Suddenly *Not So* Single Journey

Grrr…

Friday, March 12th, 2010

The fact that this is my third attempt at a post today, does not bode well for my Friday.  Like everyone else, I have a lot going on.  And as I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, I am passionate about everything.  It’s just the way I am.  (I say passionate, HE says emotional.  And we’re both right!)

So the original post that I had prepared for today was an impressive rant in the form of a letter to my ex-husband who is a big smelly pile of poo.  You know the poo I’m talking about…the kind that sticks to your shoe and you can’t get off…EVER…that continues to smell and…well, you get the idea.  So, Kimberly read it.  She can vouche for the fact that I’m not the slacker you imagine me to be.  I really did have a great post ready.  Only…it was up for all of 37 seconds when I remembered that sometimes Rachel still reads the blog.

And that’s when I took it down.  Dammit.  Mommy loves you!

And that’s why I let that jackass get away with not paying me child support for the past seven months.  No bitterness here.  And that’s why I haven’t taken him to court yet.  That and the fact that I know he’s going to be a complete and utter moron and try for full custody.

Just once I’d like to see a judge look at him and say, ‘Sir, you don’t pay your child support.  You mooch off the man you live with.  You’re in default on every account you have….car, credit cards, student loans.  You spend your money inappropriately.  All indications suggest you should be in AA.  You can’t be bothered to call your kids more than once a week, if that.  And you think I should give you full custody?  Are you out of your f’ing mind?!’

Ahhh.

Right.  This is what he threatens me with.  And even though I know he doesn’t stand a chance in hell of getting custody, I hate that he’s going to put me through this.  I hate that he’s going to stick us under the microscope rather than simply cough up some money.

Well, these issues spilled over into my night.  And things that might not normally bother me, suddenly became a huge issue.  And before I knew it, I had let things build up until I lost it and became a big emotional embarrassing mess in front of HIM.  I forgot the cardinal rule: I can’t get upset with him for not giving me what I need if I don’t ask for it.  And he forgot that sometimes when I’m hardest to be around is when I need him the most.

We worked through it the same way we always do: excellent communication, some magic hugs, and a do-over.  (HIS suggestion, but originally my idea that he has embraced whole-heartedly.  Yay!)

All is right in my world once more.  If I could only get that poo off my shoe…

And I wanted to leave you with a happy song, but I can’t find the one that is going through my mind…sort of.  If it was really going through my mind, I would be able to get enough of the lyrics to locate it.  So, grrr.  Just grrr.

I’m thinking of buying a lottery ticket.  No, I’m not feeling particularly lucky.  It’s not that.  The last time I bought a ticket was just over a year ago with HIM when we were in Miami.  If we won, we were going to buy this island I found in a realty book.  It was in The Keys.  At $3.8 million, complete with a  house and dock, it seemed like a steal.  Better luck this time?

Yeah, despite all the hairy BS I’m dealing with, I feel pretty lucky.  I have two amazing kids who adore me and the man I love not only loves me back, but plans to love me back forever.  I can weather anything else.  Go ahead, Jeff.  Bring it.

Quick Karma:

• restrain yourself from acting on angry impulses
  

Posted in Just Venting | 10 Comments »

Just once…

Thursday, February 25th, 2010

I’m constantly moving.  Constantly on the go.  Constantly working.  Sometimes I struggle to remember the times that I just quiet down.  I struggle to remember the times when I let my mind rest, when I am completely at ease.  It only takes me a moment, then I remember…it’s when I’m with him.  I’ve written before about his magic hugs.  And they are magical.  When he holds me, I feel everything else melt away.  When I sleep beside him, constantly reminded of his presence, even my jaw releases.  Ahhh.

So, I guess it’s a good thing we’re going to be living together…again…starting…tomorrow.  Yup.  You read it right.  I’m moving.  Again.

And just once, I wish I had more notice.  Just once!

See, I confided in Craig that I needed someone to take over my lease.  And while I have had no response that way, in seeing who needs housing through Craig, my luck has been drastically different.  Yes, I have a renter…or, a family of renters.  Mom, Dad, two daughters.  Yay!

Only…they need to move in over the weekend.  And so, the move I had been doing, the one where I was packing and unloading a car full of boxes every morning, followed by another two trips after work in the evening, has been put on steroids.  See, I could only scrounge up about six boxes.  So, I’d fill them, get them to their destination, and unpack them.  I’d bring them back.  Lather, rinse, repeat…you get the idea.  And if you have time, it’s an excellent way to move.  It’s neat.  It’s organized.  There’s no overwhelming stack of boxes that you have to sort through.  Nope.  Six at a time.  Good number.

Except now, I have two days.  Oh, and the carpet isn’t stretched yet…so, no kids’ rooms.  There are, however, empty promises that it will be done tonight.  We shall see.  If not, we shall see if I can restrain my wrath and somehow restrain myself from putting the cause of my rage on a slab.  Chances are, I’ll be too tired to kill him.  I’ll probably just give him a tongue lashing.  And since I can cause significant damage using just my words (guilt is a many splendored thing) He’ll simply wish he was dead and suffer all the more.  Mwah ha ha!  (No, not HIM.  He has been AMAZING!)

Still only have six boxes.  Thus I have reverted to some of the lamest packing EVER.  Maybe ever ever.  Yup.  I pulled out the plastic grocery bags.  It started when I packed my pantry.  And then I just kind of thought…oh, what the hell. And so I packed some sheets and towels, some spare toiletries.  I am a packing machine.  I have emptied out way more than I thought I would.

