Step Off Douchebags

Oh my God. Really. God?

I don’t know what to say.

Today my friend A. was harassed by an old woman on the campus of Portland State University while she was sitting there and minding her own business listening to her iPod. The woman started a conversation with her and asked her if she was gay. A. told her that she was and the woman began to bombard her with slurs and disgusting rhetoric.

She told her that Jesus wanted her to know that she was unwelcome.

Really?

Do these fucking douchebags even know who Jesus was? Have they READ the bible? Because I have and I can say with a fair amount of certainty that Jesus would never tell my sweet friend A. that she was unwelcome anywhere. Jesus would most likely want to hang out with A. and have a beer with her (or wine, I think Jesus liked the wine.) I can totally see Jesus and A. sitting around in their (robes) and chit chatting about life and literature and politics. A is brilliant and could talk about all kind of stuff with him (she’s also Jewish so she’d know that stuff too.) He might hit on her (because she’s pretty) and she’d blush and tell him that she’s in a long-term committed relationship with her girlfriend (also A., I need more letters.) He would say something like, “All the good ones are lesbians” and they would laugh and have another glass of wine.

Jesus would totally dig A. and that douchebag asshat old lady needs to STEP OFF.

The coincidence of all of this is that several people came to A’s side while she was being harassed by this woman and I found out later that one of those people was my darling friend Chuck who is the partner of one of Cher’s teammates.

The universe is a queer place and I find it amazing that two of my favorite people in the world would be in the same place at the same time with one of them in a vulnerable position and one of them in a position to help. I guess that is what makes balance in the world and for that I am grateful. I’m sorry that A. had to be in that place but I’m glad that Chuck was there to support her.

Now if we could get rid of all the douchebags.

I’m really tired of them. I’m tired of their rhetoric and their judgment and their lies. I’m tired of them twisting literature into what suits them and I’m tired of them hurting people.

Every night I lay my head on my wife and think about how much I love her. I don’t question that love, I don’t measure it against other people’s love. I don’t wonder if the love I have for her is right or wrong because I already know the answer.

All love is right.

And

Douchebags Be Gone.

Am I the Anti-Mommy?

Yesterday I met with Melissa Lion because she wanted to ask me some questions about being a blogger. One of the questions that she asked was whether or not I considered myself a “Mommyblogger.”

“No,” I answered, absolutely not. I’m a blogger who has kids.

I find nothing offensive about Mommybloggers in general; in mass I find them a little bit un-nerving but on a one on one basis—no problem. I know who they are; I’ve met them all before, way before there was blogging. I used to hang out with all of them and have coffee and talk about sore nipples, milk supply, fevers, and sleeping through the night. I get it. Really.

My life is multi-faceted and being a mother is certainly part of it; sometimes it is much more a part of it than I would particularly like and I realize that may sound bad to some—but it’s the truth.

The Rose City Rollers has a big Halloween Party planned and last night Cher and I were chatting about it a bit when I realized that I don’t believe I have ever been to a Halloween Party. It dawned on me that I’ve been a mother for over 15 years and every Halloween has been focused around my kids, (as it should be I suppose.) This year Halloween falls on a Saturday and the girls will be with their other parent and I will actually be able to go out to a party, with adults, dressed in a costume. I’m 40-years-old and I’ve never done this.

Fifteen years is a long time and there are times when I think that nothing ever gets any easier.

All three of my girls broke down crying yesterday. One because she got a D on a Biology test and her BFF was being mean, one because she didn’t understand her math homework and felt like a failure, and one because I yelled at her for being completely inconsiderate and irresponsible (she didn’t bother to come home after school even though she knew I was waiting to drive her to practice.)

Today one kid didn’t feel good, one forgot her lunch AND lost her library book, and one missed the bus.

Really?

I am tired of being responsible for every person in my household’s every day needs. I’m tired of making sure everyone has everything and that she takes her vitamins and does her chores, has her homework, has breakfast, and lunch and is picked up and dropped off and practices piano. The people who live in my house look at me and ask, “Where is [insert any object you can think of.]” And I’m supposed to just know. I also need to answer every “What should I do about . . .” question, including what to wear, the fact that it’s raining, the fact that someone is out of eyeliner, etc.

Every single day I have to review my day and see who needs to be where when, do the shopping, clean, fit in making dinner, working, doing homework and maybe hanging out for a few minutes every day.

No one in my family considers what MY needs are for the day. No one stops and asks, “I wonder if Mommy/Kathryn ate lunch today?” or “I should really make sure that she has time to work on her homework before she goes to bed.”

