Maybe this is funny...

Maybe I am just nuts. You can decide for yourself.

The past few weeks have been really stressful. You may have noted a time or two that I try to handle stress with humor. Makes the stress less stressful sometimes.

The day we watched the Sheriff deliver our Temporary Restraining Order to our daughters' former adoptive and terminated parent who moved in with The Skank across the street, The Husband told me later that this caused a great disturbance at the other house across the street. Not with Jack, but with the folks who live directly across from us. See, they are the sort of folks you might refer to as, well, alternative. We believe they may sell their alternatives from their home. However they are very discrete and very quiet. They don't bother anyone and we would have not ever noticed them had it not been for the fact that The Husband and I have had a vague, passing familiarity with those who deal in smokables from a hundred years ago.

Are you thinking, what kind of street do they live on with the pill popping Skank and now doobage dealers? My answer to that is you probably have a lot more people around you than you realize, who engage in alternative uses for stuff. Or who enjoy the intended uses for stuff.

So, nothing like the appearance of some officers of the law to bring out your neighbors, truly. Brought down the average speed of traffic on our street as well. Quite a few people I have never even seen before (and we have lived here almost 10 years) suddenly had a need for exercise of the walking- in- front- of- my- house- really- slowly variety. 

Anyway, The Husband tells me that just after the Sheriff drove up, he heard someone at the other neighbors yelling "Was that the Sheriff? Did the Sheriff just drive by? Why is the Sheriff here?". Followed by lots of doors slamming and general chaotic sounds of panic. The very second the officer pulled away after delivering the notice, people started barrelling out of that house, jumped into 3 separate cars, and sped off.

Dear Alternative Types,
I am so sorry you panicked and felt you had to flush your doobage. I know that the sense of paranoia can increase when one is high because I read it in a book. That had to suck. Please blame it on Jack Ass as this is all his fault.

I think this is really funny in a bizarre and grotesque way. I don't know if anyone else will. My sense of humor is not for everyone.

In other news, I have been writing it down every time I see Jack. The Husband made contact with a police officer who has opened a case file and is waiting for his first entry. He came over to our house today and helped us clarify some issues. There have been 2 incidents already where Jack avoided a violation because I kept Genea out of his sight. In other words, I saw his jackassed self before she did and I moved her out of the line of sight quickly. The Husband called Jack yesterday and reminded him that he is violating his order by being visible outside of his house and we can call the cops at any time. Jack whined, "but how am I supposed to know if she can see me or not?" to which  The Husband replied, "that's the point, that's why you have to move!". ARRRGH, I just SO totally would have thought that was obvious. Move! Anyhow, some officers went over there again today to remind Jack that it is just a matter of time before Genea sees him and he gets in trouble with a violation. That it is really unavoidable if he is going to try to live there. So he should really move. Our nice officer called us tonite with an update but now we are playing with messages and crap so I guess we'll find out later what they said.

ps. go check out late entries for TTT #16 and don't forget to leave a nice comment for the people who write up their awesome stories!

Too True Tues(day) #16 Your Secret Indulgences

Doesn't that sound slinky? Your secret indulgences.

Too True Tues(day) is your chance to tell it like it is. Tell the world the truth on alternate Tuesdays one blog at a time. Confession is good for the soul and great fun for the rest of us to read.

This past year there has been constant unending emphasis on the economy. How to decrease your spending. How to increase your spending. Foreclosures and bankruptcies. Million dollar bonuses given to institution leaders who took billions of taxpayer dollars to bail their own asses (butts) out of their self destructed mess. Whatever. We have talked about how cheaptastic everyone can be. And really, there were some stunners! This week we are going to talk about what we do spend our money on. The reason I make my children re-use nighttime diapers is so I can go to...... (fill-in -the-blank). I make my family eat actual grass and twigs so I can buy.......(blank). When you are standing around talking to your friends about how cheaptastic you all are, and each of you is trying to one- up the other, you know in your head that you secretly indulge yourself and you are lying to their faces!