The good thing is that when the packing boxes are limited…and you begin to realize there is a distinct possibility that you may have to make forty-three HUNDRED trips back and forth to the car…suddenly, you realize that you really don’t need all that CRAP!  So, I have garbage piles nearly as large as my pack piles.  And I feel great.  So much lighter.  Oh, and that’s what he said to me tonight.

HIM: Wow.  You look thinner.

And I smiled because I thought he was teasing me.  Then I caught him peeking at my butt as I turned around.

me: So, you like these jeans, huh?

HIM: Yeah, but I like the shirt more.  Your boobs look great in it.

Didn’t I tell you he had a  way with words?

We’re working together to make this happen.  And though we didn’t expect it to happen so quickly, he took the news rather well.  He covered his face and sighed.

me: It’s okay.  We can do this.

HIM: I know what it’s going to take, Nicki.  I’ve moved you before.

me: I know.  It’ll work out.  You know I’ve got this.

He smiled at me.

HIM: I know.  You’re a planner.  You can make it happen.

Just before I left, he caught me staring at him.  And I was smiling and giggling as he held me.

HIM: What’s up?

me: I was just thinking there’s a distinct possibility this is the last time I will be this happy or pleasant for days.

HIM:  I know.  Me, too.

Well, at least we know what to expect.  I’m happy and excited.  And that’s what I’m trying to hold onto.  I’m used to my life changing drastically and unexpectedly.  I mean, two weeks ago, we weren’t even really speaking.  Now we’re engaged and living together…again.  There is, however, one thing that has never changed in the two years I’ve known him…my feelings for him.

Quick Karma:

• have a love story that is still being written

Posted in Just Venting | 6 Comments »

Well, I’m glad I got that out of the way…

Saturday, December 5th, 2009

It’s 9am on  Saturday as I sit at the library and recount my morning.  Somehow, I have already managed to get a bad date out of the way TODAY.  Yes, I have elmidated another man from my list of prospects.  For the briefest of moments, I started thinking maybe it’s me.  Maybe I’m difficult.  Nah.  And just to get the adequate reassurance, I called first Jennie then Kimberly.  Nope.  It’s not me.

Jennie: So, how did you manage to get a date out of the way before 9am?

me: Well, I guess it started last night when we spoke on the phone and he said maybe we could work out something for Saturday.

Kimberly: And where did you find this man?

There it is.

me: Ah, my mistress Craigslist.

Here’s the story…

I knew it was all going to go horribly wrong when I woke to my text chiming at 6:21am on a Saturday morning.  That should have been my first clue, but I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt.  (And lately that’s been biting me in the butt, which you would think would have made it considerably smaller.  Alas…no.)  And after my mind finally registered what that noise was, and I checked it and read it:

U out for the count…breakfast?  Again, sorry if u r sacked out…just rearin’ to get going

I pulled up the covers and went back to sleep.  Then my phone rang at 7:03.  My reaction to which was to bat at it until it ceased making that infernal noise.  And a moment later I processed that I had missed a call…from him.  So, I pulled up my covers and went back to sleep.  Well, the kitties were roused by all that noise and climbing all over me for attention.  And my head was pounding.  A headache is no way to start the day.  Finally, I emerged from my comfy cocoon at the late hour of…7:30am.  Damn it.

I was trying to complete my routine of posting and commenting on blogs when he sent ANOTHER text at 7:50am.

Sorry for hittn’ u up like that…just feelin’ a little extra groovy…let me know if u want some early mornin’ chat…

And he signed it…’Best regards.’  Well, crap.  And so I explained, by text, that I had just woken up, was still yawning, and needed a huge hot tea.  So, naturally he called.  Immediately.  And wanted to come over since it was on his way to his grandmothers place where he was helping her decorate for the holidays.  What a generous offer.

me: Ah, no.  Let’s meet at Panera.

Yes, that Panera.

And he wants to do it RIGHT NOW.  And he assures me that he doesn’t care how I look.  And I assure him that I do.  And then I manage to put him off until 8:40am.  Yes, strange time for a date, right?  Well, with little enthusiasm, I manage to get ready.  And I’m heading out the door at 8:41.  (I know.  My bad.  But he was RUSHING ME!)  I apologize and hop in the car.

Already, I know this isn’t going to go well.  I’m annoyed.  Annoyed is not how you should feel when you are ready to meet someone.  Breathless with anticipation, yes.  Nervous, maybe.  Annoyed…no.  Panera is so close, I could probably wheelbarrow walk there, with the right person holding my legs.  It’s a ridiculously short drive.  And my phone chimes again!

He wanted to make sure I knew he was at the table right by the door.  He’s 6′4″ and it’s a small restaurant.  There was little danger I wouldn’t see him.  Oh, and as I’m walking up to the door, he’s hovering trying to look relaxed when clearly he’s not.  And while that would normally tug at my heart strings and make me even nicer than normal, he was rubbing me the wrong way for HOURS now.

He sat at the table near the door while I went over and bought a hot chocolate.  (There was no way I was letting this guy buy me anything.)  And while I’m standing in line waiting for the guy to finish making my hot chocolate, my phone chimes AGAIN.   I look his way and see him fiddling with his phone so I know it’s him.  At this point I really just want to shake my phone at him and shout, “REALLY?!”  Instead, I looked at the guy who was making my hot chocolate.  He was tattooed and wearing funky jewelry and suddenly infinitely more appealing than the text happy guy with the MBA in International Business waiting for me by the door.