I know what you’re thinking: I’m a mother and that’s just the way it is. I realize that and that is why I know that there is really nothing I can do about it with the exception of bitching. So I’m bitching.

I would love it for one week, just one week I didn’t have to worry about anyone else or consider anyone else’s schedule. I wouldn’t have to arrange my schedule around anyone else’s; I would be able to go to school and come home to my office and work knowing that someone was running the kids around, cleaning the house, making dinner, doing laundry and all I had to focus on was my work and what I was doing. Just one week.  And I’m not talking about a vacation, I’m just talking about one week where I can function in my home without being the manager of everything. Because this job is starting to burn me out a bit.

I wonder if the Mommybloggers bitch about how much being a mom sucks sometimes. If they don’t now, they will when they hit around year 15. I’m pretty sure of it.

How I got screwed, and it cost me $15,000.00

Spoke to my pastor the other day. Well, I don’t go to church anymore, but she’s still my pastor. She gave me some deep theological advice that she knew to be true about the universe.

She told me, “Shit happens.”

I guess she’s right.

On Tuesday I was on my way to a court hearing and I saw a rainbow in the middle of a rainstorm. I took it to mean that perhaps “the powers that be” were giving me a sign of strength and love and hope for a positive outcome. The court hearing didn’t go my way. The judge ruled by the law, but it still didn’t seem right or fair. I felt that “the powers that be” lied.

But I suppose that shit just happens.

And fair is something you pay on a bus.

The legal aspects of getting a divorce really sucks. Even years later, it still sucks and there is just no getting around all of that. At my hearing I had the opportunity to listen to another hearing prior to ours; the pain, the frustration, the loss of a hope of something that turns into a battle over money and property. To try to discern these battles, a person must wade their way through confusing rituals and rules and regulations that no one really understands, and the only people that win are the lawyers. I have nothing against most lawyers, I realize that their jobs are very difficult and they are working within an imperfect system, it must be daunting holding that kind of responsibility to another person, and I realize that they are human and make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes; those are forgivable. Not attempting to remedy those mistakes, is not forgivable.

Here’s a short little story about mistakes, how the law isn’t fair, and how some lawyers really give other lawyers a really bad name.

Fifteen months ago I had to respond to a summons served on me by my former spouse, and I hired an attorney to represent me. I may have found her in the PDX Gay and Lesbian Yellow Pages, her last name might be O’Reilly, (as in Bill.) Her first name may or may not start with an E, (as in Eileen.) I interviewed her, she seemed quite competent, all was well. We went to court and between the two attorneys, myself and the other party, we decided on terms to settle the dispute. It was read on the record, the terms drawn up by the attorney that was not mine. And that is when the problems began.

I objected to one of the items in the draft document that was not discussed during the hearing and extraneously added after the fact. I noted my objection to this term in writing to my attorney. I followed up with a reminder that I had sent that objection. I didn’t hear anything from her for awhile, I inquired several times (in writing,) regarding the status of the judgment. I was ignored for two months, despite many e-mails and phone calls. When I finally did get in touch with my lawyer she informed me that the judgment had been filed (I had not seen the final copy,) and when I reviewed it, the item that I had objected to was still there. And not only was it still there, it was even more financially exaggerated. I objected again, in writing. She assured me she would look into it. I continued to inquire about this issue, questioning how this happened, asking (demanding) that is be corrected. After fourteen inquiries in writing, including a certified letter, I gave up. It was obvious that my attorney had ignored my case, allowed items to be included that I did not agree to, did not review the document prior to it’s filing, did not allow me to review the document prior to it’s filing, did not sign the document prior to it’s filing, did not communicate my objection to the opposing attorney, did not notify me the status of the filing of the document, and upon realizing these things, ignored me, placated me by telling me she would take care of it, all along hoping I would just go away and forget about it.

I hired a new attorney. My objective was to set aside that issue that I did not agree to, have the paperwork re-drawn reflecting what was actually agreed to and stated that day in court. I wanted nothing more than what we all agreed to that day. Nothing more.

