Sad things

This is a picture of my old, old friend Angie and her husband Ethan and their children, minus one.

I have been frustrated with Angie for many reasons lately, mostly because ever since she married Ethan (in 2003) she has suddenly become as lazy and dependent as you can be. Before she met Ethan, she worked, paid her own bills, and was very independent. Then she met him, popped out two more kids in less than two year's time, and suddenly the word "job" became a bad word.

Don't get me wrong. It's not his fault. He's a very lazy, needy, and codependent person also but she can make her own choices and it's her responsibility to look after herself. For the last two years, they have been living a life of "gimme gimme gimme" and "take take take". They have also been playing the "blame game", blaming everyone and everything else for the fact that they have no money, no jobs, they've been kicked off of state assistance several times, and on and on. So, somehow, protective services became involved with them and all hell has broken loose.

Angie's mother called me to see if I would accompany Angie to court today. Her worker petitioned the court to remove the children due to neglect. I told Angie to be cool, and be polite, and I would go. She promised she would, but as soon as I got there, she was mouthing off to everyone...the lawyers, the social worker, just everyone in a position of authority. Then, her worker asked Ethan to come outside and speak to her for a minute. He did, and as soon as he stepped out of the room two cops ran up and handcuffed him and took him away. (He had a warrant out for his arrest for violating probation. He was convicted of a DUI and evidently refused to go to counseling. That was part of the neglect case.) Angie began shaking and crying and I tried to calm her, but it was hard because I really felt no sympathy for her. This was their doing. Finally, they got called in to the court room. I was so tense I could hardly sit still. Her mother and I chatted quietly about the situation.

Before I go any further, I guess I should explain some of the history so everyone doesn't think I am a cold hearted bitch. See, when I was a teenager, Angie, for some reason, was obsessed with calling Protective Services on me. I have no idea why, but she did often and would blame it on her mother, on Lynn, on my cousin Elizabeth but I knew it was her. She has a very serious mental problem and I guess I just kind of brushed it off, as she sat there protesting her innocence to me time and time again. I'm not kidding about this, people. I can't tell you how many times Protective Services would show up at my job and claim that someone called them and accused me of beating my daughter. Angie gave herself away, though, because one night I was at her house and we cooked dinner together. At the time, my daughter hated carrots but I made her eat them anyway. That night, we had steamed carrots and I gave her a small portion of them which she refused to eat. I told her she was going to sit at the table until she finished her carrots. She cried and threw a fit but I did not budge. The next day, when Protective Services showed up, the first thing they said was, "We had a call that you were telling someone that you were going to beat "the hell" out of your daughter if she didn't eat her dinner." Which was not the situation at all. None of the phone calls she ever made were substantiated, but it took me a few years to realize that she felt she needed the attention. She has done other things, too. Like the time that I was going through a hard time with PWF and she called him on the phone and told him everything I said about him after a heated argument. When I found out about it, I called her on it, and told her I was going to beat her fucking ass for going behind my back. She then called the police, told them where I was at, and said that I had threatened to go over there and "kill her." Sure enough, I got pulled over by the police, but after they searched my car, they let me go. When I called her up to yell at her about it, she made the comment: "You threatened murder in front of my children." (I did say, "I wish he would die" or "I just wanna fucking kill him" or something like that.) I didn't speak to her for a long time after that, and our friendship has never really been the same as it once was. I've known her since I was 14 years old but things are not the same. I am going in one direction, she's going in another.

So the whole point of that was, that I did not feel sorry for her while I waited for her to come out of the courtroom. After the things she had put me through, I was hoping for vindication of some kind, I guess, and I know that's bad to say but it's true. She has been using, abusing and manipulating the system for so long that it's hard for me to identify with her. So I waited and watched her kids play (they are 7, 2, and 1) and lost myself in my own thoughts.

Then the door to the courtroom burst open and Angie walked out, red faced and crying. She yelled over her shoulder to her caseworker, "I fucking hate you. I fucking hate you. I hope you know that." At that moment, I knew that her children were going to be taken and my heart dropped down into my stomach like a concrete block. I quickly looked the other way as she ran to her babies, sobbing, and crying, "I love you, I love you," to them over and over again. Within seconds, the police were there, prying her children out of her arms as her two year old began to scream and cry, "Mommy! Mommy!" and throw a fit. They hustled them off to another room and slammed the door. I stood up and looked over at her mother, who was crying also. (She has Parkinson's Disease and is able to care for her 7 year old but is not capable of handling the babies, who, at the moment, were being ushered off to foster care.) I found myself crying too, at the godawful pain she must have felt at that moment, watching her children being yanked away from her and a door slammed in her face. I could not stop crying, but I walked behind her as she ran down the hall of the courthouse, sobbing. A woman police officer, who looked like she was going to throw up, tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I was with her. I said that I was, and she asked me to stay with her so that she would be all right, and I said I would. As we walked out of the room, I noticed that everyone else that was waiting in there were crying as well. It was a loud, emotional scene. When Angie and I got outside, I put my arms around her and hugged her tight. I didn't have anything to say. What could I have said?

Once she calmed down a little, I told her that she has to think as positively as possible. That there is no where else to go from here but up. It can't get any worse than losing all your children and your husband in one day. Her initial reaction to my advice wasn't exactly positive, but I understand that. Then I had to leave to go to class, and I felt like absolute shit.

The point I am trying to make is that I cannot believe that I, as a person, would ever wish someone to go through that something that emotionally painful. I need to talk to God, because the anger and resentment I have in my heart for Angie has taken over any empathy I could possibly have with her, with the exception of when it first happened. Now, I feel kid of deadened to it, if that makes sense. I don't like lies and I don't like betrayal, but what I don't like even more is not finding the capacity to forget. I don't like that quality in myself. I want to let go of the anger and the bullshit so I can be a better friend to her. She needs me now. I just want to be able to try and help her with nothing but good intentions. That is, if she's willing to help herself for once. Maybe this is what it will take. Sad, but true.