So, I return with my drink and the man mumbles something about moving.   And since we are literally right next to the door, the table that’s in the lobby, I’m all for moving, even if it does bring me dangerously close to the fire extinguisher.  Only, the guy leads me out the door to the sidewalk.  Huh?  And he explains that he wants to find a place to sit out there because he’s feeling claustrophobic.  At this point, I feel compelled to point out that it’s been raining and everything is wet.  Our best bet is inside.  And I turn toward the door.

Mr. Text Happy: So, do you have Bloody Mary’s at your place?

me: No.

(Like I want to drink at just shy of 9am.  Although, given the company, it might have helped…)

TH: Oh, well you wanna go back to your place?

(Do people really do booty calls this early in the morning with complete strangers and completely sober?)

me: No.

TH: So the place is really dirty, huh?

(If I’d have had a step ladder, I’d have Gibbsed him.)

me: Hell no.

(I was more than a little insulted.  I mean, really, isn’t it just plausible that I don’t want to bring a strange man to my apartment where I live all by myself most weekends and with my kids the rest of the time?  Duh.)

TH: Oh.  You want to go back to my place.

me: No.

TH: I’m completely harmless.

me: I’m sure all the serial killers say that.

TH: My grandmother lives at The Cypress.

(For those of you not familiar with The Cypress, it is a retirement community for the LOADED elderly.  And for those of you who don’t know me, I’m not impressed by money.  It’s not an aphrodisiac.  It will not compensate for your other flaws, like lack of character.)

me: And?

So, by now he can see that he’s not getting anywhere with me.  (Mommy, are you so very proud?)  And he decides to head on his way.  He has assured me he will call me later.  And I will go out with him again…the day I wake up and decide that having a hot oil enema is a good idea.

While this has not exactly set the tone for the kind of day I hope to have, it has inspired two posts.  Come back tomorrow.  Since I have managed to have a workshop-free/conference-free kind of year and won’t be blogging about it in the challenge, I might as well share some of what I’m learning about me and dating.  And I’ll want your input, or course.  I still have a lot to learn.

PS. Please feel free to share with me your dating horror stories.  I can’t be the only one.  Right?

Posted in Just Venting | 6 Comments »

Apparently…I’m insufferable…

Tuesday, November 17th, 2009

At least that’s what Rachel said the other night.  And let me tell you what precipitated that remark.

It all began on Thursday night, when I all but threatened to go on strike.  I wasn’t about to waste precious weekend alone time cleaning the ENTIRE apartment by myself and caring for our furry menagerie.  And so, I reminded her that Runny Babbit, Babbit for short, needed to be fed and watered before she left the next day.

Rachel: Okay.  I’ll do it…

And in all honesty, I can’t remember if she gave a time frame, definite or other in her response.  I was a little distracted at the time.  Something of the joys of single mommyhood and having a half dozen things running…sometimes flitting….through my mind at any given time.

Well, Friday night, I was distracted on the phone by the Divine Mr. M and didn’t think to check on the water bottle/food status. See, men are the debil.  (Yes, I misspelled that on purpose.  It was a Waterboy allusion for those of you keeping track at home.)  Anyway, by bedtime Friday night, which came considerably later than I anticipated, I was already tired of hearing the rabbit try to drink and imagined her eating her poo…recycling at its finest…so I broke down and fed her while wondering what the rabbit life expectancy was and how much longer I’d be responsible for her.  (It’s been four years so far…)

So, the kids returned home Sunday and I had spent more time than I wanted to cleaning and caring for the apartment and the furry roommates.  And I had made a nice dinner and dessert, which was my first Pineapple Upside Down Cake and I am clearly very proud of.  And I had already mentioned to Rachel twice that Babbit needed water and I had fed her.  There was some mumbled response that I don’t recall.  Well, at 10pm, we were winding down for bed…and I was tired of being ignored.

After cracking open the bathroom door:

me: Water the rabbit.

Rachel: MOMMY!  I am in the shower…blah blah blah….

And I went out into the living room where my daughter the slob had left her socks wadded up near the coffee table and her mug from the cocoa latte on the coffee table and grabbed everything and headed to the kitchen where I discovered that the sink had more dishes in it I hadn’t made but would now be cleaning.  That was when I apparently made an even bigger offense than peeking into the bathroom.  Yup, I ran hot water to rinse her dishes before loading the dishwasher.

Soon, she was dripping wet standing beside me wearing a towel and her angry face.  Oh, and it’s a sight to behold.

me: Yes?

Rachel: Did you really have to run the hot water while I was taking a shower?  Blah blah blah!

And I ignored her…mostly because I wanted to laugh.  And I put her dirty clothes in the laundry basket before preparing for bed.

Guess she took the post about wanting my own room badly because of what happened next.

Rachel:  And you think sharing a room with me is bad.

And then she said it.

Rachel: You are INSUFFERABLE!

So, I had to take a moment to point out to her that all of her complaints COULD HAVE BEEN REMEDIED had she done what she was supposed to do.  It was our first fight in the apartment.  It was more of a tiff really, since the moment I brought her back to reality she grew very quiet.

I thought the whole episode was over until she brought it up over dinner Monday night.

Rachel: So, Justin had a solution for our bathroom dilemma.

me: We have a bathroom dilemma?

Rachel: He said put a tie on the door and the other person will know not to open it.

me: How about if it’s shut, we just not open it.

Rachel: You still open it.

me: Yes, and how will a tie make that different?

She sighed.  And then she gave me a look that suggested I’m simply not GETTING it.

