2004-08-21 & 9:26 a.m.
Cars and peepers
Yesterday was a shitty day. It started out great. My co-workers had a breakfast potluck for me because of my birthday. I had a computer test, which I, of course, passed.
At about 2:40 pm, Mr. Wonderful (AKA the husband) calls me and tells me he was in a car accident. He's calling from the hospital. He's fine. He had a low blood sugar, which makes your brain all screwy and you lose consciousness. He didn't know how the car was, but it was in a towing yard. He called his mom, who works in the building next to me and tells her everything. I Emailed her and asked her for a ride. I told my co-workers and they couldn't believe it. Shit! We were just about to have birthday cake. They pack a few pieces for me and send me on my way. Well, I had to get permission from the boss first. She said it was OK. I mean come on. How could she not! I called the tow yard and it would cost $144 to get the car out. If I wanted to get it out on Saturday, it would be an extra $40. The jackels are closed and they charge a "gate fee." Whatever. It had to be done the same day. They had the keys, but it wasn't driveable. I thought to myself, "Oh shit! How bad is it?" So, my mother-in-law and I go to the tow yard. The driver's side fender is shredded, the tire is about gone, and there is probably suspension damage, seeing how the tire was bowing outward. Well, it sure wasn't driveable. They didn't take checks, so my mother-in-law paid with her debit card. They would tow the car home later. Then we left. I told her that I was glad no one was hurt, but that I was extremely angry at him. He hardly ever checks his blood sugar and especially when going out. Wouldn't you think you'd want to know if you're OK to go out driving? I knew I should have taken the car in the morning. Shit! Why haven't I learned to trust my instincts? I told my mother-in-law that I would not even mention the subject because it's caused several arguments and it leads nowhere. He doesn't change his habits, and I end up looking like the bad guy. And I didn't mention it when I saw him. We drove up to the emergency room parking lot, my pieces of cake in the trunk of the car. I approach the wretched ER, in the hospital, mind you, where my grandmother died 3 months ago. I was not in any mood to visit that place anytime soon. But there I was. He was getting ready to be discharged when we got there. He hit a brand new truck, and luckily missed a motorcycle. Good thing, the guy on the bike would have probably been seriously hurt or worse. I hope Mr. Wonderful knows that this could be the end of his driving privileges. He'll probably have to surrender his driver's license to DMV. Maybe after a year he could get it reinstated. I'm not sure how that works, but it's sure to cost lots of money and stress. Now I have a car out in the parking lot that I can't drive, and it needs to be covered up or it will be towed away. Will I ever drive it again? I don't know. I've put lots of money into that little guy, it should be mine. I don't want to junk it. I can feel his pain out there. Do you have any idea how useful and hard working that car has been since we got it 10 years ago? It's more than I could say for Mr. Wonderful. Enough on that subject. I'll be calling around for estimates on Monday. I hope it can be fixed inexpensively, say under $500?
I've had a peeping (Whoops, I almost typed "pooping" yuk) tom for at least three weekends. Last weekend I followed the fucker to his apartment. I gave the apartment manager a letter telling her everything that happened. He was at it again today. I opened the blinds after turning the lights out and yelled out the window. He was leaving. Mr. Wonderful called the cops. I pulled Baby and the .38 Special S&W, baby being my 12-guage. Mother fucker, not today! I waited diligently by the window but, alas, no return visit. The cops showed up first. Fun suckers (a little humor goes a long way). I told them about last weekend and tonight. They walked with me to the asshole's apartment and knocked. Hmmm no answer. Gee I wonder why. The manager's office is next door. They knocked on her door and no answer (turns out she lives in a different unit). The asshole (Pooping Tom) finally came to the door. I told them that was him. Me no speeke inglish. Sure bato, no problem. They called a translator, a chick cop. By that time, the three original officers had gotten everyone out of the apartment - 5 motherfuckers! Looked like a bunch of roaches. They were all sitting on the lawn (Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil--or English, Kiss No Evil, Suck No Evil, and ta da See No Evil--that would be Pooping Tom himself). They cuffed him and put him in the back of the squad car. They told the others to go back inside. Security finally showed up and only because the supervisor heard on the scanner that police were going to the complex. And lo and behold, the apartment manager surfaced in her nighty with siggy in hand. What a happy bunch out there at 3:30 am. The court date is 10/20/04 at 8:30 am, and I have to call the DA's office in two weeks to pursue the case. It's a misdemeanor so they gave ol' Pooping a ticket and considered it a citizen's arrest. Shit if I arrested him, why couldn't I cuff him? Manager will kick them out as soon as legally possible. They don't even belong there, she said. Fucking people must always be causing problems.
It's almost 9 am on Saturday, and I haven't been to sleep yet.
I had to cancel lessons for the second week in a row. It might have to be permanent if I can't get the time changed.
That goes to show you, laugh and the whole world is burning with envy...cry, and they'll take advantage of your grief and take you for everything you have.
Oh what a tangled web we weave, when we first try to succeed?