For me I have 2 main things that I will never give up. I have several things I would strongly, strongly not like to give up under any circumstances. Such as my investment handbag collection. But there are TWO big things that I will serve my children a crushed vitamin on a generic saltine to save money on lunch if it means I can keep them (I of course, would go without lunch. The Husband too. He is a strong believer in my causes and I might someday tell him that). Anyhow, 2 things that I would crawl through glass and gravel to get. I would even go *gag* camping *shudder* in order to keep them. I would spend time with my in-laws and smile, people, I would smile.

The first one is that lovely super soft toilet paper. The one that advertises itself as extra soft and truly is, extra soft. It's like wiping with a cloud and really, what could be better than that? Once you have wiped with a cloud, you can't go back and no one should ever ask you to. Probably someone will get mad at me because they have to use the geriatric trees to make the special soft paper. Something about the fibers are longer in the old growth trees and that is what makes the texture so soft. If you ask me, that just means I am helpfully clearing out the trees that were close to death anyway. Dendrologic euthanasia. It's the humane thing to do.

The second thing is a little more personal and I should also point out it is not my fault at all. Just like I got my Mother's terrible eyesight, I got my Dad's eyebrows. No kidding, it is bad. My eyebrows go from my eyelashes to the hairline up top my forehead if I don't get them waxed. Both my Dad and his sister who is like, seventy, have these enormous eyebrows with droopy eyelids. I mean, you don't want to look too closely for fear that one of those eyebrows is going to sprout a million legs, turn into a millipede and make a run for it. We have already established that I am hair removal impaired, so imagine turning those skills onto one's face. Not good. So I have to get them waxed. I have tried everything under the sun including waxing them myself. Of course I endured excruciating pain and wound up with 3 hairs on the strip paper and 279 still on my face waiting to come off. There are so many that wherever we have lived, my professional waxologist would tell my tale to other clients to make them feel better about their own hair removal issues. Nothing beats having a professional waxologist 1 1/2 inch from your face breathing cigarette breath on you and saying things like, "wow!" and "gosh!". (I made that up by the way, waxologist. Sounds cool I think).

Toilet paper and waxing. Those are my 2 things. There you have it. Now here is what you do. You go home to your own blog and write up your story about your secret indulgences. You spill your beans, note that it is for TTT #16 and link back to here. Then you enter your information in Mr. Linky there so we can all find your story. FUN!

Somebody owes me money

Someone owes me some cold hard cash. A referral fee or an idea fee, or a some kind of pay me for coming up with this fee. Maybe I will send a bill. Check this post out, (at the bottom) then tell me who I should call up.

So, a few things about the new Celebrity Apprentice.

Dear Bret Michaels,
For the love of cannabis man, do something else with that hair! When your hair makes both Trump's and Blago's hair look good it is time for a change. Please. Change. And btw, while I am writing you, enough with the Rock of Love Bus and crap. It might have been cool in the 80's to advertise the crust on your wee wee but this is a new century.

Dear Joan Rivers,
YOU rock. Seriously. I love how you went to the little diner on the show and despite the crowd at the lunch counter, you put your Birkin handbag on it's own chair. The Birkin deserves no less.

Dear Donny Jr,
For the love of expensive hair gel, please stop referring to the woman's team as "the girls".

Dear Ivanka,
Please kick Donny's ass. We all know you can take him.

Okay I am done now.

HOO- wah! Pinheads lose! Sort of!

You can probably click on these to make them bigger and readable, but I will summarize down there.

We got our Injunction- Child Abuse, Order of Protection against the man known as Jack Ass, effective for the next 2 years. YAY!!!!!! This is most excellent and wonderful!

It was the strangest experience I have ever had in court.  The judge we had could only be described as volatile and at one point threw her glasses across her desk as she yelled at all of us. Seriously! She did! We went in to court and she was reading off the complaint and talking to herself about how she just got the papers, we should have a Guardian ad Litem assigned, she shouldn't have to deal with this but since we were there, she would ask Jack if he would agree to the conditions. Here are the conditions:

• avoid the child's residence and any premises temporarily occupied by the child
• The respondent to avoid contacting or causing any person other than a party's attorney to contact the child unless child consents in writing and the court agrees the contact is in the best interest of the child.  Contact includes contact at child's  home, work, school, public places, in person, by phone, in writing, by electronic communication or device, or in any other manner. Contact also means knowingly touching, meeting, communicating or being in visual or audio contact with the child.