Well, we readied ourselves for the library.  And since the lessons of childhood are thickly ingrained in me by now, my last stop was the bathroom.  And since I had just spent so much time in water between making dinner and cleaning up from dinner and lotion (aka lo lo) is my comfort item, I slathered some Sea Island Cotton on my hands and tried to exit the room.

Foiled again.  I couldn’t work the knob.  So, the problem became, do I wash the lotion off to get out and then reapply or what?  Well, luckily, Rachel was hovering JUST outside the door.

me: Open the door.

Rachel: What?

me: Let me out.

And the laughing began.

me: I lo loed and couldn’t get the door open.

Rachel: I’ve got to tell Justin this.

me: Yeah, well if we’d have taken his advice I could have died in there.

And she’s laughing harder now while trying to text.

me: No ties.

Posted in Just Venting | 5 Comments »

I never used to cry…

Wednesday, October 14th, 2009

It’s something I was always proud of.  I wasn’t a big cryer.  (I wasn’t even big on Jon Cryer.)  I always viewed it as emotional blackmail.  I thought it was weak.  Lately, I feel like I’ve done nothing but cry.

And as evidence, my face is covered in tissue lint and sticky salt water residue, not to mention tear tracks.  My nose…decidedly redder than normal.  My eyes hurt.  Yeah.  They simply hurt.  None of this is me.

In an effort to focus on the positive, I think about how lucky I am to be surrounded by supportive friends and family…over the distance.  My mother and sister are in contact with me almost daily.  My Jennie calls me regularly or emails.  And then there are those who have left comments on the blog, especially Meredith.

Yet everything leaves me in tears.  For example…

• I cried this morning when I checked my email and my aunt wrote me that when she was asked to make a wish, her wish was for me, that I might have a place to live and be happy with the kids.
• I cried this morning while I tried to explain to Sam the lengths I was going to in my effort to move out.
• I cried last night when my ex told me that he was going to try and fight me for custody of the kids since I might have to move back to New York.  Okay, actually, I panicked and was sobbing by the time I woke Rachel up so that she could comfort me.
• Then there were more tears when I arrived at work and took one look at the concern on Michael’s face.  He knows I’m not myself.

I guess the bottom line is that I’m tired of crying.  I’ve probably cried my lifetime allotment already.  I want to get back to me.  I’m tired of being sad and scared.  I want to believe that everything will work out.  I have to catch myself because sometimes I wish Sam would just change his mind, not because I want to be with him anymore.  He has hurt me too badly for that.  But if he just changed his mind I wouldn’t have to be going through all these hard changes.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m an adventurer and I’ve cultivated that same spirit in my kids.  We are our own Eternal Optimists Club.  Take last night.  I was going to take them to grab food out of a window and then the $1.50 movies.  But instead we went to Harris Teeter to buy lunchables and sushi.  And while we walked, they cheered me.

Rachel: No more turkey tacos!

Keenan: We can eat meat!

Rachel: No more chicken for every meal…

And it made me giggle.  They were trying so hard.  Somehow, even though I have no idea where we are going to end up, they have this unwavering belief in my abilities to get us through it.  Not once did they bring up the question that we’re all thinking but fear speaking:

Where are we going to live?

It’s just as well.  I don’t have an answer yet.  There is much to weigh, much to be considered.  I don’t want to mess up the kids’ schooling, or Rachel’s surgery, or the play, or any of five million other little things.  So, I’m thinking I may have to call a family meeting…plus Sam.  I’m thinking we need to sit down and figure things out.  Maybe I’ll need to drag in Jay and Spring.  Shoot, why stop there.  I could open it up, make it a town meeting, invite the rest of The Bubble.  Let everyone get the news first hand.

It’s time to dry those pesky tears.  It’s time to stop carrying lint leaving tissues in my pockets.  It’s time to lose the Rudolph look.  (It’s so next season…)  And for me to feel better, I need a plan.

PS. I deserve mad props.  I didn’t cry just now when the big boss gave me a big hug and asked how I was doing.  Baby steps.

Posted in Just Venting, Reflections | 6 Comments »

Not again!

Saturday, September 26th, 2009

Yup.  Friday I peaked too soon.  Bishop didn’t have any accidents.  (Nor did he climb in the shower with me again!  Big bonus!)  And even though it wasn’t a pay week, I was in a good place at work…catching up, and a light patient load.

I was feeling pretty good about the way I was fulfilling my mommy duties.  Rachel has two doctor’s appointments on Monday, a teacher work day, so she’s not missing school and I’m only missing a minimal amount of work.

In the girlfriend department, I was rocking, too.  See, I had come home during lunch to walk Bishop and I managed to catch up some laundry.  (Come on, I should get a standing O for my multi-tasking abilities alone!)

There was only one dark cloud looming over head, threatening to burst at any given moment.  Freakin’ ex-husband.  Yeah, he rained all over my day.  After not seeing the kids since Labor Day, he had sent me a text message last night that told me…not asked…told me to drop off the kids.  (Meaning he was working all night.)

Well, I had mixed feelings about that.  On the one hand, it’s nice sometimes to have a quiet night alone and we haven’t had a quiet night alone in three weeks.  In fact, we have been inundated with company and drama.  And given that we are currently sitting around my phone waiting for it to ring like an expectant father, the drama and tension continue.

Oh, and about that other hand…we like the kids and enjoy having them around.  Friday nights in The Bubble are particularly enjoyable.  There are impromptu cookouts and unplanned fireworks and bonfires with s’mores and kids riding motorized…things.  Good times.  So, maybe I didn’t want to waste my gas and drive them half an hour away where they were going to sit home unsupervised and alone until the wee hours of the night/morning.  Maybe I would just let their sperm donor father come pick them up in the morning.

