I think it’s been a while since we had a pictorial, eh? I am mostly well again. I was just tired this week after emptying out my entire body. Thanks germs! And ravenous. Without further ado, Snooki welcomes you to a ASSPICTORIAL.
I’ve done a ton of planting in my yard, and decided not to take pictures of the sad sticks I planted, which is my normal custom. I need to rose nerd out, because I went rose nerd batshit around the chick fence and planted another Joseph’s coat where there happens to be a trellis by the porch. “What trellis??” P. said. How do you miss a trellis? I guess you do if you are not a flower nerd. So of course I had to also put in a double delight (looks crap in this picture because I think it was the very first one) of the season, and some kind of lavender which I am forgetting, and also a hot cocoa.
There are also kiwis, which are leafing out now, and a fig, which looks quite stunned, poor thing. In addition to the cherries we planted out back where the rotten apple tree was, I think we might have a fruiting cherry out front. It was summer when we moved in, so I assumed it was ornamental. There are HELLA herbs in the front yard as well, including way too much lemon balm. Not my favorite, but apparently ve have ways of making you talk. Or delicious, or something. I will wait a month or so and then take pictures of what my sad sticks have transformed into.
Easter happened! I already wrote a little about it at the bottom of this recent post, but I thought I would finally cough up pictures. As long-time readers know, I do not have a religious bone in my body, but it nice to have an excuse to celebrate lambitarianism. I’ve weaned the girls off Easter baskets and candy, which just feels like a bridge too far for me. I really don’t like to make a fuss about any holiday I don’t believe in. Which leaves Halloween (Satan) and Thanksgiving (Indigestion). Hand turkeys will be colored. I think my “celebration” of holidays reflects my core beliefs: food and art.
First I let Strudel dye eggs.
Apparently the fuck egg has become a tradition now.
Then we had dinner. I guess I waited too long to buy my customary lamb roast and I ended up with a rack. Which was AWESOME. I made lollypops.
A crazy thing is that I still have part of these Easter flowers in my bathroom. Just the lilies, some greenery, and some carnations. Carnations are highly underrated. I think I came around to them after working at Lush for a while.
Strudel was VERY UPSET that I immediately used some of her Easter eggs, which I was sorry to upset her, but hard cooked eggs are great, aren’t they? Yay salad.
And then, because I am a sucker, I let poor pathetic Franny talk me into letting her dye eggs later that week. She was upset because she was due to spend Easter weekend at her dad’s house, as I mentioned, but for some reason they dyed eggs on Thursday or something? She missed out.
I guess I humored this because it’s not a huge deal, and she’s 12 now. Soon she may lose interest in dyeing eggs at all I suppose. (Cue “Sunrise, Sunset” and some maudlin weeping.) Although I dropped a lot of traditions, but kept dyeing eggs through college with roommates and before children. I have never not dyed eggs I guess.
I’ve been lazy on my wee Indian food project, which is fine. I guess by lazy I mean, “eating other food” and “spending a lot of time writing.” There are no schedules or calendars this time. My delightful work spouse brought me kala chana/black chickpeas for NO REASON except awesomeness and he loves food too, so I am making kala chana curry tomorrow. They are already soaking! I found a lot of interesting words about chickpeas on this blog. Usually I just buy the yellow ones in cans and nerm nerm nerm them up with my food processor until they are hummus. So this will be new.
Speaking of new, my friend J.B. and I will be taking a little field trip to get some new chicks soon. My youngest girls are now two years old, so it is time to cycle in some new girls. Death Ray (headless here) is now FIVE, crap. She is absolutely not laying and is fully retired. I am considering getting some more Silkies because I love them so. I will confess to you that every morning when I walk out I worry that Death Ray will be Dead Ray.
Fuck. Fuck this! Fuck you! I’m doing this anyway! You cannot stop me!
This is not a hack. I am just psyching myself up to write more. Maybe just for ten minutes today, though. Ok.
I have a flu bug and if you tapped me I would be hollow right now. I really hope I can go back to work tomorrow because I like eating and buying ugly clothes. But since I am here, I will write a little. FUCK YOU, anxiety and self-doubt.
I want to talk about something else but my brain is pretty one-track today. And a little white noise. I may end up deleting all of today when I am done.
This is a request and dedication to Krumpy, whose texts have been cheering lately, possibly not the intended effect: Don’t Smoke in Bed
Here’s a great thing, and I am not sure if that’s an ironic statement or not yet. When I was younger I used to like to have sex, at like 11 p.m. If you asked me to fill out a form, I would have said something stupid like “Anytime is good for sex, bra” but the truth is I was a night owl. Maybe more like a night vole, because I have crap night vision. Awake, enjoying myself, but will probably get eaten by a hawk or lawnmower.
Nowadays sex is like “When am I conscious, this old person that I have morphed into? Business hours are between 5 a.m. and 9:30 p.m. (No orders may be placed after 9:15.) Ok so 7:15? Child is doing the dishes? Sounds good.” Yes, I made my Feral Dwarf do the Easter dishes. She does not get to be Strudel for this post because that is a term of endearment. She was cross about this injustice. Dishwasher loading. A crime against her people (short lazy ones). She does not do the big heavy ones or the super greasy ones. Just load the dishwasher and wipe the counter and EARN YOUR KEEP ALREADY, A LITTLE AT LEAST.