I think she threw a temper tantrum herself when Jack asked her if he could still drive his girlfriends children to the same school and she scornfully derided him with "What part of "no contact" do you not understand? Figure it out"!

Amongst all the yelling and nastiness, she let us know that Jack can stay living where he is. We tried to ask a few questions like, how will that work out with him coming and going and such. Jack piped up that he always wears a disguise because he puts on a hat and sunglasses. My eyes rolled violently back in my head before the judge started yelling at us all again. She pointed out that she cannot even control where a sex offender lives, let alone something like this.

Jack agreed to the terms of the order. It was delightful to me to hear that he felt "blindsided" by being served with the order because he thought he and The Husband "had planned to meet again and keep working things out". The Husband jumped in and reminded him he said he would stay away from Genea and that very next day was waiting at the school bus stop, unavoidably visible. Well that pissed off the judge even more that they were talking to each other, and she blew up again, hollering something about "it's not Judge Judy in here", LOL!

I think I saw this, the Order of Protection, as a final step. Like, we would get the order and he would be gone. We would be stuck with The Skank but I could take her on easily enough.  It's disappointing that being granted this seems to be a step in the middle of a process that is going to continue. Now, whenever Genea see's Jack we have to call the police and report that he is in violation of a restraining order by being in visual contact with her. We live in a small town and our police are extremely impressed with their importance around here despite our lack of crime to investigate. But I still have to imagine that they have better things to do than schlup over to my house a few times a day over a man walking to his truck from the door of a home. I am not happy to require officer intervention every time. It makes me very squeamish to think that The  Skank's 2 children are going to be scared with police at their home every other day. I have to protect my children and what she does with her's are her mistakes to make. I know that she and Jack are the adults making the wrong decisions and since those selfish decisions directly hurt my children I have to put my children first in the situation. I know that we were here first and we have done nothing wrong. I still am apprehensive about it all.

As I sit, typing this all out, it is occurring to me that this is probably a pretty big 'achievement'. That we  probably pulled off something quite rare, come to think of it.

So, maybe they will move. It will be an enormous hassle to try to live in a place where you cannot be seen. But then, logic seems to be alarmingly absent from that side of the street.

Anyway, we won! HOO-wah!

Y'all, I made up a RECIPE!

Oh yes I did! I really did! Yes it is a recipe for food thank you very much. Yes, the kind of food you eat. Sheesh!

Ya know, it is always sort of an inadequate feeling for me when I see people posting their great recipes on their blogs. There are beautiful pictures, and little technical tips like, use a measured teaspoon not just one from your utensil drawer. The food sounds so good and looks great and I could probably do it myself if I weren't already SO busy waiting for Oprah to call/ Starbucks to start delivery/ laundry to do itself. Like the fabulous Lisa posted a few weeks ago about her great hand made beans. At the same time that she is insisting on how simple it is to do, she is discussing the hours involved. Hours, plural. She makes her own refried beans y'all. By herself! Reading her words actually makes my swallowing reflex kick in and I am sure I look just a little bit bizarre sitting here all by myself with drool running down my contracting neck, because it sounds sooooooooo gooooooooooood.

Now, I have read over and over about omega 3's and how healthy they are. Especially for children with special needs, and in particular children with mental illness. These fun little omega's are well known to appear in all items Genea ever hated to eat in her whole life. She who has Early Onset Bipolar Disorder is repulsed by all things omega'd. Interesting. Olive oil and flax seed are two of the best ways to get at some of these omega's and I found a way to use them both in a basic bread machine recipe. So here you go.

Get your ingredients together. This is what you need.
3 cups of flour, whatever kind you want
1 package bread machine yeast (note if you buy by the packet it is cheaper than by the box.... now who would have thought that?)
1 cup of warm water
1/4 cup of olive oil ( you can split that with regular vegetable oil if the olive taste is too strong, but I like it that way)
Toss of salt
2 tablespoons of sugar, but it is okay if you just use a big regular spoon. It is also ok to add more. Or less.
AND, the secret ingredient is flax seed. Only, you can't just toss in a bunch of flax seed because they don't digest. And, we all know *ahem* what that means. So I bought a bunch of flax seed and it seriously cost less than 30 cents for a ton of the stuff. Using a coffee grinder, put in a bunch of the seeds and grind them up until you have about 1 cup. A little leftover coffee grounds won't hurt anyone.