In the meantime, I filed a complaint with the Oregon State Bar Association against my attorney, the proverbial Eileen O’Reilly. In her response to my complaint, Eileen O’Reilly miraculously had a sudden memory of my verbally agreeing to the terms that I had continuously objected to, before and after the filing of the judgment. Suddenly we had long phone conversations regarding this issue where she repeatedly reminded me that I had indeed agreed to said terms that day in court. Suddenly she had notes that had been “in storage” reflecting this said agreement, despite the fact that for six months, she had not mentioned any of this, and I knew it not to be true. So oh, well. She’s now incompetent and a liar. I wasn’t going to worry about it until I had to answer more questions from the Bar, and I knew that I had ample evidence that showed my my continuous, un-relenting position of what it was I had agreed to and my incessant attempts to communicate with her. She hired a lawyer to represent her in the complaint. Okay, that sucks for her, perhaps if she had done her job, and fixed her mistake? Not really my problem. Or was it?

Unbeknownst to me, when one files a complaint against any proverbial attorney, all submitted information regarding the case, regardless of it’s personal nature, becomes a matter of public record. This fact would not have dissuaded me from filing my complaint but imagine my surprise when the attorney for my ex-attorney appeared at my hearing to state that Eileen O’Reilly did not agree with my affidavit to support my motion. Well, duh. If she agreed with my affidavit then she would be admitting that she’s a big fat incompetent liar and who’s going to do that in open court?

The judge heard my request for relief from the judgment and ruled that I was bound to the decisions of my attorney. I am bound to the decisions of my attorney, despite the fact that her lack of attention to my case will cost me in excess of $15,000.00 over the next fourteen years, including what I have paid both of my attorneys.

Shit happens?

I suppose it does.

And that my friends is a little story that is not a fairy tale, and is very unfortunately true. Names were not changed to protect the innocent, because no one who’s name was mentioned is innocent and besides, everything I stated here is a matter of public record.  My hope is that someday I will realize a greater truth and lesson from this confusing, stressful, and anxiety filled ordeal that I have endured for over a year.

No. I’m not bitter. I don’t think all lawyers are bad, just the one I had, and I don’t even think that she is bad, I think she made a mistake. And then she lied.

There are lawyers that I like.

A few of them read this blog. One of them is my nice new lawyer who actually answers my questions and pays attention to my case. I also like several others:

Bill

Al

John Grisham

Duh, the greatest lawyer ever.

And that is all that I have to say about that. I’m putting it behind me, and readying myself for a lovely holiday season with my beautiful family.

Because sometimes shit happens.

And when it does,

make fruitcake.

Wish I could blog

But I’m being forced, (enslaved) into organizing closets.

Okay, maybe I was the one who came up with the idea to put in closet organizers/shelves to help store our crap loads of important items.

That didn’t mean that I wanted to do any work.

I’m a natural forewoman.  Delegator.  Supervisor.

I shouldn’t be sweating.

I *Do Not* Heart Conflict

I really don’t like conflict, at all. I’m not confrontational and I’ve worked in the service industry for so long, I’ve learned how to talk to people who are mad. I’m a pleaser, a negotiator, but a point-maker as well, (occasionally to a fault, I’m afraid.)

So imagine my distress when I came home from my Glamorous Waitressing Job yesterday to find that HG had pinned a note on the front door of our Asshat Neighbor, (photo above.) She toned down the note she was going to leave, so I was happy for that, but here it was:

Neighbor,

My partner informed me about the incident last night with our dogs and I must say I am quite appalled by your behavior. Normally our dogs do not sleep outside, but due to a temporary health concern it was necessary for them to have access to the yard. It was not our intention to leave our dogs outside to disturb or annoy you or any other neighbors and for this I apologize. Had I heard them barking I would have certainly put a stop to it as I try to do every afternoon to prevent you from screaming “shut up!” And just for the record, that does nothing to quiet the dogs and only creates animosity between neighbors.

In the future, if our dogs are disturbing you in the middle of the night I would request that you handle the matter appropriately, which would include:
a) Informing us that our dogs are disturbing you (the neighborly thing to do).
b) Calling the local police department and filing a noise complaint (not the neighborly thing to do, but well within your right).

I request that you DO NOT approach my property with any type of gun (air or otherwise) and attempt to handle the matter the way you did. This is not appropriate or legal and I will not tolerate it.

If you would like to talk further about this matter, please feel free to contact me. If not, I will assume this issue is resolved and hope for a more pleasant neighborly atmosphere.

Thank you for your understanding.

I’m sure it was a lot more understated than some of you would have written based on your comments from yesterday, (which we loved, BTW.) And I’m certain that SFG or Syd would have most likely showed up with some sort of firearm to deliver it. (Okay, maybe a big knife for SFG.) But HG left it on their door, we went on with our life and proceeded to barbecue last night for dinner.

That’s when the real conflict began.