So now I'm off to bed, but not before I creep into my daughter's room and hug her and kiss her and tell her that she's "awesome" (as she so frequently refers to herself.) Children are so precious. They are such a gift. It's sad that some people don't understand that until it's too late.

All Kinds Of Stuff

I can't really write too much about what I've been doing lately, as it's considered illegal in thirty states, but I have been so busy that I find myself with very little time to write. I wonder if this can be good, since writing is like a catharsis for me, but I should be expending my energy on writing at least one of the three research papers I have due this semester. I got my invite to the luncheon that they hold in honor of students with GPA's of 4.0, so I will be doing that next month after much anticipation. I am hanging the letter on the bulletin board in my office to keep me motivated. I seem to be focused on other things this semester rather than my work, which is really disturbing to me because I know I will get the A's I so desire...but I may kill myself at the last minute attempting it. I need to get on the ball and quit letting life (and having a good time) get in my way. But, oh, I have been having such a good time. I feel like a 22 year old college student again.

Last Friday, I had an altercation (this time NOT my fault!) with someone who I care about a lot. He had every right to feel the way he felt at the time, but his method of telling me really fucking sucked. It was very emotional (and boy, was I pissed off!) but more than anything, I felt the need to reach this person and assure him that I am not the antichrist. I think I did, eventually, after hours of trying... at least I hope I did. The next day, Saturday, was really hard for me because I walked around in a constant state of remembering the person that I used to be, and the pain that I have inflicted on others either intentionally or unintentionally. I didn't use to be a very good person. This person that I had an altercation with knew me at the peak of my meanness...but I was only a child. A confused, messed up, abused, neglected, lonely child. That does not excuse the things I did, but it provides a base for understanding, I guess. Anyway, I felt funky all day Saturday. I guess that I am so happy with myself now, and so secure in my sense of self, that I don't like to be reminded of what I was. However, I have to own up to it, and face it, and that is what I have tried to do. It is me, it is part of my history, and no amount of apologizing can really make up for the pain (and other things) that I caused. I understand this now.

So, Saturday night, we went out with a group of people, this person included, and we had a really good time except for that I drank way too much. I guess I was trying to quiet my inner self, which kept reminding me that I used to be a piece of shit. All day long I thought about it and when we got to the bar, I played pool, and darts, and then drank too much. (About 7 Coronas and eight or nine shots of Tequila.) The end result was, all my friends laughed at me and I got very aggressive. Once, when James (Lynn's husband) and I were standing by the door getting ready to leave, some guy walked by and literally shoved James out of his way. I yelled, without hesitation, "Don't push him, you fucking piece of shit!" Thank God for Lynn, because when the guy turned around and said, "What?!" she just laughed and waved him off. We rode with them to the bar, so on the way home I told my husband to "take a long jump off a short bridge." Yes, it's funny, but I can guarantee I won't drink like that again for a long while. All I want to do is fight when I'm that inebriated, and that is no fun.

That picture above is a picture of me taken a few days ago. I edited it some, lightened it up a bit, because it was very dark, but it shows how short my hair is. I also took some more pics with my digital cam that I will be posting here soon. I'm off to "work" now. (heh heh)

I MISS MY HAIR!

I WANT MY HAIR BACK!

These pictures were taken AFTER I cut off all my long, beautifully curly hair that I got compliments on all the time, but at least it was still cute and had some length to it! Now I am practically BALD! This SUCKS! Now my hair isn't even THIS long. It's so SHORT! All I want is my fucking hair back. I feel so gross! I WANT MY HAIR BACK! I WANT MY FEMININITY BACK! I DON'T HAVE MUCH TO BEGIN WITH!

Dear God,

Please let my hair grow back. I know I made a dumb decision when I cut it all off, but I had never had short hair before and I just had to know what it was like. I don't like it, God. I hate it. I'm trying to make it grow out but it's taking too long. Please God, help me out here. I feel like a gay woman. I am not attractive. I don't even dress up anymore because what's the point? I'm not sexy! Wait, is it okay to say sexy to God? Anyway, please God, please make my hair grow. Please help me out here. I made a dumb decision but I learned my lesson and I will never do it again. I feel so ugly. You must have a good sense of humor, because when I tried to pull it back in a ponytail Lynn laughed at me and said, "It's not long enough yet, honey," and I looked like a crazed gorilla. Please! I'll do anything. I'll even go to church. Please help me. Please. Please. Please. I'm going to call a salon tomorrow and I am going to find out how much it would cost to put extensions in my hair. I NEED HAIR. So what I'm asking for, oh Almighty Father of the Heavens, is for you to make it so that I can AFFORD to get hair extensions. Please don't make them horribly expensive. I already know I'll be sitting there for hours while they sew it in, and I am willing to pay THAT price, but please don't make it so ungodly expensive that I can't afford it. Should I have capitalized that "G" in "unGodly?" Well, I did it there to make up for it. Please God, hear my pleas. I want to be a girl again. I want to swing my hair around and hit people in the face again. If I have to, I'll get some crazy whacked out Daisheiki braids with Jackie hair just to feel like a girl again. Please, God. I miss my long, curly black hair that fell almost down to my butt and when I put my green contacts in everyone thought I was striking. Now, I'm just frumpy. PLEASE HELP!

Love,

Sondra

Oh, and ONE MORE THING...