Here is the cool part......
Put all ingredients into the bread maker bowl.
Press "start".
Watch it make itself.
Read a magazine. HA!

No really though, it is super easy. If it looks a little dry, add some more oil or water or both. If it is too mushy add more flax seed. 

So there you go. I call it "Brain Bread" and both my girls loved it. Which, right there is a miracle I expect to be reporting to the Vatican!

Oh. Hell. Pinheads again.

There is a line from the old sitcom Cheers that I remember at times like this. The character Rebecca, played by Kirstie Alley, finally figures some random thing out and she wails with devastation in her voice "I am too stupid to live".

For background, this is what I am talking about. This is what happened next. 

See, I believed Jack Ass when he told The Husband that he was going to make every effort to move away from across the street. I was hopeful that he really would and that it would be soon. Why would I believe such a thing? I can't imagine. I used to work for CPS a hundred years ago and I have seen and heard the selfish, destructive things adults will do to children first hand. How a seemingly ordinary, functioning adult can make a series of decisions so bad and so selfish that it critically damages people forever. So I genuinely thought Jack would make a strong effort and come to the right conclusion, to not hurt my daughter and to not hurt my family. Somehow I thought, he just doesn't understand. The Husband explained things to him. Now that he understands, he won't hurt us. What was I thinking?

I received a surprise email from the ex-wife of Jack Ass, Genea's original adoptive mother. She said she had been getting text messages from Jack saying they had no intention of moving away. That she knew he had met with The Husband and told him that but it was not true. Far more disturbing information was coming.

On the school bus, Genea traded a drawing with her friend. Her friend went home and Jack Ass took the drawing. He photographed it and sent copies out, and texted a copy to Exmom and offered to send her the original. Exmom told me she strongly wanted to have something of Genea's but realized it would not be right. He also offered for Exmom to come over to The Skanks home to watch Genea play in our yard from The  Skank's front window. She declined.

Is there a word stronger than furious? Livid maybe? I realized that Jack has indeed been stalking Genea. That this all may be a bizarre coincidence but has turned into a serious and dangerous situation. There is a grown man stalking my 6 year old daughter. Not just any grown man but one who used to be her adoptive parent. Not just any parent but a parent who had most certainly caused her many of the problems she has. That caused her Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and either caused her Reactive Attachment Disorder or exponentially worsened it. And he is sitting on his unemployed ass across the street from my home watching her through the windows. Oh. My. God.

My head has been spinning for 3 days. I feel like I must be having a traumatic stress reaction of my own. My neck muscles are hard, like plastic hard and I can barely move it. I can't force myself to relax. Even now, typing this I am consciously trying to make my leg muscles relax and as I do it my back tenses up. I have a headache that feels like a brick is strapped to my forehead and wrapped around. My stomach is a nervous knot and at just about any random moment I could puke. I could seriously blow at any second and I find myself interpreting things oddly. I hear every car that goes by on the street, even from the back of my house. Jack Ass drives a loud pick up truck and I am monitoring for that particular sound constantly. I don't have to get up to know if he is coming or going. It occurs to me that this is hypervigilance and someday soon I am going to analyze these moments in terms of Genea's experiences. But not today. This really is unimaginable. All of it, the whole thing. How the fuck did this happen?

I spent probably 10 hours with my face ground into the computer screen doing research on restraining orders. Digging through old reports from prior to our adoption that showed possibly abusive parenting by him. Finding dates and documentation. Yesterday The Husband filed for and was granted a Temporary Restraining Order for Child Abuse against Jack. I highlighted every example of emotional abuse and potential abusive effect of his presence across the street and wrote up a 2 page report to submit with our request. We watched him be served today, early this afternoon. We think. A plain white van turned up in their driveway and a man went to the door with papers, then left. About 15 minutes later I heard Jack's pick up truck fire up and there he goes. Hopefully forever.