There is dish bitterness. There is no lock on my door. (That changes this week.) Feral Dwarf BARGED into my bedroom last night because she found the answer “Planning a muffin party” unsatisfactory with regards to her demands about WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE. Door opened, bang, a la Swazye kicking the door down Roadhouse-style.
“Oh…what? WHAT?” she said and then retreated back to the kitchen again. I heard maniacal laughter echoing down the halls.
“Poor thing, she has finally snapped, blinded by taint,” I said to her father. “I better go check on her.”
I threw my robe on and walked into the kitchen, where Feral Dwarf was still laughing her moronic little head off.
“Are you ok,” I said, attempting to be concerned and parental. “Do you understand why it’s not nice to barge in on people.” I cannot produce a rising inflection when I am in serious parenting mode.
“Was that…THE DIRTY DRAGON DANCE?” she asked me. Ever since Buffy had sex with Spike and broke the house it has been henceforth been known as the DDD, as in, “What is Buffy DOING with Spike??” “HA HA HA THAT’S HILARIOUS,” she continued. “THAT IS THE MOST HILARIOUS THING. I AM SO TELLING FRANNY.” Wow, was this conversation getting away from me.
Also, she said this last bit in tattle voice. Tattling on me that I was having sex, me, the person who had sex to make her. I think the cat’s out of the bag on that one.
“Okay, Franny knows, because it is a normal thing that adults do,” I said. Then I said something stupid, because everything you can possibly say as a parent at this point is going to be A. stupid and B. indelibly written on your child’s memory. Good luck with this one, I mean it. “You should be glad that we like each other. Really.”
Peals of laughter! Never has there been a jollier dwarf in all of North Seattle!
She should be glad we like each other, too. Shit is hard, man. And almost didn’t work out at all. A summary of my early 30s: I got an IUD in and literally wanted to die and it almost ruined everything that is good in my life. YMMV.
Later FD’s dad reminded me that I got the IUD in because he was afraid then to get a vasectomy! Afraid! I sincerely enjoy when I am reminded of something to be mad about. WHY? I am not actually going to be mad about it, but for like ten seconds I can shake my fist and go “YOOOOOOO GUY.” It’s good for you.
I tried a different tack, which really, I should have just changed my name and moved to Fife at this point.
“Do you…know…how you got here?”
She stopped for a minute, thought.
“Well, not really, no. Sort of? Wait, LIKE THAT? HA HA HA! So that is what all the noise is about in there,” she said. “I am so telling Franny* about all of this.”
Franny came home and it was pretty much forgotten then, but I am sure they’re going to gossip about it on the way to school. I took my customary Sunday night shower, which is so relaxing and kind of puts a period on the weekend and gets off whatever I have done to myself that day (yesterday was FINALLY finish painting the hall!). Franny was clingy as usual and wanted to come in, so I told her she could and she hung out and talked about her weekend while I conditioned my hairs.
“Sooo your sister was kind of…a thing happened tonight,” I said.
“Oh?”
“Yes, your sister walked in on me and P. tonight while we were doing an adult thing that adults do together.”
“You mean the dirty dragon dance?” Franny asked. “Ha ha, oh, Mom. That sucks.”
Sigh. “Yes, that. I just wanted to give you a heads up, because she is freaking out with the hilarity of it all, and will want to talk to you about it. So let me know if there’s anything you want to discuss with me later or if you have questions about anything relating to sex IN GENERAL, okay?”
YOU KNOW I am not a prude. I agree with Dan Savage when he said that kids don’t want to hear about your sex life. Or anyone’s really. Until they are ready for it, and then it should be their friends’ lives, not mine. They are busy being kids. I am okay with them seeing network television type sex scenes and them being very knowledgeable about the biological particulars of sex and knowing it’s a thing that adults do. None of this is secret. But I will tell you I have a line, and that line is a smoking crater in my brain that happened when my mom told me a story about her experience with monster black cock. I would tell you the story, but see: smoking crater.
ANYWAY, my child walked in on me having sex and thought it was the most hilarious thing ever. Later she apologized for being a barger. Therapy savings: questionable.
*Franny, just then, as it turns out, was on her way home from her dad’s, so we all got to have bananas foster together and watch Easter Angel. Her dad does this funny thing where he texts me around two or so on Sunday to come get her from some arbitrary fair place he has decided on that week. I ignore the text and then he has Franny call me and make a sad voice, because ‘don’t I want to rescue my widdle precious miserable baby?’ Well, of course I do, but she will be okay one more night and I will see her Monday, after he drops her off at school, which is how it’s supposed to go according to the parenting plan. Then he gets SeaFed up (GET IT.) and brings her home around or after suppertime. They went out to Chinese food for Easter. Franny: “It was terrible, I told them they should just bring me home so I could have PROPER Easter dinner because I knew yours would actually TASTE GOOD.” She is really just Not Nice over there which makes me cringe because I am trying to get her to experience an opposite outcome of my life (N.B. blog title). But I get it.