Well, Fun Dad called.

FD: Why is Rachel seeing Dr. Jones and not Dr. Rachima?

me: Because she’s a fifteen year old girl.  Next question.

That shut him up.  For a minute.

FD: Are you dropping the kids off?

me: I hadn’t planned on it.

FD: (erupting)  Blah blah blah stay up late.  Blah blah blah movies.  Blah blah be at your house at 6am!

And that’s when I started wishing Bishop was full grown.  And that’s when I knew the first command I was going to teach him would be something to the effect of ’sic balls!’  (Sorry, Mom!)  And that’s when I wished that the government would reconsider their stance on murder being a capital offense.  I’m pretty sure that I could get off on temporary insanity right now.  Grrr.  Don’t worry.  I’m not going to take any chances.  And I certainly wouldn’t want to deprive my children of having such a great role model in their lives…

So, I hung up after caving and deciding to drop the kids off.  And though I was still fuming, I managed to get some more work done.  Until he called back.  (I may need to get my number changed.)

FD: Did you know that Rachel got ISS suspended?

(Yes, he is that big a tard.  He didn’t even understand what he was talking about?)

me: She told me about it last night…

FD: Well, she got in trouble today.  Blah phone.  Blah rules.

And I hung up as fast as possible because I still needed to call the school and verify what was actually going on.  See, the facts were these:

• The school has rules against cell phones in school.  They cannot be seen or heard.
• I have rules against cell phones in school.  They shouldn’t leave the house during school hours.
• Rachel broke two rules.  She brought the phone to school.  And she left the phone on so that it was heard.  (Dead girl walking!)

Well, I called the school, pissed because this was the second call J had received before me and he isn’t even close to raising the kids.  He doesn’t go to open houses or parent conferences or meetings of any kind.  He hasn’t brought the kids to the doctor in ages.  And he doesn’t miss work when they’re sick.  So, I should be the top contact.  Makes sense, right?  And since S lives with them, I have him down as the second contact.  And J, since I have no choice, is the third contact.  (Although, I have to admit, there is a very responsible looking vagrant living under the overpass in a really nice cardboard box that might work out just as well.  I’m sure he’d pay me at least as much child support as their actual father.)

Someone in authority finally answered at the school office late on a Friday afternoon.  And the consensus was that I needed to bring in appropriate documentation to prove I am the custodial parent.  No problem.  Then the issue would be remedied.  We shall see.  They haven’t had our mailing address right in YEARS and I keep correcting them.  Of course, the same is true of the doctor’s office.  Rest assured, I will be dealing with them Monday afternoon.

Okay.  I need one good thing to happen today.  I hope the jewelry wasn’t it.  Don’t get me wrong.  It was a nice gesture.  I mean when a man you’ve never met before gives you handmade glass jewelry… (And it’s nice!)    That could, technically, qualify as my one good thing.  I just need my one good thing to be bigger to balance out all the crappy little things.

Oh, and to add insult to injury, when I went to medicate at the vending machine…it all but screamed ‘fatty’ at me.  How else can you explain that it refused to accept the nickel that would’ve let me get that 3 Musketeers bar?  And then it wouldn’t give me back my dollar, so I had to buy something for a dollar.  *gulp*  I bought Cheddar Kettle Chips.  And they could never be confused with chocolate fluffy goodness covered in a milk chocolate shell.  *sniffle sniffle*

Oh, day of disappointments, will you never end?

Posted in Just Venting | 3 Comments »

Squatter-gate…the saga continues

Wednesday, September 23rd, 2009

Well, Monday was supposed to be the last day for the squatters to be in The Bubble.  I checked periodically while I was dealing with my ailing son.  The longer I watched, the more frustrated I grew.  It didn’t seem like any progress was being made…there was no truck, no moving van, no movement.  In fact, I had yet to see them even leave the premises.

So, I was supposed to have been able to go to the court house yesterday morning to take care of whatever had to be done to scrape these…individuals…off the bottom of my shoe.  Only, I was still home with a sick kid.  And to make matters worse, the Internet went down and S needed it to get his work assignments to leave the house and I needed it to be able to work from home.  Next thing you know, I’m dealing with three Time Warner Cable guys.  It was noon before the situation was resolved.

S left to do some small jobs.  I rushed to do what I needed to do.  And we might have forgotten to check on the squatter status entirely if Tyler, my Realtor and S’s friend, hadn’t called to say there was a showing at four, let the squatters know.  (Yes, he really did call them squatters.  The term has caught on given its accuracy and bite.)

What ensued was a flurry of text messages.  The gauntlet was thrown.

me: House showings tonight from 4 to 6:30pm. Just found out.

squatters: well i am packing and the house is a mess people wont really be able to get threw to look good

me: Clear a path. Ur supposed to be moved out already. Sheriff has been notified.  (I know.  When did I turn out to be such a liar?  Desperate times have called for desperate measures…)

squatters: We  appealed why have you not reseved papers

me: U have no grounds for appeal.  Move on.

squatters: That’s not what our lawyer told us he said you have to evict us and give us 60 days read your lease

(Now at this point I’m fuming.  These jerks can’t afford to pay me, but they can afford a lawyer?  And that’s not what the lease said.  They are supposed to give me 60 days notice before moving out.  And we’ve already gone through the eviction proceeding.  What they hell did they think that day in court was about?)

me: U broke the lease.  It’s now void and in the hands of the court.

squatters: We both broke lease because u put the house on the market before the month was over that’s what our legal advisore told us

At this point I was shaking.  S had come home about an hour before and had seen the entire exchange.  He walked over to me and wrapped me in his arms.

