Archive for July, 2011


Posted in Family, family battles, grandmothers, siblings, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 25, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

So, I go to the Post Office. While standing in line, my feet shifting of their own volition, I waited behind a woman with SEVEN packages to mail. Finally, when it was my turn, I knew there was something odd about the letter by the look on Kevin, the Post Office manager’s, face.

“Something wrong?” I asked, my heart THRASHING at an uncomfortable rhythm while Kevin signed and scanned the ominous letter from Danny.

“This package was sent here, then sent back to Georgia, and back here again. Look at it.”

I glanced at the envelope. My address had a line drawn through it and Nana’s address in Georgia was scribbled over/around it.

“What the hell?” I said, signing for the envelope. Then, I glanced at the Postmark, May 15, 2011. “Oh, shit…”

“What?” Kevin asked.

I quickly explained the eviction situation. “And by this postmark,” I said, “If this is an Answer to that Complaint, we’re screwed,” I replied as my hands began to sweat and tremble, “I assumed he hadn’t filed one. I thought we were in the clear.”

“Think he marked out your address so it would float around the Postal System for a month?”

“Could be, thanks, Kevin,” I said, walking away.

However, as always, I VOWED that no matter WHAT kind of bullshit pseudo-legalese Danny had hurled at me/Nana, I wouldn’t rest until that bastard is EJECTED from Nana’s house.

I hopped into my SUV, ripped open the envelope, and what I read made laugh so loud, I started coughing. It was a handwritten letter to the Court.  It was full of misspelled words, fragmented sentences, and not only did most of the second page NOT make sense, but Danny had contradicted himself.

He CLAIMED that he was still Nana’s primary caregiver! He initially addressed it to Nana and me here at my house, and then….OOPS…after he got to the Post Office, he realized HIS error and in order to substantiate his fabrications, he changed the address. Okay, so if this doesn’t SCREAM JUST say NO to DRUGS in NEON lights….I don’t know WHAT does.

However, while he claims to be Nana’s primary caregiver at the beginning of his letter, at the top of page 2, he states that he lived with Nana and took care of her “24/7 from February 2010 until January 2301”…..seriously…that’s EXACTLY what it says. I assume he meant January 2011, or perhaps, January 23, 2011, but I’ve been taking care of her since her release from the rehab hospital on January 19th. In January, Danny was living with one of his drug buddies, somewhere in Chatham County, Georgia, but we don’t know where exactly….

Of course, logic frequently eludes the crack-fucked brain…He also expounds upon his previous malarkey that Dad’s name on the deed of Nana’s house grants him the imaginary right to occupy her house. He even included a copy of Dad’s Will. He says he has a copy of the deed to Nana’s house, but it’s not included with his handwritten load of CA CA.

He also contends that:

1)         He has Power of Attorney over Nana’s finances (which he did, but she rescinded that POA on January 22, 2011), and he claims to have a Medical Power of Attorney as well, which is also in absentia from his docs.

2)         That he has a copy of Nana’s Will leaving him her house; however, said Will is also not among his hodge podge of supporting material because I ripped it up and flushed it after Nana executed a new Will on January 22, 2011 along with a new POA and a Medical POA. All of which, granted me the authority over her finances, all medical decisions, and I’m now her sole heir (not that she has anything really…but anyway)….

Facts of which aren’t pertinent because Nana is STILL LIVING…..and I included a copy of the new POA with the Eviction Complaint so that I could sign/get everything notarized without dragging Nana to the bank, etc.

Too bad Danny didn’t go to law school. He could’ve beenthe next Johnny Cochran… 🙂

3)         He also states that Nana has Alzheimer’s. And I’ve included his misspelled words for dramatic effect….he says she suffers from acute “memery” loss, and he goes into great detail about a “MOCA test” that was administered by a doctor that Nana saw ONCE.

And below, word-for-word, is his summary of her condition:

My Grandmother, Maude Miller, scored a 16 out of 30 [on the MOCA test]. You can clearly see her Basic Cognative fuctions are severly metally compromised by her condition. This test indicates AD Alzhiemers disease. I have supplied you with the documentation proving this, and she (Maude Miller) is not in her right state of mind. I can further tell you her confused condition by staying with her for over a year. She had trouble with names foods. Identifying television shows and understanding movies she’d seen numreous times.”

However, her ACTUAL test results are also NOT attached to this diatribe of excrement. Instead, he has information on Alzheimer’s that he downloaded/printed out at the library. So, he could’ve used the library computers to type this lovely collection of Danny DUNG, but instead he wrote it out on copy paper? Egad, and he ACTUALLY took this to the Clerk’s office in Chatham County and filed it as evidenced by the Clerk’s time stamp.

I can just imagine the bright young law student or some older lady who’s worked at the Courthouse since the beginning of time – accepting this convoluted, unprofessional, half-assed excuse for a legal document….I’m sure it was the fat they eagerly chewed at the water cooler that morning! 🙂

AnyWHO….at the end he states that since Maude Miller does NOT live in Ohio, that the Court should “Dismiss, and the Eviction be thrown out”….then, LOVE THIS: he states that a copy of this letter has been sent to Nana by Certified Mail….