So, that's that. We will have a hearing and a judge will decide if this indeed is emotional abuse of a child and whether Genea should be granted a permanent protection order. Which would be "permanent" for 2 years. We are going to have to prove ourselves, and throw in every bit of ugly information we can find.

Pinhead Update

Ah, the saga of The Skank and Jack Ass continues. Here is the original post if this doesn't seem to make sense. If it still doesn't make sense well, join the club.

When we were in Miami, The Husband got a text from The Skank, using Jack's phone, saying something about "what should we do about this birthday party we are planning for Kid 1, let's discuss". The Skank has 2 daughters that my 2 daughters play with outside all the time. Well we ignored the text until this weekend when The Husband set up a meeting with Jack for a beer and some ass stabbing for Tuesday. I warned The Husband ahead of time, don't use too many big words. Don't leave things open ended. Don't tell him to do the right thing, tell him moving is the thing to do. Be clear or he will interpret on his own and that will be bad.

By the way, THIS is The Skank.

So here is the pantload as I understand it.

Jack Ass and The Skank got together somehow (right, trust a husband to not gather that bit of information lol). Because she is so very very sick (read- pill popping junkie) so often, she called him regularly to come "help" her take care of her daughters so she could "recover" (read- enjoy her high uninterrupted, then sleep it off). He had to help her so often that he was fired from his job for calling off so many times. (Where was her mother? Her sister? Her friends? Her cousins? Grandparents? Why won't anyone in her family help her? Because she is a victim of them all/ they are abusive to her/ they are selfish and mean). (Personally I think she could have called the girls Dad to take care of them if she were "sick" but then she might lose custody of them like she did her older 2 kids). Now they are in love and going to get married.

They were reported by another neighbor to the housing assistance program and were investigated. However, they were able to show that The Skank is so sick with Epilepsy/ Bipolar/ Anorexia/Tongue Pain*, that she has to have someone living with her to help her.

The Husband ripped open Jack his new asshole and told him to move out. Jack does not consider that an option as he has to take care of The Skank since she is so fragile and sickly. So he said he will work on convincing her to move but she does not want to because of the school system here. Which would be a great and valid point except that we have school choice in this state and anyone can go anywhere as long as you provide your own transportation. Naturally Jack has been driving her kids to school as it is, so what's the difference.

How is Genea? You would be the only one to ask. She is.... not good. She is having a hard time, but she has also had a lot of new things going on lately. And what do we know about Genea? She has the rest of her life scheduled to be exactly the same as yesterday. Considering her grandmother's visit, then her parents take off to Miami without her, then to come home and her sister then her Dad, then her Mom are all sick. AND she started her new dance class. With all that, she is managing things in her usual way of trying desperately to control itty bits of things then blowing from here to eternity when it doesn't work. So, actually she is fine. Normal for Genea, we'll say that.

Jack said he would try to stay on his side of the street and out of sight. Then today I see him at the fucking bus stop AGAIN, waiting to pick up Skanks 2 kids so Skank could sleep off her latest binge. So I had to go running down there yelling for Genea to come on, hoping she wouldn't look but she is Genea and she is vigilant about everything so she inspects his car but evidently didn't see him or recognize him in it. I was so fucking pissed off I was shaking but I couldn't let Genea see it. UGH Being the adult SUCKS. She does not appear to clearly understand who he is at this point.

The Husband and Jack are going to talk again next week and Jack will let us know what they have decided to do. See, it's so hard right now because Skank is having a medical crisis and hasn't been able to even leave the bed for 3 whole days. She has no one else but Jack to take care of her. Right. After that we will talk to Genea and Teena about all of it.

I am just SO SAD for Genea. She has had so much shit dumped on her already in her short little life. It is NOT FAIR.



*about 6 months ago when The Skank was experimenting with new boyfriends I got stuck talking to her at the bus stop. She told me about her tongue pain because it was so bad and excruciating and she had to call a friend or something to take her to the emergency room at 2 in the morning but thankfully they gave her 12 Vicoden so she could go home and be relieved of the tongue pain.