I have wanted to tell you about this for MONTHS. Fortunately I wrote it all down in a much more professional and concise format because I knew I was going to be reporting what follows to the appropriate board when it was over, so I have not forgotten anything.
I believe I mentioned my guardian ad litem for our case was removed by the court in January. Here is what I say to you: if you are faced with a list of GALs outside of a courtroom, after being ordered to use one, and there is no more information on said list than their name and prices, I SAY TO YOU, take 5 and search that shit. Even if your lawyer is saying, “I’ve worked with this person, they’re fine.” I know not everyone has a smart phone, but do your best. There’s crackpots out there who will review, you know, DMVs and post offices, but if you see a pattern in the reviews, think twice. I was too trusting in choosing from a list of people who work with a vulnerable population that was provided by the family court. This is your kid, you know?
I think I have said this before, but to be clear about why all this was happening…the purpose of the GAL in our case was to have a “neutral party” to speak with us and Franny and advocate for what Franny wanted and what would be best for her as far as the visitation schedule goes. Franny is not old enough to testify in court in Washington State. The GAL was to testify in court and submit a report of her conclusions about these issues.
The GAL that came to the top of the list was Karin Ballantyne. Karin was appointed way back in December 2011, when it was first decided we could change the parenting plan. We were supposed to go through mediation, and if we could not settle by those means we would avail ourselves of the GAL option. We got to that point in August 2012 and finally, I had to retain her (SeaFed refused to pay his half). Karin said she would do a “short” report since we didn’t have a lot of time before our trial date in early October, so her normal retainer was cut almost in half.
I was to meet with her alone first and there was a hiccup from the get go. We set an appointment via email and she told me what time to meet her at her office, but didn’t specify which day. There was a range of days and it was unclear if it was supposed to be the next day or the day after. I sent her a final clarifying email, expecting to hear back quickly, to the effect of, “Sorry, tomorrow or Thursday?” No response, so I sent her an email telling her I would assume the appointment was for the first day unless I heard back from her. I came to her office the next day, and she did not. I called her and left a message and sent her an email telling her I was there. I felt like I should be careful about giving every appearance of taking this seriously, since I was, of course.
I bring this up because it set the pattern. I was willing to give her a pass on the first time, because we all communicate poorly sometimes, and my motto is usually “shit happens, man,” which has to be said in the voice of The Dude, naturally. Later that day, she replied to the email with (I summarize): “Whoops, see you tomorrow.” She never got back to me in less than twenty-four hours in the beginning, which is fine if appointments are clear. (I find in life that the people who set clear appointments in the first place are generally the ones who are willing to get back to you if you have questions.)
Before the first meeting I spent four hours filling out her short and long intake forms. The long form had about 120 questions and I provided about a paragraph for most questions. There were questions like “What led to the ultimate break-up of the relationship with the other parent? Who initiated the decision and action to end the relationship? What impact has this had on the current situation?” My lawyer encouraged me to paint a complete picture of the situation and it was hard to delve way back into the past. A lot of the questions applied to events that had happened over ten years ago.
I didn’t know what to expect with our meeting. I’ve met with therapists, psychologists, lawyers, drug and alcohol assessment counselors inside and outside of court orders. The usual protocol is to show up, keep your pants on, and tell your side of things.
Once we sat down, Karin hit me with this one: “Sooo I have a new assistant and she seems to have LOST your paperwork. Can you remind me who the people are in this case?” I thought at first this might be some kind of test to see how I handled weird curve balls like this, seriously. Why was I meeting with her if she had no idea who I was, and what the issues were? How could she lose paperwork that I had emailed and posted to her? My understanding was that SeaFed had not bothered to fill his out, so at least she did not just have his side of things. I had to get organized in my head, QUICKLY, and stay on point with what we wanted from a parenting plan.
I started speaking and she asked if SeaFed was a different person with the same last name whose case she was also handling. Then she went on to give me the details of that family’s case, including their names, the age and gender of their child, and where they lived. Alarm bells. What a breach of confidentiality! Holy shit, this lady was crazy! And she was appointed to our case! Fuck fuck fuck. Could I walk out? Could I just be nice and pray since at that point she had all the power and we didn’t have time to get a new person? Maybe this was all a mindfuck and she was great, like I’d been told.
I spent the next hour trying to cram in anything she wanted to know about the case. I didn’t expect anyone with an eidetic memory to handle our case, but I was hoping this shit would at least sound familiar to her. She scribbled notes, obviously hearing about everything for the first time. Somehow it came up that I am gay, that it’s part of my identity.
“What!” she scoffed. “You can’t be gay. You have two children by two different men.”