Friday night I got really drunk. It didn't last very long because I hold my liquor exceptionally well (dammit) but I got pretty toasted there for a while. And then it happened. I did the trademark Bowman drunk thing.

I got totally emotional.

I'm not that embarassed about it, because I actually got emotional before I got drunk. I was with Lynn, who is the absolute best friend in the world, and I am totally honest with her. I had a few in me, and we were at a bar, and I got choked up because all night long she was getting attention and I wasn't. Normally, that wouldn't bother me, but for some reason it bothered me on Friday. We used to go out all the time when we were younger and we would both get attention. Now I get NO attention. I hate my hair, I hate my clothes, I hate the way I look right now. Not myself, just my outer self. I got choked up and started crying and when she asked me what was wrong I told her. She gave me a little pep talk and I felt much better. It's not like me to display my weaknesses and that alone pissed me off, but it was Lynn so it was okay. Normally I have a positive attitude and I laugh a lot but I was just in a funk of some kind. Like I said, she was very comforting and all was well after a while. I forgot about it and began doing shots and drinking my beer. Conversation was good. Then, while I am at the peak of my drunkenness, this guy we were with looks at me and says, in a total conversational, not meant to hurt my feelings tone, "Yeah, see, I'm not attracted to you. I like you and you're nice, I mean I really like you, but I'm just not attracted to you." Out of the blue. Writing this, I am laughing because it is funny, but it was just so not the right time. I slammed my Corona bottle on the table and said something like, "You see then, motherfucker. You're the type of asshole that I won't even fucking talk to once I'm in better shape and have my surgery. You're a fucking dick. Watch and see what happens. You'll try to talk to me just like all these other fucking assholes in here and I'll blow you off too. You're no different." I was yelling and gesturing wildly with my beer bottle, but what I remember the most is the absolute shocked look he had on his face and how I could hear Lynn saying, "Fuck him. He's dumb. He don't get it. Don't even talk to him. He's fucking stupid. Seriously." (She was feeling pretty good, too.) And then I think after that, I felt bad so I said something to him about how he was just being honest and how I have to respect that, which I do. And I know the guy, he wasn't trying to be mean or hurt my feelings at all. He was picking up a conversation that we had had about a half hour prior to that (and two shots of tequila and one beer later.) His timing was just way, way off. Comical, huh?

Oh, yes, I have an inferiority complex. I'll just say it now. Really, I don't feel inferior to anyone, but I feel like people don't look at me anymore. They really don't. Fat people are widely ignored, I think mostly because people who are not fat don't know what to say or how to deal with them because they are largely seen as unattractive. And I do understand it. It's just frustrating because I am an awesome person who smiles and laughs a lot. I am also very honest with myself as well as other people. I have a warm and kind heart, and I am cute. I am no model, but I have pretty eyes and dimples. :-D I have personality, man, but people who don't know me have no idea. They just see me as just this fat girl and move on. It's sad, I guess, but I am all done crying about it. By this time next year I will be slimmer and I will keep on getting slimmer until I look so damn good you'll have to pry me off of myself. And then I'll be going out and seeing how many phone numbers I can accumulate. If you want to see what I will do with those phone numbers, let me know, and I'll post it. It should be funny. And if anyone gives me their phone number now, they'll be spared the indignity and embarassment of being harassed by me solely for my own pleasure because they gave me their number when I was fat! It just better be the right one, fuckers. HA HA!!! Hold on, people..SONDRA IS COMING FOR YOU!

Someone STOP ME!

I've drafted a few new posts but haven't finished them yet. In due time, I will. I have been very busy with school and things. Three hours IS a long time for class, but they tend to let us out an hour or so early so it's not that bad. I do like the night classes better but now I am on a crazy schedule. I'm not trying to fight it anymore..if my body wants to be up until 4AM, so be it. I'm tired of fighting it and I hate the taste of Nyquil. Ha!

Last night, I had a crazy fucking dream, but all my dreams are crazy. Last night, I had a dream about David Hasslehoff. (heh heh). Let me explain. When I was little, I loved watching Night Rider. It was my favorite show ever. I recently caught it on TV Land and watched it, and I realize that it was just another corny 80's show. But I still love it. David Hasslehoff was the first guy I ever had a crush on. Come on, I was like, six. Or seven. And he had KITT, that totally awesome fucking ride.

So, anyway, last night I had a dream that I was a DJ at a radio station and that my radio name was "Alexis." (hee hee). Between spinning songs, I was telling my "audience" about how I met my husband (my husband in real life) while I was dating someone else that I was sure I was going to marry. In my dream, I was telling the story but I could see myself reliving it as the story unfolded. And, of course, the man I was going to marry was David Hasslehoff. (Stop laughing, fuckers. I'm not alone, and you know it.) Oh man, we were in love. And he was so hairy. And that 'fro...you know...his 80's Night Rider 'fro. On the sidelines, watching all of this, was my husband, Shawn, looking heartbroken and sad as I kissed and cuddled with Mr. Baywatch himself. I can't remember what was said exactly, but something happened and it came down to me picking David or Shawn. After seemingly careful thought, I chose Shawn. Even David said that would be my best choice. I was sad, but I married Shawn instead, and David was a total man about it. Even came to my wedding.

So, fast forward to the "now" and here I am a DJ telling this story on a local radio station. Shawn was sitting there with me as I told it, and was telling his side as well. There were several people standing around, probably people who worked there with me, and they were listening. Someone asked the question of did I regret choosing Shawn over David? I laughed and said no, that everything happens for a reason. There was silence, and then I said:

"Besides, people, think about it....I would have been David Hasslehoff's wife."

Immediately there was hysterical laughter. Someone poked me in the ribs and said, "David Hasslehoff??? HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!" I was laughing. Shawn was laughing. Everyone was fucking cracking up.