Asshat Neighbor came over to the fence and confronted HG, asking her if she wrote him the letter, she replied she did and he WENT OFF.

Keep in mind, my three minor children were in the back yard at the time. They are smart enough to know when to exit, so they came in the house pretty quick, just in time for him to be Mother Fucking all over the place. All along, Ginger and Abby are going balistic barking at the Asshat and then his wife who came over to chime in.

I, being non-confrontational, tried my very best diplomacy to no avail. Asshat was dead set on being a confounded nuisance and express himself in his very best red-neck-in-the-NW display. First he insulted HG and told her that she had run-on sentences and poor grammar; asking her if she had even graduated high school. He then proceeded to tell us that we were going to have a “war” and that he was going to “fuck with us.”

(Minor children, in house, windows open, it’s summer.)

It all ended with a big “Fuck You” from him and RSG not happy at ALL.

Non-Confrontational, remember?

So.

What to do?

Well, we did the only reasonable thing and blew up his house filed a police report with a nice officer from the Scary Suburbs Police Department. We even have a case number. HG did most of the talking to the nice police officer and I made sure minor children (plus one who was sleeping over,) were upstairs in the family room watching a loud movie eating popcorn. I was sure to let the neighbors outside know what we were doing less they thought that the Scary Suburbs Police Department was coming to respond to HG beating me or me in a drunken rage, or both. (We try to only do that on weekends…)

So there you go. RSG, the peacelover is apparently in a “war” with the asshat neighbor who apparently has an anger management problem and likes to pop off air guns at 2:30 in the morning when he hears a dog barking.

Oh, and for clarification sake.

The dogs don’t usually have access to outside at night. We lock the dog door and they sleep in our room. But the other night Abby had some “tummy problems” and seeing how we just spent a lot of time and money replacing our carpet because of her past “tummy problems” we wanted to be sure she could go outside.

Asshat, who claims to have bad asthma and sleeps with the windows open says Ginger was barking at 2:30 so in order to shut her up, shot her with an air gun. My neighbor two doors down heard the whole thing and said that Ginger barked for less than a minute but Asshat was screaming his lungs out at her, then she heard the popping noise of the gun, Ginger barked again and that was that.

What I think is that Asshat got up to smoke, (because he does this, never mind his bad asthma,) Ginger heard him outside, barked at him, and he got mad, (anger-management issues,) then shot her, which incidentally is illegal within the Scary Suburbs City Limits, according to the nice police officer. She’s not hurt, but that’s not the point. The point is, that HE is not nice.

So, when are y’all coming out here to kick his ass???

LOA

I’m in need of a Leave of Absence from my life.

Oh, I know many of you are thinking, “That bitch just got back from a vacation,” which is true, but let me all do a little reminding that my vacation consisted of seven days of driving (granted, HG did most of it,) with three kids (arguing about what movie they would watch,) and camping for eleven days. Eleven days of setting up the camper, hauling water, boiling water for dishes, walking to the bathroom, being hot, being dirty, and cooking on a propane stove, (are we having stew again???)

Yes, it was worth it, and yes I would do it again BUT.

I’m feeling at the end of my rope.

HG has decided that we will now be selling the camper and buying a new one. A bigger one. Do you know what that means? Well, it requires that we thoroughly clean and clean out the carefully packed camper so that the new owners, whomever they are can purchase it. And I will fit that in, when?

Oh, yes, today because she has been waiting for me to help her with it.

And while I have been trying to help, I am interrupted every few minutes to answer the phone, look for something on the internet for someone, make someone lunch, do something for my neighbor, talk to the other neighbor, meet DD#3’s new friend’s parents so that I will allow her to go into their house, clean up the girls mess so HG doesn’t have a fit, make sure the dog gets walked, and get into a huge fight with my mother about how I don’t have any time for her, I only call her when I need something and that I blogged about my trip before calling her. (We won’t get into all of that, because frankly there isn’t enough bandwidth.)

I’m over it.

Over it.

Over it.

We won’t even START with the fact that when we returned on Thursday there was a stack of papers an inch thick from my C U Next Tuesday lawyer with her response to my Bar Complaint. A response that I spent about nine to ten hours working on because it was due to the Bar yesterday. In between working on that, I had to work two (long) shifts Saturday and Sunday and figure out a way to get the girls to my mom’s, the papers to the Bar, and me to work again on Monday before 11:00 AM. And then after work, HG picked me up to drive downtown to meet the NEW lawyer (who is wonderful and great, thanks to one of my fab readers who is now of my BFF’s, although she doesn’t know it yet…)

Nonetheless, fabulous or not, it was stressful.