I thought of telling her how, a woman who looks “straight” (Well, do I? I don’t know. I think I look like myself. I don’t get hit on in straight meat-market clubs, that’s for sure, never have), who doesn’t have a strong preference for any gender is going to be likely to, statistically speaking, meet and settle with a straight man. Because unless you really do have a preference and seek a certain type of person out, then straight men are what’s falling out of trees around you. I did say something about dating women in the past, and did not tell her that one of my worst heartbreaks was at the hands of an ice princess Betty Draper type years ago. Grace Kelly, you are my kryptonite. I felt very much like not a whole or real person at that moment. However, I knew I was only one piece of this puzzle, and that I was there for Franny, and endeavored to move on.
“So you’re bisexual,” she told me.
Again I thought of all the delightful and sexy transmen I have been fortunate to know over the years, and have had connections with…you know what, oh fuck it. This was not my Norma Rae moment. This was not the first time I’ve heard I’m not gay, or am a certain type. I’m pretty frickin gay. Bring in a muffin, I will butter it. Is there a casual way to tell someone you just met that you’re Jerri Blank with slightly better teeth?
“…Okay,” I said.
We got to what court had been like in the wayback, and I told her it was challenging, because there were crazy allegations and statements flying around in 2004, and it was obfuscating what I felt was the heart of the matter. She wanted to know what the dirty stuff flying around was. I was like hey, he’s not really paying attention to this kid when she’s in his care, and it’s dangerous sometimes. What came back in court from his side was, “SJ is a satanist/zoosexual who was so bad her parents had to abuse her. Also she eats too much ice cream.”
Okay. You got me. I love ice cream.
Karin began talking about how she read some really wild erotica in the 70s or something about having sex with animals and how that “freaky” stuff could be really sexy sometimes if it was just in the realm of fantasy. I felt like she was expecting me to say…something? About this? Like she was making a safe space for my true confessions? I had nothing to say. This all seemed about as safe as a stampeding bull covered in hypodermic needles of questionable origin.
Outwardly I sighed. Inwardly I imagined myself fleeing so fast that my bones, organs, and muscles would rip free of the rest of me, leaving a deflated sack of skin and some sad pink weave in her chair. The rest of my time was spent being regaled with tales of how amicable her divorce was. That’s marvy. Really. Uh huh. Wait, you had more to ask me but our time’s up? Okay.
SO THAT WENT WELL. DON’T YOU THINK? I went home and felt like this for about three days:”AAAAAAH!!!!!” I immediately emailed my lawyer a complete account of what had happened, and that I had taken it very seriously but had extreme reservations about Karin’s competence. My lawyer said she thought that was all very strange, and hoped that obtaining the report would give us what we wanted since court was zooming right up.
Then she was supposed to meet with SeaFed, but he gave her some busy-and-important jive and they had a phone interview instead. This is after she gave me a big spiel about how she would be handling both parties absolutely equally. “If I inspect your house, I will go and inspect his as well.” And so on. Then Karin met with him and Franny together in her office to watch her interact with her parents separately. It was a Sunday night and Karin asked me if I could pick Franny up from her office since SeaFed was to return her Monday morning. Could I do him that favor? Of course. I was assured he would be gone.
I rounded the corner to the street that her building’s door opened out to, and BANG, there was SeaFed with Karin and Franny. I felt the blood drain out of my face. I really don’t enjoy running into him unexpectedly. My face always goes all “AMG, VOLDEMORT!” which, come on SJ, get a fucking grip already. I stammered a few pleasantries and took Franny away. It was obvious Karin saw me blanch.
“Well, that was weird,” Franny said, as we walked away to where I was parked.
“What?” I said, recovering slightly and becoming a human with loose joints and regular circulation again.
“She’s just weird, Mom. I don’t like her. And I know you weren’t expecting to see my dad just then, I could tell.”
“It’s okay, it’s just your dad. It was a surprise, is all. How did it go?”
“My dad was acting faaaaake. He asked me before we left his house this afternoon what I want for the schedule and I told him, and then in the meeting he acted like he didn’t know any of that.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry. Let’s go get some sushi.”
Then I had my kid-parent meeting with Karin. She called me the day of to tell me she did not have time to meet at her office because she was coming from somewhere on the Eastside, and could we meet someplace “neutral” in my neighborhood? I suggested a coffee shop. Franny was filled with dread at going through everything again. Karin was an hour late. Basically we played a few word and story games and she watched us interact. Karin asked to be alone with her at the end and spoke to Franny about what she wanted. She met me at the door of the coffee shop with Franny and said she would be submitting the report in a week, in plenty of time for the final paperwork like the brief to be due in early September.
And I never saw or heard from her again. DUN DUN DUNNN.
What happened after that, I can cover pretty quickly. We were ready for court in October and SeaFed even turned in his hilarious bag of mess he called his legal brief so we were locked and loaded. Karin did not produce the report and gave several excuses about being ill/on vacation. We had two continuances because of her, and she was finally removed in January. All of my legal fees from October to January were due to her delays.
My lawyer did get in touch with her a couple of times. Karin said she would be “crafting a communication plan” for me and SeaFed, to which my lawyer responded that we had been communicating pretty well up until this recent action thanks. Karin was concerned about how “scared” I looked upon seeing him unexpectedly. No comment. Karin also wanted to know, oh, was this the supervised custody case? To which I say: Facepalm.