And then I woke up. Funny, isn't it? I think so. Now go think about that stupid crush you had when you were a kid. Everyone has them. Don't you dare make fun of me or I will emabarass you, too. I mean it. And besides, I really liked that car. That's not so bad, is it?

Back To School!

Wow, I can't believe I haven't posted anything for a week. I can't believe how busy I've been, how late I've been sleeping in, how much I've not been eating. (That's a good thing, by the way.)

Today is my first day back at school. My class is from 6-9:40 PM. I am kind of glad I am taking night classes this semester. For one thing, I have never taken night classes, and for another, I hear they are more relaxed. So I am looking forward to it. It's time to go back to school. I have BAD cabin fever!

Well, on Friday night Lynn called me and invited me to go out with her friend Julie and HER friend Christine. I didn't want to at first, but I did anyway because, well, it's a long story but she would have done it for me. We met them at a restaurant and it was actually fun! I know Julie, have met her from before, and I liked her immediately. I wasn't so sure what my impression of Christine was going to be.

I guess Christine told Lynn that she likes this guy, Jack. Well, Jack went to our high school and I guess he used to write Lynn love letters all the time when they were kids. She said he was a little skinny dork. So, she's talked to him on the phone and stuff since she found out Christine knew him but had no idea what he looked like now that he's 29. So, Christine invited him out with us on Friday night. He met us up at this restaurant and he's not a skinny little dork anymore. He's well built, very nice looking, and very polite and talkative. I think Lynn and I were both pleasantly surprised, because I personally thought that we were going to spend the entire night hanging out with a bunch of "dorks", dorks meaning people who don't know how to have fun. I was very wrong.

I spent a good part of the night talking to Jack about his relationships, or lack thereof. He has never been in love. I wish I were him, let me tell you. Anyway, we all just chatted throughout the night. My nephew Ricky got good and drunk, of course, but he was behaving himself. Everyone else, including myself, got a good buzz and had a lot of fun. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of secret looks between me and Lynn, and it was just basically a good time. Sometimes, it's really fun to watch people with low self esteem interact with others. I mean, REALLY FUN. SO much fun you just couldn't imagine. And it can also be frustrating.

So, after the bar, we went across the street to a local restaurant and I had some coffee. We sat at a table with quite a few other people. One guy in particular, a 21 year old arrogant little punk, had been at the same bar we were at earlier and had been smacking random women on the ass. Now, in my opinion, you just don't do that. It's unacceptable. He did it to Julie's cousin, a nice girl named Jessica, and I just flew off the handle. I said, "Don't fucking touch her. She's married. What's wrong with you?" He just laughed and said he was having "a little fun". I said, "Yeah, you asshole, keep on having a "little fun" and you're going to stay a "little single" for the rest of your life." All the people standing around us laughed, including Jessica, who said, "You're funny!" We went to the restaurant and Ricky was seething because, about a week prior, the same guy had smacked Lynn on the ass. (This guy, Eric, is a friend of Christine's, supposedly, but I'm not going to get into that.) Also, he was drunk and wanted to fight. Me, Ricky, Jack, and Lynn all sat at a table, but Julie and Lynn got up to go to the bathroom. When they did, Eric sat across from me at the booth, like he was mocking me or something. Keep in mind this is like, less than 15 minutes after I told him off. So I put down my menu and said, "I want you to move." He said, "Why?" I said, and I quote, "Because you're an asshole and I don't fucking like you." He looked shocked and then asked me "why" again. "Because," I said, "you're an arrogant little fucking prick and I don't want you near me. So fucking move. NOW." And he did. To his credit, he did not cuss me out, talk shit to me, call me a "fat bitch" (I was waiting for that one), or any other such thing. He mumbled to himself but he moved. He ended up talking shit about Ricky all night long which made Ricky shake with anger, but I kept reminding him that he is about to have a baby and that Ashley would kick his ASS if he ended up in jail over dumb shit. He nodded and understood. But when Eric got up to leave, we followed him out the door, because I had been drinking tequila and I was in the mood to teach someone a lesson. (I get very, very mean when I drink tequila. I am not afraid to fight anyone. This is why I leave it alone, usually. But this guy deserved it.) So we go out in the parking lot and Ricky, Lynn and I start talking shit to Eric. James had called Lynn's phone and she handed it to me, so I had him on the other line. He was listening, knew who Eric was, and kept saying how much he wished he could leave the house. (He was there with the kids.) I yelled at him for being disprespectful to women. He said he was just "having fun". I said, "yes, but that makes people uncomfortable. Don't you understand that?" He said he didn't. And then him and Ricky exchanged some fighting words but no one made a move. (When I look back on it, I'm like, Thank God! I don't want to have to outrun the police in Shawn's Toyota, which is what I was driving that night.) Some more words were exchanged, and then Eric said something like, "Wait until my uncle gets here," which made all of us burst out laughing. His uncle? Are we on the playground? Of course, I laughed the hardest because I said something very similar to a girl who punched me in the fifth grade. But it was the fifth grade!

Eric got into his car and started it up, and Lynn, Ricky, and I began to slowly drift away to our car. Then, Eric punched the gas and began backing up...right into me and Ricky.

GAME ON!