And here we are today, with everything, and I’m feeling completely done.  I am sitting here writing this because I no longer trusted myself around anyone.  I was so mad I threw my tea kettle against my front door when I was bringing it from the camper to wash it.  Now, I didn’t particularly like that tea kettle, but really it did nothing to me and I decided after that episode it was probably best that I spend a few minutes reflecting and calming down, and being that I am out of Xanex.  Blogging it was.

I find it necessary to add that everytime I hear someone come in and out of the front door (it slams) I feel my blood pressure rising, and if one person dares to come into this office and say ANYthing to me, my head may just pop off.

And we’re having guests for dinner tonight.

And I have to go to Costco now.

With my three kids.

God help me.

Things I have learned

1. Summer goes by incredibly fast until about August and then it slows down until school starts.   The summer seems to be flying by and I can hardly believe that we will be leaving for our big Grand Canyon camping trip in less than two weeks–and me without my master packing list created.
2. It’s really cool when your mother wants to take your kids overnight in the summer.
3. Every couple should go to counseling PRIOR to deciding to get married, especially if there are several children involved.  (This is not cryptic, I am not indicating that HG and I have a problem, it’s just an observation, see title of blog post…)
4. Finding a lawyer sucks and I hate it.
5. My present lawyer sucks, and I hate her.  And she hates me as indicated by what a huge mess she has made out of something very simple.
6. Never hire a lawyer out of the Gay and Lesbian Yellow pages.  Ditto for contractors. Carpet cleaners are okay.
7. Gay men with names that sound like vacation destinations are also not the best choices in lawyers, (see #6.)
8. Perhaps I should consider a career in law?  It doesn’t seem that hard to completely fuck with someones life and then completely get away with it because nothing can be done about it.
9. My readers are cool, especially ones that help me with #4.
10. Naked karaoke is really, really, really fun. (See #2)

Dates and Gardening, Hoes, Piano’s, and Clothes

HG and I had a lovely evening, dining at a new restaurant that we had never been to, a very good meal, nice wine, hazelnut chocolate mousse, espresso martini, divine.  Followed with a movie, some cocktails with friends and ending when I sang show tunes to HG on the karaoke machine.  Fun times.

And we still have one more day together.

We realized last night that we hadn’t had an evening alone together in three weeks.  That is far too long for any couple to go to not share some quality time together.  We are making up for it, even if today may be filled with the daunting tasks of more yard work.

There was very little landscaping done to our house when we moved in, nothing in the backyard but grass, not even a shrub, and not much in the front.  What was in the front was not a good choice, as hydrangeas lose their foliage in the winter and that is not a good sight in Oregon.  So they were moved to a nice spot in the back and replaced by some azalea (which are dying) and a Rhody, (which is dying.)  I also threw in some pretty orange lily type flowers and a Tequila Sunrise plant, based entirely on it’s name.  It goes well with my pots in the front, but still leaves a LOT to be desired.

Gardening is not my thing.

I’m really not good at it and it just discourages me that everything I seem to try to do, fails.

Our soil in the back yard is like cement and we have our dog issue.

Abby and Ginger like to dig up the sprinkler heads.  It’s not cool and now three of them are  without heads, which makes our sprinkler system not usable until we figure out how to fix the damn things.  In addition, they run on the side of the yard and it is not possible to put bark dust down because they will track it through the house.

Did I mention I’m not good at gardening?

But I’m giving it an honest effort, and today we are back at it.

Working in the cement yard.

~~~~~~~~~~

This morning DD#1 had her piano recital.  She’s so super cute and getting so grown up.  I ran into a lady I was once acquainted closely with.  I haven’t seen her in a long while and I was forced to endure the usual questions:

“So how are you?”

“Are you still living in town?”

“So what’s been going on?”

“Are you still a doula?”

“What are you doing for work now?”

All along she is looking at the glistening diamonds on the ring finger of my left hand, dying to know who gave it to me.  Oh, that would be my lesbian lover, the one I married, but you and no one else gives any importance to, and you’re so fucking uptight, you won’t even ask me.

And why are you asking me these questions?

I know you’re not interested in my life, so why are you pretending?  I’m not asking you that shit.  Why am I not asking?

Because I know exactly what you’re doing, you’re doing exactly the same thing as every other mother in the scary suburbs, hiding your complete unhappiness and misery behind the guise of being mother of the year, while living vicariously through your children, keeping them and yourself as busy as possible so that you don’t have any time to look at how empty your life is.  And frankly I don’t care.  I don’t care about the four dance and three music recitals you’ve had to go to.  I don’t care about your kid’s private school and I don’t care about your hobbies.  I don’t need to know about any of it, but what I do know is that you have been wearing those same black jeans for I don’t know how many years, and your watch with the embroidered band?  Not cool, and maybe it’s time for another haircut other than the “Mom” haircut.  What do you think?

But anyway, my kid played the piano nicely.