In late February I emailed her briefly, telling her that as she knew by now, she had been removed from the case over a month ago, and I would like my money refunded since no report was provided, and I expected it in my mailbox by March 15. I could hear her cackling upon receipt of this email in my head, but I had to officially ask. March 15th came and went, and the following Monday I went to the courthouse and filed a small claim to recover the retainer and some of the legal fees.
She did respond to my email with more batshit smokescreenery in the form of, I kid you not, “I just found the paperwork removing me from your case in my closet this weekend.” (???!!!) Lady, if your letter carrier is sending your mail to your CLOSET and not telling you, you might want to get a new owl, I’m just saying. How is this an excuse? She also blamed my lawyer for sending emails to an old email address. Really. I happened to know her legal assistant had called Karin’s office several times, and had reached her for some of them. Also that Karin was apprised of the case schedule, and so on. She said of course she would return my money–she did want to do right by me. Karin said she had the report ready, did I want it now? Umm, no thanks. I did not reply.
I took a spin online to find her home address via public real estate records (librarian powers activate) so I would have something to write on the small claims form. I knew her office hours were sporadic and self-set, so it would be almost impossible to have her served there. In my searching I found where she was going to be later that week–bankruptcy court! FAAABULOUS. Was there even a point in trying to recover my money?
Ultimately I decided it was worth a try, since personal bankruptcy did not protect one from things like fees owed, was my understanding, but from “unsecured loans” like credit card debt. I don’t think I will ever see my fees but I would like it to be part of public record that Karin took my money, worked with my child, and did jack shit but prolong this process and stress my kid out further. I’ve taken a lot of bullpucky in the pooper during this process, but NOBODY FUCKS WITH THE FRANNY. When I was searching for her address I also found other online reviews like “Karin is of exceptionally low personal character” and “Karin will take your check and do nothing.” That sounds familiar.
After I paid the fee to file the claim, I went to the sheriff’s clerk’s office, where I could pay another fee to engage them to serve the papers for me.
“Can I tell you if I know exactly where she’s going to be on a certain day this week?”
“Sure,” the clerk said. “But there’s no guarantee we’ll have someone available at that time to come to that place. Where is it?”
I gave him the deets of when and where her bankruptcy court was and he wrote it down.
“I hope it works out, since it’s at this courthouse,” I said.
So I have ANOTHER court date in May. Wow I love court. I’m going to set up a yurt outside of the sheriff’s office. And what I really hope is that this lady loses her license and is not allowed to work with vulnerable people any longer.
This basically summarizes my experience in court so far:
I think I struck a chord with my last post. Thanks, everyone who commented. I really wish it was a comment section full of, “As usual, SJ, we have no idea what you’re talking about.” But life’s not like that, is it?
I have pictures to post this weekend and more writings to make and I wrote for two hours this morning. Boy howdy! Shauny was telling me that she’s using something called 750 Words sometimes. I thought, shit bitches, I am not writing anything close to that! Maybe just a page…. I decided to pay attention to my word count for a couple of days. 1500 one day, and 2100 this morning when I had two hours to write.
Of course, it’s not the word count that’s the primary point. It’s just that it’s fairly easy to knock out and make progress pretty fast. I forgot about this. My mindhack (oh yes I did) for this is to time myself. I started with ten-minute bursts because I cannot justify my way out of ten minutes. Now I am on 30-minute solid bursts where I don’t talk to anyone or look at the internet for “research” or stop unless I really need to. I was really worried about being sick or tired, so if that happens I am going to cut back to ten minutes and see if I can do more from there. The tiniest amount of progress will keep the story fresh in my head.
This story is running on its own steam now–I’ve got it charted (in my head, at least) from start to finish. It’s nice to have one of those periods where you can see it all like a movie and you’re just transcribing what happened. I’ll spend more time this weekend and I suspect it might top out around 20k words in another week or so. I have promised one of my very favorite people that I will put it up somewhere else NOT on iasshole so it has a home and doesn’t get lost and people can download it. The antidote to my mother’s voice in my head calling my writing pretentious is bossy people who I love. Bossing me. The muscle’s coming back fast and it’s like I never stopped now.
Now I have something embarrassing to tell you, which is an unusual occurrence around here, I know. This, however, does not involve things getting stuck in my vagina or whatever, so feel free to wander off. Some time ago I stumbled upon this article, about, yes, Jerry Seinfeld’s productivity secret. I’ll summarize, since it really doesn’t need to even have an article’s worth of words attached to it. .5 Think about the thing you want to make progress on and do every day. 1. Get a full year’s wall calendar (“year-at-a-glance”) 2. Make an X every day you do the thing you want to do. 3. Don’t break the chain. Now that I am over a week in, it is already hard to think about breaking it.
I have a growing wall of red Xs hanging inside the door of my pantry and it is making me happy. When I walk into work in the morning, I feel like even if I lay under my desk all day (WHICH I WOULD NEVER DREAM OF DOING, COUGH) I would have accomplished enough for the day.
I know what I am writing about after this first story, and then I will have to figure something else out after that, but I have time.