I had to back up to avoid being hit, and his back bumper brushed my legs. I dropped my purse and the coat I was holding and immediately began kicking the shit out of his tail lights. Ricky, who was just waiting for something to trigger his rage, was absolutely maniacal, kicking the car with all his might and punching the windshield as hard as he could. I was yelling, "Break that shit, Ricky! Bust his windows out!" Lynn and Jack were also yelling. Eric took off and Ricky chased him out of the parking lot and into the street, where there was a red blinking light. Eric stopped for a moment because there was a car coming, and Ricky grabbed the handle of his door and yanked on it. In the meantime, I was getting in my car, getting ready to take off. Eric had his door locked and he took off down the road and Ricky stopped chasing him. Jack got in his car and Lynn, Ricky and I got in my car. Our adrenaline was pumping. Lynn called Christine to get Eric's phone number and she wouldn't give it up. Because she "likes him". I was not too shocked, but I hope that my self esteem is never so low that I would allow some little punk to disrespect not only me, but my friends as well. And that's all I have to say about that.

Just a little clarification here. By the time the bar closed, I was sober. While we were at the restaurant, I had three cups of coffee. I was by no means stumbling drunk. I know my limits and I don't push them. Lynn and I always have a back up plan if we go out alone. If necessary, we call one of our husbands to pick us up if we can't drive. I will not drive under the influence because I will not put other people in danger. The reason why I called this guy out like I did is because I refuse to feel like I'm being pushed around by some punk. Perhaps I didn't understand him and jumped his shit unnecessarily, but while we were in the restaurant, he made lewd comments not only to other girls coming in, but to the waitresses as well. I don't like that. I don't want anyone to talk to me like that. So that's why I said something like I did. I feel kind of bad, because I should have just maybe pulled him aside and said something. I did tell him out in the parking lot that he was cute and obviously had a good sense of humor. Maybe HE has low self esteem. Most likely. He looks like Orlando Bloom.

But it was FUN! The whole night was fun and I am so glad that Lynn talked me into it. I am up to go again any time. I felt 22 again! LOL! I don't want to do that EVERY weekend, mind you, but it was fun. Every time I go out with these people I am going to have to write about it. It's like a sociological study. It's like observing lab rats. Very entertaining.

An Open Letter to Bush and My Republican Friends

Dear Friends,
I know I don't have many Republican friends, but the ones I do have, well, let's just say we've clashed from time to time. When I was working so hard to turn the vote against Bush in Florida, of all places, in 2004, you were tolerant and patient. You explained your point of view in terms I could understand; and in return you listened to me, as well. This post is not a slam against Republicans. Yes, I am liberal, but not THAT damn liberal. Most Republicans I know are actually good people, who care about our country and its values. Never mind the fact that I don't agree with some certain values...I like you anyway. I don't have to like your politics and you don't have to like mine. So with that said, here I go:

president bush,
How are your vacations going? What are you doing now? I haven't been able to stomach watching the news since you got re elected. Shame on me, I know, since I really should be up to date on current events, but I am sick and tired of hearing about you. Every time I hear something about you, I get to feeling very negative but what's even worse is the feeling of hopelessness. Like things will never end. By this I mean the war in Iraq, continously rising gas prices, and relations between Americans and other countries. That's only the tip of the iceberg. I will admit, however, that I felt a certain kind of evil glee when I read that your approval ratings in the polls have slipped down to an all time low. It's really hard for me to remain objective because what I really want to do is track down each and every one of your supporters and ask them personally, Was it worth it?

I am almost 29 years old, married, and I have a 12 year old child. My husband works but doesn't necessarily make the greatest money. I am a full time student at a local college and I bust my ass regularly in order to graduate on time and with honors. Now, it is certainly not your fault that I waited until I was 27 to start college, nor is it your fault that my husband doesn't make that much money, considering the fact that the exportation of American jobs in order to save large corporations millions of dollars started long before your time. So, no, I am not blaming that on you. But my question is, how are we, and hundreds of thousands of other people, supposed to get to work, school etc. when the price of gas continues to hover at around $2.50 a gallon? I know that your rich daddy has been investing in Saudi oil for years, so you have probably never in your life felt the punch to your wallet when filling up the tank like the rest of us do. But we feel it. It's making us very, very angry. This is no longer the generation of "we can't do anything about it." Oh, no. This is becoming the generation of "we can do something about it, and we will." I know people who can't even afford to drive to work. Do you know how sad that is? I bet you don't. All your life, everything has been paid for you.

I feel sorry for you, actually. You have a cute face and a great sense of humor. But you are not a leader. You are the kind of guy I would want to host my dinner party. Not leading my country. But I feel you were not ready for this presidency. I think there are several things that pushed you into it, most of all your daddy. He got pissed off because he was beat down by a "lowly" Democrat and perhaps he wants to fulfill his legacy through you. And you poor man, you're no match for Daddy's wit. You are spunky, and we like that, but your spunk is headed in the wrong direction. Most people do not like you anymore. I cannot tell you how many people have scraped their "Bush Cheney 2004" stickers off their cars in shame and embarassment. It must not feel very good to be a pariah to an entire nation.

Which brings me the reason for this letter. A couple of days ago, I received my gas bill from the energy company. Last month's bill was high, so we decided to set the thermostat at 65 and just freeze our asses off until it could get better. By the way, did you have to do any such thing? Probably not. So, anyway, I open the bill. Can you guess how much my gas bill was? It was TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOUR DOLLARS AND FOURTEEN CENTS. Yes, that's right. I'll say it again. TWO HUNDRED FORTY-FOUR DOLLARS AND FOURTEEN CENTS. Upon reading the insert that came with the bill, I learned that gas prices are at an all time high and that the energy companies are selling the gas at cost, meaning they do not make a profit off the customers they service. Which is, of course, costing them money as well. After I kicked the bill around the living room (literally) and screamed and cried for a few minutes (I am a very passionate and dramatic person, I'll admit) I began to wonder how many other people are in the same boat as me. You see, mr president, I cannot afford to pay this bill. What am I supposed to do? I do draw in an income from rental property that I own, and thank God that my daughter's father pays his child support, but even that combined with my husbands income is not enough to pay our bills. If the gas bill was a hundred dollars less or so, that would be a different story and may even be considered reasonable. But I see this gas crunch hitting people like me where it hurts every day, while your rich conglomerates and hoodlum friends like Kenneth Lay are living it up. We are honest people, mr president. We may not be rich, but most people I know are good, honest, hard working people just struggling to make it in today's economy. This is no easy feat, thanks to you, but we don't give up. No one I know draws benefits from welfare....we all work hard and it's like running on a treadmill these days...you run and run and run but stay in the same place. It can be very frustrating.