S: Here baby, you just need a magic hug.

Actually, at that point I was thinking I needed an Uzi or an AK 47.  I wanted a nice big Molotov cocktail and a lighter.  I wanted some Bubble Justice.  I pictured all of our neighbors rallying behind us, pitchforks in one hand, torches in the other singing, “Kill the beasts!”

So, I looked at him in utter frustration and burst into tears.  It’s just too much.  I don’t understand these people, their mentality.  I don’t understand why they think they are entitled to stay somewhere they aren’t paying to live.  I don’t understand why they think it’s okay to screw me over.  I don’t get it.  And they think they have grounds for an appeal?  How about money?  Do they have any of that?  That is what started all of this to begin with.

But wait…there’s more.

The closer is came to 4pm, the more concerned I grew that they wouldn’t leave.  I called Tyler and left him a warning message,  S talked to him when he called back because I was crying and feeling sorry for myself.  I hate when I feel like I can’t find a solution to a problem.  It can be…overwhelming.

That’s when I decided that S and I needed to leave RIGHT NOW.  I couldn’t stand around feeling helpless and frustrated.  So, since Keenan was normal and Rachel was home, we prepared to leave The Bubble.  And that’s when the ex called.  (Because when it rains…)  Now, I know he’s not my ex yet, but I’m practicing  it’s only a few more days.

The ex wanted to swing by and leave me a drop in the bucket of the child support he owed.  And I was so peeved already, it wasn’t a good idea.  See, he has decided that he pays too much (make that…is supposed to pay too much) and so he went to Child Support Enforcement…before flying to NY to party for the weekend with his cousins…to fight it.  (I swear I could just cold cock him.)  So, we had to wait for his arrival before we could depart.  I needed him to sign some papers for the bank anyway.

Finally, we left.  The shopping went well, and too quickly.  I stalled by dragging S into Cruise Masters so we could pick up some literature and plan our next cruise.  (He spoils me when he can.)  And we decided to order Chinese on the way home.  My night was looking up.  I was determined not to ruin a potentially good evening.

I should warn you, I’m something of a cookie fortune freak.  I love them.  I read them and save them.  They are like little beacons of hope.  Here’s what mine said last night:

Any rough times are now behind you.

I passed it to S and smiled.  Then I opened the second.

You will soon be involved in many gatherings and parties.

That was encouraging, since I had ordered the Divorce Cake today.  Yay!  I felt better.  What can I say, I’m easy.

So, we talked and tried not to dwell on all this.  We even ended up going over to Ed and Laura’s with Bishop after the kids went to bed.  And that’s when our evening heated up.

Laura: I would ask how you are, but I heard.

And so I vented.  I told her everything.  EVERYTHING.  And this is why I love Laura.  She grabs the phone.

Laura: I think it’s time to make a collection call.  (The squatters owe Ed and Laura for lawn care services rendered.)  You want to know who their lawyer is…I’ll find out.

She dials…

Laura: So, I hear you have a lawyer.  I’d like his name so I can forward him the bill you owe.

It pretty much went downhill from there.  They tried to barter with Laura, which is not unusual.  We always do trades.  I watch your kid, you mow my lawn.  I buy you (insert alcoholic beverage of choice) and you mow my lawn.  I think it’s more than fair.  In fact, we had already come up with a barter for them to continue to maintain my lawn while it’s on the market.

Then the police showed up.  Seriously.  It is a known fact that I never (NEVER) have to make up any aspect of my life for it to be more colorful.  I don’t have to use hyperbole.  Really.  This is my life.

Now you have to picture it.  The four of us are hanging out in the driveway.  Three of us have plastic chairs.  Ed is on a cooler.  We’re surrounded by lawn care equipment, industrial sized.  There’s no light, since it’s eleven at night.  Ed’s had a few beers.  S has had a few shots.  And I’m currently sucking down a ‘rita.  (You didn’t think I was going to survive the night without a little help, did you?)

And the officer needs to speak to Laura.  All four of us walk over.  (because The Bubble runs deep)  And even though everyone wants to talk, I take over.  The officer explains that he’s there because Laura made a threatening phone call.  I explained the situation.  (And yes, I did use the word squatter.)  I caught him up and tried to even find out my rights, since I’m convinced that I no  longer have any.

It was a good talk.  And would you believe that they told the officer that they are mowing that lawn?  The only grass they’ve paid any attention to since they’ve moved in can be rolled in papers or smoked in a pipe, I assure you.  While it threatened to turn into a case of ‘he said she said,’ I let him speak his peace and move on.  He wasn’t going to do anything to any of us or them.

I went home smiling…wickedly.  The gloves are off.  They are scared and desperate.  They haven’t been able to goad S into a fight so they can press assault charges and have this situation swept under the rug.  They have no idea who they are dealing with.  The four of us (me, S, Ed, and Laura) bring our special skill sets to the table.  And we know how to handle things LEGALLY that will be almost as satisfying as if we could go all vigilante justice on their lying butts.

me: (as S and I talked in the screen porch after the incident) In what world could they ever have beaten us?  They have been weighed, they have been measured, and they have been found wanting…

S: Go Heath.

But now I have a plan.  And now I have hope.  And if things go as I expect…I’ll have one heck of a post for you tomorrow.

Wish me well!