I realized that I have been writing steadily for half my life now. I wrote my first story when I was nine about some cat detectives in the future who have fedoras and Model-Ts except, twist, they are Model-T hovercars. And then 25 years or so later I discovered I basically wrote Meow, The Jury, except shorter. I guess I have always loved noir the best.
As an aside, Jerry Seinfeld always gives me a cringe because when I was a barista in college in Phoenix there was a guy who came in every day, Ted. Ted became very fixated on me and chatted me up most days I worked. He saw me in my terrible Coffee Plantation uniform with my hair in a ponytail every day. I remember Seinfeld was in its last season then, and the media was kind of spacking out about it all and it was kind of idle small talk. This is the time I informally think of as “before pop culture went kablooie” via the internet being what it is today and 50 gajillion cable channels. The splintering. Lots of people were watching Seinfeld.
As an aside within my aside, I was thinking that hardly anyone comes really close to an almost complete overlap in pop culture interests anymore, but at the same time, you can catch someone up in 30 seconds via your pocket computer. So that’s a trade. I realized my Feral Dwarf doesn’t really grok Bugs Bunny references and it may not matter. Bugs Bunny is kind of an asshole. But she can quote Strong Bad, who is an entertaining asshole.
Anyway. My stalker. He was quoting classic Seinfeldy quotes at me and trying to make me laugh and whatnot. I was trying to smile and make as many tips off the tightwads who came through Phoenix’s “fancy” mall as possible. [Actual customer quote: “I have socks that are worth more than you.”] Of course he inquired about my relationship status none-to-subtly with my five a.m. opening shift buddy, who was a peach and a really hard worker, and reignited my love of hiphop via one of those restaurant satellite stations. You have not lived until you have ground several pounds of coffee for the drip urns in preparation to the morning rush by 5:20 a.m., getting some kind of weird contact high from the powdered beans floating in the air while dancing to “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It.” Actually, that is a lie. Even if you have not done that I believe you when you say you’ve lived.
So it’s that thing where you have young girl with nametag who is trapped behind counter and is actually paid to smile, or at least not spit at you. Why does this equal consent? When I was younger I really had issues with men in their 50s-60s hitting on me (I know, I know, this is not an uncommon phenomenon), however, it would really throw fuel on the fire when they would pry into my interests and discover I was basically a 50-year-old woman who looked 20. I did things like dinner theatre, martinis, watercolor classes, Frank Sinatra, gardening, and “being in bed by 9 p.m.” Wait, once when I was 21 or so I accidentally drank red wine AND NyQuil within an hour of each other, and had a really far-out time listening to “Sketches of Spain.” (I had kind of a wild couple of months when I was about 27-and-a-half but I am basically back to being 50 again.) I should have said that I was totally like into parasailing and whatever was on the radio in 1998?? Aguilera?? I don’t know. Ted started getting really overt in the guise of (loudly) talking to himself as he would stir sugar into his coffee: “Yeppers, I could really use an SJ in my life.” I am getting freaked out just typing that fifteen years later.
“Does he not have a job?” I asked my opening buddy one morning as we sliced bagels. She had told me Ted was asking about me and what my schedule was.
“Oh no, he used to come in here a lot before, but then he won the lottery and quit his job. Now he’s here every day.”
“The lottery-lottery?”
“Yeah, he’s loaded.”
This made it sadder, somehow. ASU was a stone’s throw away and he could have pulled any one of hundreds of Britney clones there, but instead he was bothering a sweaty, dairy-vomit-smelling child bride who dyed her hair brown on purpose, and not for any smart reason, like covering grey. I just wanted it browner.
One day on my day off I came in to pick up my paper paycheck so I could spend it on sensible shoes or vegetables or something. Ted was sitting outdoors, which was unusual, because he usually sat within earshot of where I would work on the hot machine.
“Hi SJ!” he shouted at me across the parking lot. Ted’s weaselly face lit up as I pushed my goggles up on top of my head and swung my leg over my scooter. Man, this was his lucky week. He got six days of SJ! As I approached him his face changed and became very confused-looking.
“Hey, Ted,” I replied when I got within polite talking distance. I was never one to shout across parking lots unless someone was in danger or something. “What’s crackin?”
“Uh, nothing…” He blanched a little in the toasty Phoenix springtime sun and looked down into his coffee.
“Okay, see you later, Mr. Chatty.”
As I walked into my store I forgot I was wearing short shorts and a shirt I had picked up at one of the only piercing shops in Honolulu in 1996. It featured cartoony, Coop-like scantily-clad women. One was bent over and trussed up with a ball gag in her mouth, and the other woman was flogging her. The name of the shop, which I believe was Sin, was featured over the picture.
Ted rarely spoke to me after that. I should have thought of it months before!
In Other News.
My old boss sent me this picture today and I captioned it. Oh Friday.