This is where my Republican friends come in, the ones who say that people should do for themselves and not rely on welfare or assistance in order to succeed. I do agree to a certain extent that everyone can succeed if they try, but everyone needs certain tools in order to utilize that independence. For instance, how can a single teenage mother go to work if she cannot afford the gas to get there? You may say it's her fault for getting pregnant in the first place, and while that may be true, the facts are that this is America and everyone should have an equal opportunity to succeed, regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation, handicap, etc. Right? Unfortunately, that's not the way things are. They never have been, but at least we weren't paying 2.50 a gallon for gas and paying off monster gas bills in monthly installments in order to not get out service cut off. This is the reality, mr president. I know you don't know what that word is, so let me spell it out for you: R E A L I T Y. It means R E A L. Something you are not familiar with. But I guess we are even. You are not familiar with our world, and we are not familiar with yours.

In closing, mr president, I have this to say: You ought to be ashamed of yourself. And if you were standing in front of me right now, I would tell you to go fuck yourself. See, because you MIGHT be president right NOW, but I guarantee you, sir, that I am one hundred times smarter than you. That IS a comfort, albeit a small one. And while more and more of our loved ones are dying FOR ABSOLUTELY NO DISCERNIBLE REASON AT ALL, I want you to continue your power trip, because baby, it's coming to an end. You may finish out your presidency, but please do so with the knowledge that NO ONE LIKES YOU. NO ONE. Except your ass kissing friend Cheney, who is worse than you because he's actually evil and not just stupid, like you are. I am counting down the days until you get your ass out of the White House. I am not the only one. Believe me, if the Republican candidate is a good one, I'll vote for him. If the Democrat is better, I'll vote for him. Anything has to be better than this. The bad news is, it's going to take years and years to clean up the mess you have created. The good news is, we only have a couple more years to wait. Thank God.


Seriously Thinking of Moving To Canada,

Sondra

Happy 2006! Okay, now that's out of the way.....

In this picture is my friend Heather,with her then boyfriend Isaiah. Heather was born in 1979 and we were very close. She dated my nephew Ricky for a while, when they were kids, before I even met her, and she also dated my friend Chris. She was a lot of things to a lot of people.

She was a very good friend, loyal to the death. Literally. She would do anything for her friends. She never, ever talked about you behind your back and instead would come straight to your face with it. She didn't have an easy life as a young child, and as a result, had a very addictive personality which led to problems with alcohol and cocaine, and later, heroin. But mostly alcohol.

In 2000, she made a desperate phone call to me at 7 in the morning, crying and stating that no one would help her. She admitted she had a problem with cocaine and just wanted to die. Her father, her hero, heard this going on and promptly took her to a clinic where she was admitted to rehab. Off and on she was in rehab for the cocaine, until finally, in early 2001, she stayed away from it. Her and Isaiah rented a house right by mine and we were together every day. For a while, everything was fine. She went to school and made the dean's list. Everyone was taking that collective sigh of relief.

Then, in mid 2002, she began drinking heavily, heavier than ever before. Because I come from an alcoholic household, I have very little tolerance for drunks and as a result, we drifted apart a little bit. But not before our fair share of fights and arguments about the drinking, most of which she would justify by telling me that I don't "know what's it like to be an addict." Isaiah talked her into finally checking herself into rehab for alcohol, which she did. She was miserable about it but knew it had to be done. So she went. For three weeks, I was free of the drunken drama and the anger and the incoherent conversations. I feel guilty saying this now, but it was a very peaceful time for me. Isaiah, too. He didn't have someone screaming at him every five minutes. Coming from a Christian home with no addiction issues, the poor guy was totally fucking lost in how to deal with her.

When Heather came home, she called me. She sounded a little bitter and told me that she was still struggling. She said she would prefer not to hear any stories about things she did while drunk. This made sense to me and I agreed to not discuss it. Then she said she was going to need her own space for a while. This I also readily agreed to, because, frankly, I was enjoying mine.

What I didn't know, and what was kept from me until it was too late, was that she had made a "friend" in rehab named Liz, who was a recovering heroin addict. After Heather left rehab, Liz left too, and moved in with her and Isaiah. I still find it odd that I knew none of this. I had no idea Liz was living there. Looking back on it, I have to wonder at how much time I spent with her after she got out of rehab. Not much. I mean, she was three blocks away and I had no idea she was living there. Of course, I was going through my own issues with the PWF and stuff, so it makes sense that I wasn't too worried about her. I just figured "Heather will be Heather" and that was it.

