, me and ------ were out having fun and broke into a few vehicles at the ---- and stole some stuff. After that we got bored and went to the ---- ---------- and saw the --------- van sitting there and took the roll bar off and stole (amount) wheels and tires off the vehicles."
Me: speechless
Him: "Here. You can have the biker jacket, it doesn't fit me or ------ and take whatever CDs you want and get rid of the rest. We already went through them."
Me: still speechless
Him: "What?"
Me: "So, do you do this often? Is this why you're staying out late all the time? Doing stuff like this?"
Him: "Not usually. This is the only time I've done that since we got married."
Me: "So, now that we have a child... is this something you will continue doing, or what? Because I don't really want to raise a child in that kind of environment."
Him: speechless
Me: "I just think I have a right to know and I'd like an honest answer."
Him: (Long pause) "No. I promise I won't do it anymore. It was a one-time thing. I'd done it before now, many times, but not anymore."

  You see, this man was/is a felon. THIS, I already knew. Convicted of Grand Larceny in another state that he'd moved out of years ago, which was done while in the service. Therefore getting him kicked out of the service, too. (I'm sure he'd moved there because he was sent there FOR the service, so he moved back with mommy and daddy after he was no longer IN the service.)  I just shrugged it off as stupid-kid stuff and moved on. Apparently, he'd never stopped being a criminal. I had no idea. I took his word on this, though. We should have had a good talk about that before going this far into the relationship, first. Sigh.
   It only got worse from there. Soon after that, he started staying out after work, more and more. I was still in my recovery from the birth of our son. After a couple weeks, I guess, he was pretty much only coming home to sleep and shower, if even that often. He'd be gone all the rest of the time. I was pretty upset about this, since I was still recovering from the toxemia. I quit taking all the medications. All they were doing was making me tired and nauseous, unable to care for this child who needed all my attention since his father was just never around to help me.
  I sucked up my pride and started asking my mother for help. After a while, I was only home for a bit, when he was supposed to get off work and if he didn't come home in a couple hours, I went back to my mother's house. She was the only one nearby that could give me any help I needed with me being a new mom. I wasn't getting any sleep before, as I did not know how to care for a crying infant. When the baby was sleeping, I couldn't sleep because then I'd wonder if my husband was cheating on me, or just out partying like an irresponsible father, or out stealing stuff, again, and possibly in jail. I had no one else to call, no one to turn to. I could have asked his parents, but he'd led me to believe that they pretty much hated me and thought nothing of me and my handling of being a mother.
  Then, came the day, one day before my son would have turned 2 months old, when I walked in to feed him, and he was dead. He'd died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. In other words, no matter what people tell you, do NOT lay your infant face down on any bed.
  While we were at the hospital, it had taken hours to get hold of my husband. I had to finally fess up to his parents that I had no idea where he was, and he'd hardly ever come home anymore which is why I was at my mother's house all the time. This made them very upset at him, since they thought their son was being a complete angel of a son and father to their grandchild.
  For the next couple months, I was constantly berated by my husband, always accused of it being my fault our son died. I accepted the fact, to him and everyone else in the world, that I could have prevented it, but it didn't help that he was never around and the only reason I was in that predicament was because I had no one to help me take care of our child. I'd never had to do that before. Not 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, without any sleep, without taking care of myself at all, all the while wondering if my husband was cheating on me, out partying, being an irresponsible father without regards to my needs to get out, too, or out stealing, again, and possibly in jail. He claimed it didn't matter what he was doing, it was none of my business.
  I ended up trying to commit suicide but I chickened out and asked my husband to take me to the hospital. As soon as I got out of there, within a few hours, I was driven up to his father packing my stuff into my car and my husband told me he wanted me out. Needless to say, I was then served with divorce papers. He forced me to sign them, saying that if I didn't he'd "make my life a living hell until I did". So, I did.
  Just when I thought it was all over, tax season came. He needed me to come over to sign the check, since we'd done our taxes together earlier in the year. I asked him how much I'd get out of it.

Him: "None of it."
Me: "Why not?"
Him: "You either sign it all over to me, or you don't get the title to your car." (with a smirk)

I was not aware, at the time, of getting another title. I was scared he'd sign off on it (because I'd signed the damn thing out of stupidity years before) and take my car, that he (and everyone else) knew I loved. So, I signed the check and left with my title.
  I knew he hated smoking, so I started smoking. Which I am still addicted to. Since we still hung out with the same people, although they all looked at me with sadness and/or disgust (since they knew his side of the story) and he'd constantly taunt me by taking them. One time, he even took out his rather large, yet still legal in size, knife and stabbed my pack of cigarettes right in front of a group of about 10 people and just laughed. No one did anything. None of them said anything. I did not hang out with any of those spineless bastards and bitches ever again.
  I hate that son of a bitch. I still remember that his penis was barely bigger than our son's.
  I love my son. I think of him every day. I talk to him. I miss him. I didn't get much time with him, but the time I had, I recall every minute of it. He is the reason I know what real love was supposed to be. He is the real reason I'm still here today. He is the reason I decided to have more children, even if the dumb doctor told me it would probably kill me because she was sure I'd have the same problem. Well, bitch, you were wrong, too. (Do NOT go to a General Practitioner for being pregnant. What can I say? I was dumb!)