Franny came home last night after a three day weekend. SeaFed has been dropping her off early at his convenience if he’s in Seattle, which is great with me. This is in lieu of dropping her off on Monday mornings. When she came home I was watching an episode of Mad Men, which Franny has been calling The Combed Hair Man Show for many years when she catches glimpses of it. I like this, because it’s like the bad Icelandic translation or something. I try to just let her drop back into our lives naturally when she comes back and she flopped down next to me on the couch.
SeaFed got his Yahoo! account jacked by Russians in June of last year. So, let us bear in mind that that happened nineish months ago.
When TV was over and things were winding down, I could tell Frannie wanted to talk.
“My dad said something weird this weekend,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He was really surprised when you texted him that I was coming on Thursday night.”
“But it was a three-day weekend. When it’s his weekend he gets that extra holiday. You mean he didn’t know you were coming?”
“He said he had to scramble to get into the car and pick me up. He also told me that if you would have told him that I had Friday off, he could have taken me on a trip with his family that he came back from on Thursday.” This man who cannot afford to pay for the new GAL is taking midweek vacations now.
“But, BUT,” I sputtered.
“I KNOW,” she said. “He said that he has not given his new email to the school yet.”
“Well, not to mention the fact that the school calendar is publicly available on the website. Maybe I should suggest that he locate the calendar.”
“You can do what you want. But if you contact him about this, he will say I’m making it up. And then he’ll talk to me about it when I see him again.” The word “talk” had a thick undertone of “OH PLEASE GOD NO.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Hmm, ok.” I was quiet then. “Let me get this straight. He did not know you were coming on Thursday. He does not know what the school calendar says. The school does not have his email address. And somehow this is all my fault?”
She rolled her eyes and nodded. “He blames you every time he does something like this, Mom.”
We talked for quite a while longer. She is deeply sad about her relationship with him, and I think he has no concept of that. In keeping with my Star Trek theme above, it’s quite a paradox that such an epic bullshit peddler had a child who is basically Deanna Troi.
The real sucks part is that much like when I was younger and with him, she is trying to blame herself for the lack of intimacy and substance of their relationship. I think she thinks if they could only bridge the gap somehow she could break in to some inner sanctum, that, believe me, is not there. There are no depths to plumb. I see her shouting into the void to no avail. I spent about an hour telling her that she is an awesome person to know. She thinks his concept of her is “here is my daughter who likes art.”
“Do you think I’m a cool person?” I asked her, gesturing at myself like I was some Bob Barker showcase shit. “Not a cool mom, but a decent person? Look at all the things I have going on. I write, I cook, I’m smart, I have a sense of humor, I can hold down a job, I can take care of you and your sister.” She nodded. “Your dad found me TOTALLY UNINTERESTING. ME. You’re his kid, and you have both of our best parts. You’re probably going to grow up to be a cooler person than me. IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT.”
She took this in. “My dad has cool parts?”
“Yes, look. Imagine a gloppy lake. That is your dad.” She laughed. “There are some like, carrots and Legos and a unicorn horn floating around it. When you happened, that lake got dredged and the cool parts got pulled out. Really. Your dad had potential, which he was not able to achieve. Just because he does not use his cool parts does not mean they are not there. And they were available for you. And I am glad. I’m sorry you cannot connect with your dad. I couldn’t either.”
“Yeah. I try, I just can’t. It makes me feel like I don’t care anymore. It’s always the same and I get depressed.”
“Let me tell you a story,” I said. “When I first went to live with my mom, we got kittens. We thought they were boys, but it turns out they were brother and sister. She didn’t have them fixed…”
“Uh oh.”
“I know! So they started spraying all over the house and humping each other.”
“AUGH.”
“This is what unfixed cats do,” I said. “So she got rid of them. Then she got three more cats, and got pregnant with Auntie Morgan, and got rid of them also with the pregnancy as an excuse. And I got my own cat after that. She was very sweet. Her name was Jade…she was a tuxedo cat with green eyes. She left my stepdad for the second or third time or whatever and we had to get rid of her before we ran away. Then one time we were living in an apartment by ourselves and the girl in the downstairs apartment had to give up her cat, and my mother took the cat.”
“That’s something I really don’t like about Grandma…nothing is permanent for her,” Franny said.
“Well, nothing is permanent in life. But some people are better at stability than others. I hear you. So, this cat, let me tell you. I did not touch it, I did not look at it. I was very sad. I loved all those cats. And sure enough, that cat went away. I don’t think it was really less painful to ignore the cat than it was to love it and experience the loss of it. It was just different. And I learned something about myself.”
“What’s that?”
“I didn’t want to be the kind of person who shut myself off. I wanted to feel things. What I didn’t know then was that I needed to get to a safe environment to do that. The way I grew up was not so good for it being safe to attach to things or people. But YOU. You have me. You have us. I have you. I am not going anywhere. Nothing in this house is. Don’t cut yourself off from feeling, no matter how much it sounds like relief. If you are being blocked from the light, find a different direction to grow in.”