Posted in Just Venting | 4 Comments »

My day in court…

Thursday, September 10th, 2009

First, let me begin by suggesting that if you are ever bored, and I mean…considering watching paint dry bored…please consider hanging out in a courtroom for the day as a viable alternative.  There are people from every walk of life forced to mingle and mix, combine that with the uncomfortable uber-controlled setting and watch the fun begin.

I was killing myself to make it there on time to begin with.  It was the 9am session, and since I’m up every stinking weekday morning at 5:30am, you’d think it would be simple.  Well, today, there was a freak rainstorm…thunder, lightning, constant down pour, the works.  And for some reason, most likely the mild climate with infrequent precipitation at best, rain causes more accidents and backups than can be imagined.

So, traffic was backed up while people dug deep and tried to remember how to drive with this foreign substance falling from the sky.  And I had Spring calming me down, talking me the whole way there.  I made it to the parking garage, made it through security, made it to the right courtroom, which they had hidden in this little enclave…freakin’ contemporary construction with all of its odd angular halls.   Grrr.  And then I sat down in this overcrowded room, with two very large men separating me from the squatters.

It was actually rather convenient, since I had their Friday Night Lights DVD set that I passed, a la high school.  They were not happy to see me.  Had I not been able to make the hearing, the judge would have dismissed the case.  If I’d have had to strap a lawn mower motor to the back of a deck chair, I would have found a way to make the hearing.

Roll was called and judging by how far down we were on the list, this was going to take a while.  That was okay.  It gave me an opportunity to educate myself before I had to take the stand.  And anything I can do to cause myself less public humiliation, the better.  It was bad enough I was going to have to walk across a room in heels and a skirt.  Anything could happen.

Well, I learned a lot about North Carolina law during this experience.  I had wondered what would happen if they hadn’t shown for the hearing.  Now I know that I would only have been able to claim possession of the house, but not go after a monetary judgment.  Guess it’s a good thing they roused themselves from a busy schedule of not working to attend the hearing.  It was like a field trip for them.  Tyler and I joked about it later.

me: I’m sure they found that glowing orb in the sky very disturbing.

Tyler: Don’t worry, squatters, it happens every day!

me: Yes, and it’s supposed to move across the sky like that.  Don’t worry, it’s not falling!

There were other things I learned, too.  For example, if your father-in-law dies the night before, you should just ask for a continuance rather than send your book keeper to answer in your stead.

Book Keeper: I’m acting as his agent.

Judge: Are you an agent?

BK: No.

J: Do you have a law degree?

BK: No.

J: Do you collect the rent?

BK: No.  I just record what he tells me.

J: Then you can’t act on his behalf.  This case is being sent to trial.  You’re free to leave.

And further more, if you aren’t on the lease, but live in the house, you can’t speak at the hearing.

J: Are you on the lease?

Other Person’s Squatter: No.

J: Then why are you talking?

OPS: I pay the rent.

(Actually, they were in court because NO ONE living there was paying the rent, whether on the lease or otherwise.)

J: You’re not on the lease, leave the gallery.

But, I think my all time favorite was the woman who stood up when her friend/sibling/something’s name was called.

J: Are you Ms. Williamson?

Woman: No.

J: Are you a lawyer?

W: No.

J: Then you can’t speak on her behalf.

W: She can’t be here.  She’s incarcerated.

J: Then she already has a place to live.  She doesn’t need the apartment.

W: But she pay the rent!  (She’s waving around some papers that may have been receipts of some kind.)

J: You’re free to leave the courtroom.

Now please understand that by the time it was my case, I had already seen at least thirty cases getting tried.  I knew what I had to do.  I had completed the extra paperwork.  I even had some notes jotted down on an envelope in the event that other questions were asked of me.

We were off to a great start when they tried to sit at the wrong table.

J: The table to the RIGHT.

And then I pleaded my case.

me: I am seeking $760 of the outstanding balance for August as well as $360 prorated for September for a total of $1120.  In addition, I am seeking damages…

My female squatter, who had been so meek during all of our meetings at the house, showed her true colors.

FS: The repairs have been made.  (And naturally I can’t do justice to the snotty manner in which it was spoken, you’ll just have to use your imagination.)

J: (completely ignoring her) Do you have a receipt?

me: No.  I have en estimate for repairs.

J: Well, you need a paid invoice for the judgment.  (And then she starts hand feeding me.)  Now, if you wanted to seek damages later, once the repairs were made, I could leave it open for you to do so…with a paid receipt.

me: Let’s do that.

(Since I know who made the repairs, I doubt that the repairs would meet my standards…or anyone else’s.  Tyler has been there showing the house and reported back to me.)

J: Now what do you have to say about the rent?

Male Squatter: We owe it.

J: I find for the plaintiff, possession and judgment.  Now you have ten days to vacate the property or appeal.  If you pay the entire month of September and the remainder of August, you may be able to stay unless she chooses to evict you anyway.  You’ll have to talk to her and work something out.

Female Squatter: We would, but she won’t answer her phone.  (Again with the ‘tude.)

S and I decided to distance ourselves from them once I filed the papers.  They left several messages that they wanted to talk and numerous excuses about having money soon that we never returned.  Had they said they wanted to hand us some cash, I would have told them to wander on over.

I was speaking to Spring about it on the drive home.

me: And then she complained that I wouldn’t answer the phone.

Spring: (laughing)  The phone?  You live four houses down the road.

me: I know.  I felt like telling the judge that two Dixie cups and some yarn would have sufficed.  Who needs a phone?

Spring: That’s awesome!

me: It’s so going in the blog.