Too True Tues(day) #15 Secret Compulsions

It is time for Too True Tues(day)! Your day to tell it like it is. Take a load off. Speak your mind! This week SanitySrchr at The Short Bus (love that name) had a suggestion. Her idea is to let out your secret compulsions. Your obsessions. The private little things you do not because you want to but because something bad, possibly involving VooDoo and world decimation, could happen if you don't. Yes indeed, those little maneuvers you participate in to save yourself from a horror beyond the imagination of Steven King.

At first I thought, well that is a great idea but I don't really have any compulsive things that I haven't already blasted across the world. I am not really an obsessive person. But that is only because my compulsive behaviors are rational. Yours probably aren't. For our purposes here today, we'll use "obsessive" to refer to an unwelcome pattern of thought and "compulsive" to refer to an unwelcome pattern of action. Just to clarify. I will use both. Ahem.

I hereby do confess to being a "checker". Not of the stove, because it is so rarely used. Not of the door locks because I know for a fact if any burglar came in here they would leave and put $20 bucks in the mailbox for us. Not of buttons adjusted, zippers up. Not of lightbulbs on--- or is it off? I scan. I scan every room I enter and I scan again several minutes after entering a room. I scan the ceilings and high corners of every room every day all day for bugs.

Especially spiders.

ICK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had a couple of severely traumatizing experiences as a child that have led to this perfectly rational fear of spiders and the corresponding logical compulsive need to search for them rather constantly in order to save the world from something really bad. It is considerate of me, really.

See when I was a kid my parents had a cabin in the woods of The South of Wisconsin. There were farms and stuff around and lots and lots of nature. Even though it had been invented, my parents refused to get a phone installed. Even though I loved it dearly, my mean  parents also refused to have a TV set. Yes, the squalid deprivation is something I still work to overcome thank you. You better believe I hated it there. What were we supposed to be doing, talking to each other??? It's not like we did. My parents read books and my sister and I fought and read books.

Anyway, one Friday we went up and upon entering the house was a nightmare that the movie Arachnophobia failed to even consider. Wolf Spiders. Brown, the color of faux wood paneling, and hairy, with a body the size of a small fist. Pointed bony legs of 3 inches or more. And thick. And fast. Dropping from the ceiling and hanging from the walls. Everywhere. It was an infestation and it was horror.

I'd like to say we did the sensible thing. We doused gasoline around the exterior and using my Dad's lighter from his hidden stash of smokes, burned down the stupid cabin and raced back to Chicago where all the civilization and concrete is, and the city sprays pesticides from airplanes and trucks the way nature intended. And spiders only live in your basement which explains my fear of basements and that I now live in a home without one. Not what happened. Instead my parents did a crummy job of smashing most of the vicious gun- toting leather jacket-wearing spiders. However they missed a few. And don't you know what I woke up to the next morning. IN. MY. BED.

My er, need to check things or, well, it goes, oh, ummmm, a bit ummmmm, further than that.

I sort of also check the toilet seat. I never, even in my own home sit on a toilet seat without checking it for spiders. The sink. The shower--- especially the shower. It's not obsessive either because the spiders are there, I just may not be seeing them. So it makes perfect sense to check consistently and often. One would not want to be surprised. But be certain, they ARE there. And one last thing.

Although I give all glassware a visual inspection first, I also do a fist inspection. Wherein I shove my hand into the glass really fast and jam it upside down roughly shaking it, so that if anything thinks it is going to hide from me or blend in, it is not. I do need you all to know that it is not a compulsive thing though. It is a service to society. My special way of protecting all of the world. My contribution. Yes I do it every time even if it is a clear glass. Yes it makes perfect sense and no, it is neither obsessive or compulsive. See my definition above.

Here is the Mr. Linky thing. Go home and tell your story of compulsiveness or obsession. Link to my blog and explain that you are playing Too True Tues(day). Then come back over here and fill in the spots for Mr. Linky. It is helpful if you pull up the actual address of your post and paste it in. Also if you are busy but still want to play you can tell your true tale on Wednesday or even Thursday. Heck I have seen people enter themselves a month later! (but try to stay within a few days really, this is not an excuse to procrastinate).