She nodded. She is so sad. I hid my sadness as best I could at her age because I knew no one really cared. I’m glad that recently she’s become open to the idea of therapy. I am hoping that speaking to a professional will help her find ways to cope with her pain and tease a manageable relationship out of the situation with her dad. I decided not to raise my children in the environment I was raised in, and hooray, I am not mentally ill like some people I was exposed to, but I feel like I’ve handed her a new plate of crap. I would let her lay eggs in my corpse if I could get her out of one second of feeling a lack of connection with her father. Until I can find that devil’s bargain to sign off on, BABY STEPS.
P.S. Heading down to the courthouse this morning to file a small claim. WOW I love the courthouse NOT AT ALL. I’ll let you know how that shakes out.
This weekend was a cavalcade of contradictions. I was really, really excited to be out of town and with geeks and in a terrible hotel (terrible in the way that all national chains that hold conferences can be) and yet I was feeling very shy and introverted. Other than my one friend who invited me down, I didn’t know anyone there. The theme was “law, order, and crime,” and it featured panels like “Charismatic Criminals — Why We Love Them ” and “Anarchists! Innnn! Spaaaaace!” As I said this morning I think the best thing that happened is that it resuscitated my love of writing and for that it was worth all the costs of the trip, both financial and social.
I mostly went to panels and talked to people on occasion, and spent a lot of time by myself reading, or people watching at the bar at night, which I love. I met some new people I really liked and found out about cons in Seattle that I didn’t know about. On Friday night the bar was full of middle-aged people, mostly white, with a sick cover band composed of older gentlemen (always a good sign for quality). They started with mellower jazz covers and as the bar got drunker they started to crank it up and cover Barry White and so on. There was grinding in the Marriott. I slept well (unground).
On Sunday night the conference was over, but due to circumstances beyond my control I didn’t have a place to stay, so I stayed over in the hotel again.
“Old-fashioned?” the bartender said as I sat down.
“Yep.”
I was reading the book of an author I was lucky enough to meet over the weekend at the con on my phone when the bar erupted in applause. I turned to see a crowd of people dressed formally. A bride walked in holding a baby in one of those baby bucket things. An older gentleman raised a glass and announced, “I’ve gained a grandson and a daughter-in-law all at once!” Everyone applauded again. Did she have the baby as soon as she was married? DURING? Was it not his son’s baby? Was the baby not acknowledged until the wedding? It is a mystery.
Fogcon was really nice. Guess WHAT HAPPENED. I wrote something for the first time in literally two years. Whenever I go to California it is like a giant therapy session that I attempt to keep to myself, because oh my poorpatientfriends. ANYWAY I had a little breakthrough(s):
1. I’m killing my fear, since fear is the mind killer.
2. Also, JUST TELL THE STORY, SJ. Duh.
3. I need to live my life like court will always be happening and will never end. Meaning my pursuits need to keep happening because I am going to die someday and do I want to say, good thing I took two years off from something I love to spent them biting my fingers about court? A world of no.
I had to dash in and say that. Also note to self, triple-fisting Greek coffee, old fashioneds, and scotch may cause mouth burns. OINK OINK. How are you?
A quick post to say (oh please dark lord let this be a quick post I have a shepherd’s pie in) that Things Are Happening. I know, again, right?
One: promoted at work, which has been sapping my creative energy even more than usual. Interviewing, grinding on new stuff, new team, new tools. I am tired. It’s ok. If I am going to be behind a desk, it’s going to be for as much money as possible. It is fun to get promoted in less than a year. I guess it was kind of an unofficial goal.
Two: going to FogCon this weekend, mostly to visit friends. I have not really written anything properly in like two years. Lame. So I will not be workshopping or anything, but it will be fun to go and soak it up. A long time ago I read a graphic novel about a prostitute and her jobs, and one I remember was how she got hired to stay with this guy who did coke all night and made her jack him off all night and couldn’t get a boner but wouldn’t let her leave. I feel like I’ve jacking my own jock futilely for months to try to get some creative urge back. Maybe FogCon will finally be the boner-kicker-offer. Uhh. I should have pictures from that, anyway.
Three: Court! Did you know you could carry on with court without half of the parties actively participating? I am dying to tell you about the old GAL but I will sit on it for a little while longer. Three words: small claims court. WOW BONUS COURT. SeaFed has kind of wandered off. He was supposed to sign some papers to agree on the new GAL by January 30th, but sort of…didn’t…and then sent an email to my lawyer with his signature attached a month late. Except it was the weirdest thing, there was no signature or anything attached. He was then called several times and did not respond to any of it. And then somehow insisted his signature was attached despite all evidence to the contrary? This sort of reminds me of the dumb ongoing argument we used to have about the lid to the hamster cage in a way I can’t quite explain, except, you know, this is about our kid and in a court of law and such. Long story longer, the commissioner decided to sign off on the new GAL without him. So I guess we are having court without him? For now? I did not know this was possible.
Four: Every weekend that I am home, I am now cooking Indian food. I LOVE IT. I was intimidated for years to really go for it and make ghee and stuff, in spite of the fact that Whippet’s husband was always waxing on about how awesome it was to grind your own curry (okay retired M$ millionaire, I’ll get right on that). But now I am gheeing and spicing and making paneer and shit. Level up! Again, pics to follow soon, and I hope they will be less nauseating than instagram.