In June of 2002, I received a frantic phone call from Isaiah while I was in Kentucky visiting the PWF for a wedding. He said that Heather had "almost died" and was in the hospital. I asked him for what? He took a deep breath and then said, "Heroin." Shocked, I asked him to repeat himself. He said it again. I said, "Where the hell did she ever get her hands on any heroin?" He replied, "Liz." He told me about how they would score heroin from this guy that Liz knew and go in the bathroom and shoot it up. I guess Heather thought Isaiah didn't know, but he did. On this particular night, she was at Liz's boyfriend's house and Heather, being afraid of needles, asked Liz to shoot her up. Liz did, and gave her too much. Isaiah came to pick her up and found her lying on Liz's bed, almost entirely blue, and began screaming, "How long has she been like this? What is wrong with her?" Liz just shrugged and said, "I dunno." Isaiah frantically called the police on his cellphone and when the ambulance got there, they kept asking Liz what she had taken because she was completely unresponsive. Liz just kept denying everything, saying she had just decided to lay down for a nap. Finally Isaiah yelled, "I think it might be heroin!" and they immediately injected adrenaline into her bloodstream. Within moments, Heather came around, but was taken to the hospital anyway. Isaiah told me all of this, but asked me not to tell her that I knew. When I did talk to Heather again, she said that she and Liz had been out to a bar and that someone put "some shit" into her drink to cause her to react that way and that the doctors didn't know what it was. I nodded like I believed her and then, because I was scared for her, told her to put Liz on a shelf and fucking leave her there. Heather looked confused for a moment and then said, "But she's my friend." After this incident, according to Isaiah, Heather continued to shoot up with Liz, with Liz always preparing the needles, and also continued to drink so badly that there were incidents with her peeing in her pants in the middle of the night. She also fell through a glass coffee table, shattering it with her face, and refused to go to the hospital for stitches. She didn't even remember doing any of this, and the next morning, she woke Isaiah up and asked him if he had "beat her ass last night." Isaiah then had to tell her what happened. He was amazed she would even ask the question, since he had never laid a hand on her.

I decided to move to Pensacola, Florida, in July of 2002, and began preparing for the move immediately. Heather was on probation at the time and was slated to be done with that in December. She pouted, begged, pleaded, and cried but I only assured her that I would let her live with me in Florida once she was off of probation. I promised her I was not "deserting" her, just moving on to a better life. I knew that Liz wasn't around a lot and felt a certain relief at that, but Heather's drinking, by this time, was completely out of control. I would go over to her house and she could cry and beg me not to leave her. I felt so bad that I usually ended up staying. I contemplated calling her father but figured he must know how bad it had gotten, so I didn't. On August 7th, I flew to Pensacola for a week to secure a house to rent. The plan was to find the house, pay the deposit, fly back to Michigan, and drive back to Florida. As soon as I got off the plane in Pensacola, my phone rang and it was Heather. "Guess what?" she said excitedly, sounding sober for the first time in days. "My sister is going to have a baby. Now I HAVE to get my shit together, since someone is going to be looking up to me." We chatted for a moment and then I told her I would call her when I got back to Chris's house. I had a lot of work ahead of me. Chris picked me up and took me to the car rental place, and then followed me to his house where he showed me how to use his computer and everything. After he left, I did some work on the internet and my phone rang again. It was Heather and I answered it. She still sounded sober. We talked for a little over an hour. She told me about Liz and the truth about the night she went to the hospital. Then she sighed and said that Liz wanted to come and see her that day. I said, "Heather, no. She is not a good friend. Friends don't do that to friends. You need to find some people that are not into substance abuse." She laughed and said she understood why I felt the way I did, but that she did want to see Liz that day because she was going to tell her how she felt about her. I guess in her fucked up mind, she thought she was "in love" with this girl, although Heather was no lesbian. One thing she said that will always stand out in my mind was, "I do want Liz to come over here. It's just that I know if she does, I'll shoot up again, and if I do, I just KNOW I'm going to overdose. I don't want to do that. I don't want to put my family through that again." I yelled, "Then don't! Jesus, Heather, just stay away from that fucking bitch." We talked for a few more minutes, told each other "I love you" as we always did, and hung up. I proceeded with my day.

About two hours later I got a phone call from Heather again but I muted it because I was busy. I figured I'd just call her back later. When Chris got home from work, we got into a huge argument because I said that, based on the conversation we had had that day, that I was going to call her probation officer and tell on her. That way, she could go to jail and dry up. It would be the best thing for her. Chris was against the idea, telling me I should try talking to her first. We called her on her cell phone but she didn't answer, so Chris left a joking message like, "Hey, you lush. Call your friends, although you're probably passed out right now. We need to talk to you and it's important." We went to bed.

The next morning I got a phone call from Isaiah. When I answered it, he immediately said, "Heather's dead." It took a moment for it to sink in, and then I think I said, "What?" He repeated himself: "Heather's dead." He sounded like he was in the grip of a very controlled panic. I started screaming. What I was screaming, I don't remember, but I remember Heather's mom, Pam, getting on the phone and reassuring me that Heather did not kill herself. I won't go into too much detail, but this is what happened. I found this out in bits and pieces as everyone else found out.

Liz did, in fact, come over that day. But not before Heather called everyone in her address book on her phone. I mean, everyone. Cousins. Aunts. Uncles. It's like she knew. Isaiah, like me, was aware that Liz was coming over and didn't like it at all. But I guess he figured he was powerless since he was at work at the time. That phone call I got from her, the one I didn't answer, would be her last. Liz showed up and at some point the two of them decided to shoot up. Liz did the setting up and the actual penetration of the needle, as she always did. But, once again, she gave Heather too much and she began drifting off. No one knows what happened in those last moments, but I think Liz tried to rouse Heather and couldn't, because then she just left. She left, took Heather's cellphone, her cigarettes, and locked the door behind her. Heather NEVER locked the door. This happened around 7PM.

Isaiah decided he wasn't going to go home that night and spent the night at his mother's. He, too, tried to call Heather but didn't get an answer. Figuring that she was passed out, and pissed off because he didn't want to be in his own home anyway, he went to bed.