Now the waiting game begins.  They have ten more days in my house.  And if they don’t leave and haven’t appealed, I get to run to the court house again to file some paperwork for the Sheriff to come and evict them.  Damn it.  Because if there’s anything I need, it’s to have to take more time off work and spend more money to get rid of them, knowing I’ll probably never see a dime.  Still waiting on that justice thing.

So, my phone rang half an hour ago.  It was the squatters.  I toyed with letting it go to voicemail, but since I figured they’d be gone soon enough, and secretly hoped that they’d tell me they had money for me, I made the mistake of answering.

MS: Uh, Nicki, the air conditioning unit isn’t working.  It’s blowing air, but it’s not cold.

me: Seriously.

MS: Yeah.

me: Great.  (Only it really wasn’t.)  I’ll see what I can do.

And I am seeing what I can do.  I called S, in frustration, who called them, who called me back.

S: They say they don’t even know why they’re talking to me since it’s your house.  And they claim they’ll have the money by the 21st, like the deadline. What are you going to do?

And I still don’t know.  I don’t have money to pay for the service call.  The bank is still trying to decide whether to credit my account for the unauthorized Wells Fargo transaction that drained me for nearly three weeks.  J hasn’t paid the child support and may not be able to.  And the squatters…well, we know where they stand.  So, maybe I’ll have no choice but to do nothing.

I spoke to a landlord friend who assured me that worse case scenario, they could call code enforcement on me.  That would eat up a couple of the days between now and the 21st.  And then, code enforcement would order me to fix it within either a 30 or 60 day time period.  In theory, they should be gone by then.  Or maybe they’ll come through with the money they owe so that I can have it fixed.

We shall see.  But given how how effectively the law has worked for me so far, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it.  I’m not a bad person.  I’m just fed up and financially drained.  (Think Scotty on the Enterprise: I’ve given all she’s got, captain!)

Rest assured, I’ll let you know how this turns out.

Posted in Just Venting | 3 Comments »

Freakin’ Wells Fargo!

Saturday, September 5th, 2009

So, since last I vented…here’s what’s happened with Wells Fargo.  And, as you may have guessed, judging by the photo (not me, by the way, as evidenced by really good hair) it’s not going well.  It all began with another call to them on Thursday.

Davica and I have spent waaaay too much time together on the phone.  She was as helpful as always in her very limited capacity.  Since I couldn’t be put through to Kendrick, the supervisor, for a change, I asked if she could read me the notes and update me on the status of my claim.  To my shock, she announced that a check had been sent.  She couldn’t tell me whether it was overnighted or the amount, but money was on the way.  I was cautiously optimistic that it would arrive before the long holiday weekend.

Sure enough, Rachel called when she arrived home and announced that I had just received a special envelope from Wells Fargo.  My excitement was short-lived.  Just as the check was short…about $470.  Those lying, cheating, scheming… Grrr.  In an effort to keep this entry PG, insert adjective of your choice here .

I called Davica back.  It was now around 5pm EST.

me: Please put me through to Kendrick.

Davica: He’s not here.  He went on vacation.

me: So, he can afford to go on vacation and I can’t afford to go to the grocery store?

Davica: I’m sorry.

me: Then put me through to the Refund Department.

Davica: I have no way to get in touch with them.

me: Well, someone does, since that’s where the paperwork was sent.  Put me through to another supervisor.

It was useless.  Nothing happened.  Davica was where the buck stopped.  And it wasn’t as though she was tough, she just was ill-prepared to deal with me, or trained to thwart me.  I’m not sure which, but I was thwarted for sure.

I asked the opinion of everyone in the garage that night, with the idea that someone might have an opinion I agreed with.  The ideas varied, but everyone agreed that I couldn’t afford to drop this.  I needed to find a way to recoup the money.

me: Oh, and guess where Michael is tonight?

A bunch of outlandish ideas were thrown out.

me: He’s at the Panther game, sitting in the Wells Fargo box.

Everyone looked at me aghast, as though this was the ultimate betrayal.

me: Don’t worry.  He has promised to make them pay.  He’s going to eat his body weight in food.

They laughed.

me: And if that’s not enough, I suggested that he bring a man purse to smuggle me some leftovers.

So, on Friday morning I asked Michael how the night had gone.

Michael: I farted on their chair.

me: Nice.

M: It was leather.

me: Very nice?

And then he sent me to Wachovia to work this check thing out.  All I wanted to know was if by cashing it, was I implying that I accepted that the refund was satisfactory?

Not so helpful Wachovia worker: They won’t give you any more money.

me: Thanks.  That’s it?

WW: Try talking to your bank.

Once again, I hopped in my vehicle to head to another bank.  And then the fun began as I waited…and waited…and waited.  Which reminds me…what is it about me that draws the freaks out?

Stranger Danger: Nice toes.

(I had just repainted them the sparkly burgundy color I love.)

me: Thanks?

SD: So, are your toes pink?

me: Excuse me?

SD: I saw a license plate that said ‘Pink Toes.’ I thought it might be you.

me: Nope.  Not me.

And then I started looking around, willing one of the customer service representatives to be ready for me.  No such luck.  More than a few minutes later, I was finally assisted and put on the phone with their claims department.  I filed an affidavit.  (Wish I could say it was simple, but as with every other aspect of my life, yet another challenge to conquer.)

Now…the waiting game continues.  I’m cautiously optimistic that one day, before say, the New Year, I will be able to use my bank account as something other than a reality check.  I’m hoping to once again live on my debit card instead of what coin I have in my pocket.  Most importantly…I have hope.  (No thanks to Wells Fargo.)

Posted in Just Venting | 1 Comment »