~~~~~~~~~~

And one final thing.

From Wiki’s definition of Joint Custody:  “In joint physical custody, which is also known as joint physical care, actual lodging and care of the child is shared according to a court-ordered custody schedule.”  

Care, would include clothing.

No I will not have my children take clothes back and forth between homes.  Not happening.  No way.

Go shopping.

~~~~~~~~~~

That is all.

When will I be satisfied?

Ever since my new best friend, Lazydog, taught me how to change my blog theme I can’t seem to find THE one that I love. I have probably looked at fourteen thousand templates and either they are too plain, too foofy, too much color, not enough color, too hard to read, too narrow, too wide, or too something else.

I have come to the conclusion that I am a royal pain in the ass.

And as much as I would love to sit and blog; I must go and view the remaining 212 pages of templates that I have to choose from.

Let me bring you some change

Today after dropping HG off at the Portland International Airport I was off to a shift at my Glamorous Waitressing Job, which I must say, I am beginning to detest.

It was an average Monday that started off with my being sat two tables of old ladies. Now, typically I like an old lady as much as the next person, but one in particular was a royal pain in the ass. She complained about how much the wine cost, and then she complained about the size of her portion of Tilapia, then she complained that it was brown.

I said to her, “Bitch, it’s coated and pan seared, of course it’s brown,” walked away and instructed the hostess not to seat me anymore old ladies.

Okay, so I thought that, I didn’t really say it, but I did tell the hostess no more old ladies. She didn’t seat me any, that lady left and I pocketed the $2.00 dollar tip she left woo-hoo!

The next group of people to sit at that same table were two men, waiting for someone else to join them. I greeted them, took their drink order, brought them their drink, asked them how their day was, etc and left them to wait for the last of their party to arrive.

Not two minutes later, I was standing at the table directly next to them and I hear the one guy (Dumbass #2,) say to the other guy, (Dumbass #1,) “Is that our waitress?” pointing to me. DA #1 shakes his head yes, although you know he wasn’t quite sure either. DA#2 motions for me to come over, looks at me inquisitorially and says,

“Are you the lucky person who gets to take our order today?”

Seriously people.

That is what he said.

I just looked at him with my, “I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that-you-stupid-fuck” look and said, “Well, aren’t you waiting for Dumbass #3?” To which he replied that he was going to order for Dumbass #3, because God forbid, they wait five more minutes for him to arrive. Busy day, you know, lots to do…

He told me that DA#3 wanted a cheeseburger.

“Oh,” I said, “And how would Dumbass #3 like his cheeseburger prepared?”

Dumbass #2 didn’t know.

“And what would Dumbass #3 like as his side item?”

Dumbass #2 didn’t know.

“And would Dumbass #3 like to start off with a salad or soup?”

Dumbass #2 didn’t know.

“Well.” I said, “We’ll just have to wait for him to arrive, won’t we?”

Which he did, just a few minutes later and I got to do that whole song and dance again, although this time with answers.

And as busy and impatient as those three were, they managed to hang out long enough for coffee and to tell me that I did a “really good job.”

Yeah, because that made up for the pain and suffering they caused me.

It was a typical day and really I should be thankful. No one made hand gestures to me to tell me what they wanted to drink or was on their cell phone every time I came over to the table. For the most part, everyone was on their best behavior, because it was, after all Monday and they were all quite busy.

I’m working on wrapping up this waitressing gig. Of course, things like being shorted $800.00 in child support in one month doesn’t help matters and makes it difficult to move on to anything else. I am earning a living, pitiful as it is and kids need to eat, and they need stuff, like braces and swimming lessons and shit.

And I need things too.

Like Sushi and Pinot Noir, and chocolate, and cable.

Important things.

So unless I see an add on Craiglist for a “Princess,” I’ll have to suck it up and keep putting up with people and their endless bullshit. Difficult as it is sometimes, it does allow me to do my main job of taking care of my children and spending time with HG.

Which means a lot more to me than money.

But not quite as much as Pinot Noir.