The next morning at 9AM, he went home. The first thing he noticed was the locked door. Thankfully, he had a key. He opened the door, went inside, and the first thing he saw was Heather sitting on the couch. She was sitting up but had her legs stretched out on the side of her. She had her head in her hands, and she appeared to be asleep. The second thing that alarmed Isaiah was the burnt out cigarette in her hand. It appeared to have been lit and just put in her hand, as if she forgot to smoke it. It was burned all the way down to the filter. He gently tried to take her pulse, but when he touched her, she was very cold and very stiff. Panicked, he hit the redial button on his phone instead of 911 and got Heather's sister, Robin. He told Robin, "I think Heather's dead." Robin began screaming, "Are you sure? Oh my God, Isaiah, stay where you are. We'll be right there. I'll call 911." Isaiah said okay and then sat down in the chair directly across from the couch, talking to her. "Man, Heather, you really did it this time. Look what you did. Everyone's going to be so upset. I don't know what to do." He sat there until the paramedics came and harshly ushered him out. At that point, Robin and Pam showed up and utter chaos ensued as they tried to figure out what happened. They brought her body out on the stretcher and Isaiah said, "Oddly, I remember being horrified that the bottoms of her feet were blue. Just blue. That's all I could see." It was then that I got the phone call.

I flew back to Michigan early to attend the funeral and it was really terrible. Everyone was just sobbing their hearts out, including me. I have never cried so hard in my life. Heather was cremated, but for her funeral, she was laid out in her casket. It took me a while to approach the casket, but I did. Afterwards, we went to her father's house where everyone went over the events again and again.

So, Liz, I know you're out there. I know you had a hand in killing my friend. I know it was her decision to get high, but you could have at least dumped her off at an emergency room, which was less than a mile away. You could have called someone. You could have made an anonymous 911 call from a payphone. Instead, you took her phone and cigarettes and locked the door to delay the time that it would take for someone to get in. We all know it was you. You nasty fucking bitch. For many, many months I wanted to take your life. For a long time, I wished you dead. Now, I see that you are just a waste of human space and karma is a bitch. You will get yours. I don't know how you could leave someone to die all alone, but I hope Heather passed out long before she realized you deserted her. I am not a mean or angry person, but I promise you this...if I ever see you on the streets, I am going to kick the shit out of you. You're not wanted, because as the police told me, "being high and stupid is not a crime." But I want you to feel the pain that we all felt to some degree, and I promise you, I will kick your fucking ass. I don't think about you nearly as much as I used to because time is healing the wounds, but I hope that the rest of your life is miserable and meaningless. I hope Heather haunts the shit out of you. I hope you never sleep well again. I hope you waste your own life away before you're 30. That will be retribution enough for me, you nasty fucking bitch. Just pray to God you NEVER see my face again. We met once, so I know who you are.

Which brings me to the point of my story. Last night, being New Year's Eve, I was kind of mopey and depressed. It was just me, Shawn, and my nephew Ricky here. Ricky and Heather also had a rich and extensive past, and right before midnight, we got to talking about her. I was flipping through my music channels on my digital cable and on the 90's station, the Cranberries were playing. Heather loved the Cranberries so I told Ricky we were going to leave it on as a tribute to Heather. During that time, the clock struck midnight and I fielded phone calls from friends and kissed my husband. We chatted some more about Heather. The song ended and I picked up the remote to change it to the 80's station, my favorite. Just as I was about to change the channel, "I'll Be Missing You" by Puff Daddy came on. Me and Ricky glanced at each other and were like, "Damn." We kinda smiled and laughed about it. Both of us got teary eyed. The song ended and I prepared to change the channel again. Suddenly, "I'll Be There" by Escape Club came on. Wow. I know all the lyrics, but Ricky and Shawn didn't, so I made them listen. The refrain goes, "Don't be afraid of my love....I'll be watching you from above....and I'd give all the world tonight....to be with you....cuz I'm on your side....and I still care....I may have died but I've gone nowhere....just think of me....and I'll be there." By this point, I was a blubbering mess of snot and tears and Ricky was jumping around yelling, "Okay, Heather, we know you're here! We love you girl! We know you're here!" That song ended and then "Crossroads" by Bone began. I sat on the couch, bawling, while Ricky started yelling, "Oh my GOD! Oh my GOD!" I cannot describe it other than to say that the air was so thick inside this house that it was difficult to breathe. Anyone who believes in spirits would know what I was talking about. So that song ended and Ricky and I gasped for air. But not for long, because the next song they played was, "Keep Ya Head Up," by Tupac and I jumped up off the couch and ran to the TV and Ricky and I just stared at each other in amazement. We were speechless. See, Heather had that tape when it first came out and she loved that song so much that she played it over and over again to the point that it got annoying. Ricky, in a fit of rage, was in her car one day and decided to break the tape because he was so sick of it. They got into a huge fight over that broken tape and it stayed with them until her dying day, some nine years later. That's when I knew that none of that could be a coincidence, and nothing could convince me otherwise. She was playing music to us. She was telling us, basically, that she was all right and that she was still around to fuck with us from time to time. Weird things use to happen to me in Pensacola but it's been a long while. A year, at least. But she loved both me and Ricky more than anything else in this world and this was her way of letting us know, while we were together, that she's still here. What a feeling that was. I'm still reeling from it.

So, now, I'm very sick (again) and I'm off to bed to cuddle with my warm hubby. I just wanted to share my experience. Most people I know believe in that stuff so I hope they find it interesting. There is just NO WAY that any of that was a coincidence, and for that I have to say: Heather, we love you and miss you. We know you're in a better place. And we think of you all the time. It'll be four years in August, but it's still fresh in our minds. Thanks for hanging out with us last night. We love you.