You are currently browsing the monthly archive for January, 2008.
You coaxed Clare every day to sit on the preschool potty, despite the fact that she was supposed to be trained to attend. Today was your last day, and your fat tears nearly broke my heart.
Short and robust, softspoken redhead who pronounced the Spanish “s” as “th” like they do in Spain. You were a good teacher who honestly cared, but some asswipes were too stupid to notice.
Really, really cold. Below zero cold. It has been for two weeks — except for a teasing two days of springlike 40s, which only made me feel worse.
I know I’m a Minnesotan. I’m supposed to be hearty. But it’s starting to get to me. I’m irritable with Ed, with the kids, with my mom. I don’t feel like doing anything except pulling the covers over my head and sleeping until it warms up.
When I left work last night, my nostrils instantly stuck together, and the wind felt like a thousand stick pins were being hurled at my face. Our less-than-two-year-old car groaned like me in labor when I started it. The tires crunched over icy patches, and the joints of the car creaked in the silent air. Freezing cold air makes everything sound louder, even my internal screaming, which is getting closer to becoming external with every frigid day.
I’m sapped of creativity, energy, motivation. I feel horrible because it’s Ed’s birthday (happy birthday, hot stuff!) and I haven’t done anything to make it special. But I swear I’m gonna suck it up and get my shit together Saturday, which is when we’re celebrating.
The only thing that is going to get me through the next 20-some days is the fact that I just booked a plane ticket to see a dear friend in San Diego. I need to feel the sun on my skin and breathe in air that doesn’t make my nose bleed. And spend some time with my girls — the ones who know me so well I never have to apologize for being me.
Even if that me is a cranky, exhausted, incoherent mess.
Wanna-be ladies man who was always hitting on someone — without much success. You uttered one of my favorite pick-up lines of all time, though: “I heard you have a boyfriend. That’s too bad.”
Hometown girl with a sweet country voice, the most adorable rosy cheeks and hearty chuckle. I’m glad to know you finally make your living taking photographs. Your talent was always apparent to me.
Ed thinks he just heard one come from the neighbors’ house — right after he watched a van slowly back into their driveway. It peeled away right after the bang.
The cops drove by a few times, but I guess they didn’t see anything.
Fuck.
Bat-shit crazy boy with two mamas who spent endless hours whittling a huge stick (badly) on our front porch. You would not stop throwing out the red plate my kids still eat from.
First, just let me say, AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!
That felt good.
Juan and Laura stopped by after their hearing today. First of all, due to one bureaucrat or another fucking up, the court never got the documentation that someone had served eviction papers on ghetto mama. I’m still working on straightening that one out.
Despite that, the hearing happened. (Which, a court clerk informed me, is unusual.)
At the hearing, as far as I can discern from Juan and Laura, things went down like this:
Ghetto mama shows up. The papers aren’t there. The judge inquires as to the whereabouts of the papers. Ghetto mama catches on, then says she never got the papers. I would have loved to witness how the hell she talked her way around knowing when the hearing was in the first place. For so many reasons, I really wish I would have been in that courtroom.
Anyway, the judge points out the lack of rent and utilities payments, and ghetto mama has the cajones to say she has paid rent all along. That Juan is a liar.
Apparently, that’s the one thing the judge got right. She asked for proof (imagine that!) and, of course, mama had none. Not to be deterred, queen of the delinquents shifted gears. But, but, I fixed the roof, she yanked out of her ample ass.
I will say that we witnessed a group of juveniles on the roof at one point this fall. As a matter of fact, my good neighbor called the cops on one of them for pulling down his pants and gyrating at her. But I digress.
Apparently, the judge bought her story. (Juan and Laura flatly deny ever asking them to fix anything.) But the judge decided the work they did wasn’t worth quite $5,000. In order to stay in JUAN’s house, they have to pay $1,400 by next Friday. Or they might get the boot. That is, if someone finds the papers that got lost. Lost by either the cops or the court, the people I thought were supposed to be protecting the rights of those of us who actually abide by laws.
We can, and will refile papers if they are not located by next week. But we’re not allowed to get duplicates until next Friday. Which means if the papers are lost, the judge won’t issue the order to kick out the hoodlums, even if they haven’t paid. How’s that for a Catch-22?
I’d love for someone to disavow me of this notion, but given the information I have, I’m convinced this is a racist decision. Had it been a white landlord looking to evict Hispanic tenants, I think the landlord would have won. To make matters worse, Juan and Laura speak choppy English at best and probably were not able to convey their side of the case properly. Hence, my wish that I’d been in the courtroom.
And I know you’re all going to tell me I should stay out of it, that they’re bad people and I shouldn’t get involved. But like it or not, I AM involved. And I can’t help but thinking that if I’d been there, I could have provided the missing pieces the judge would have needed to give the assholes the boot. As it turns out, I have a feeling we’re going to be putting up with them for some time to come.
We each had three kids under circumstances so similar it’s frightening. I honestly love comparing notes with you, and I look forward to our visits. Not many people can say that about their mother-in-law.
Tiny, smart and funny. You were one of my favorite people in second grade. You stayed on the academic path, and I verged toward an edgier crowd, but I still liked talking to you.