If he’s still living in GEORGIA with Nana, why the hell would he have needed to mail ANYTHING certified?

Then, the awesome kicker at the end:

Please call me at 912-229-xxx4.

So, THERE YOU HAVE IT! I didn’t need any AMMO to demolish Danny’s case. He’d done a superb job of hanging himself.

I immediately went home and assembled 60 pages of Nana’s bank statements showing where he withdrew somewhere between $3,000-$4,000/month from her checking account in 2010. Additionally, there are charges to strip clubs like Teasers and The Candy Shop (where they don’t sell M&M’s….unless naked girls are distributing them…:) ), etc., in order impeach his credibility.

I wrote a three-page letter refuting all of his claims, and I included a copy of the change of address form where Nana forwarded her mail to my house. I had receipts from Walmart here (with her name on them and OUR address) from her prescriptions as well as:

1)         Photocopied envelopes from bills showing they have been forwarded to my house.

2)         Copies of checks with mine and Nana’s names on them with MY ADDRESS that she’d written for bills and a birthday check to Margaret, etc….

AND ON AND ON AND ON….totaling around 100 pages of documentation.

I don’t know WHY I kept things like the Walmart receipts for her prescriptions, but something told me I might need them…

I couldn’t imagine the Judge ruling in Danny’s favor after reading my compilation of evidence. But in my mind, it didn’t really matter. I assumed/prayed that once Danny looked through it all, he’d fold like a cheap suit and finally take his dog and pony show elsewhere…

And, now, once again, the CLOCK hammered away, a time bomb in my ear….the waiting became my albatross weighing on me like fast food cellulite clinging to one’s ass (sigh).

The limited euphoria at reading Danny’s trove of deceit was shattered the next night when I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize from a 912 area code (i.e. GA), which said:

I’m not leaving MY HOUS, you fucking bitch!  and how do you slep at nit knowing you cremated dad again his wil?”

Oh, God, not THAT again (see Blog #19)….

I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d done to deserve this volume of hatred from my younger brother. We used to play Monopoly for hours on rainy days when we were kids. And what happened to the Danny who left his house in Charlotte, NC at 8:00 at night and drove – 500 miles to WV where I lived with my ex-husband, John, in the hopes of killing John (okay, not so great, but his heart was in the right place)…after hearing that John had broken my hand in a drunken milieu…and when he couldn’t find John, he showed up at my parents’ house at 4:00 a.m. just to make sure I was okay. THAT Danny was a good guy for the most part, but Crack Danny is no friend to anyone, least of all himself.

With a sigh, I rolled over and went back to sleep…

That said, C U NXT TIME, BOYS and GIRLS, because there’s more bedlam and havoc to come…

Peace out from the Don’t Do Crack/Game On Central



Post #24 – Evicting the Squatter – PART I

Posted in Family, family battles, grandmothers, siblings, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

AFTER discovering that Danny was living in Nana’s house* (see Blog #23 re: the break in), the next jewel of SHIT he dumped in my lap arrived via a phone call from Nana’s insurance company, Allstate. She called to give them her new address and found out that Danny had let her homeowner’s policy lapse OVER a year ago, which put her insurance rate in an astronomical orbit. However, having the roof/the hurricane shutters, etc., inspected would help. If it was all up to code, that would knock $2,000/year off her premiums.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Ms. Kennedy, but that fella, Maude’s grandson, I guess, he wouldn’t let the inspector in the house,” said Jill (the admin at Allstate).

I explained the situation and told Jill we’d call her when Danny was homeless/mooching off another Oxy-ho…..

Since I was agonizing over how to file the eviction paperwork, I tried NOT to worry about the lack of insurance though I’m sure a dozen gray hairs erupted on my scalp anyway.

As far as the eviction, there were no forms to evict crazy-assed crackheads who didn’t sign a lease/agree to pay rent. I emailed my cousin, Sharona (who is an attorney). But she really couldn’t help much since she practices in upstate New York. So, I called Elyse, a friend of mine, who is attending law school in Georgia.

“So, I’m thinking about filing a standard eviction complaint for nonpayment of rent.”

“But, there’s no lease. How could-?”

“I know, but there is a checkbox on the Complaint form if it’s a VERBAL agreement. And if I know Mr. Do-Less Danny, he won’t bother to file an Answer. If he doesn’t, the judge would just grant the Default Judgment, wouldn’t he? And I KNOW he doesn’t have the money for an attorney. So, what do you think?”

“That’s a big risk, Kennedy. If he decides to file an Answer, it’ll be his word against yours.”

“But there are no forms for Evictees on the Clerk’s website, so how?”

“They might have forms at the library.”

“Yeah, but if he DOES file an answer, who would you believe? I could submit a good bit of fiscal muck on him. I have A LOT of Dad’s credit card bills where he charged TVs illegally and all that (See Post #22). And I could also send bank statements where he drained Nana’s bank accounts, none of which would make him look like a credible defendant.”

“That’s true. Still, it’s risky.”

Regardless, I decided to go for it. I had difficulty believing that he would take the eviction seriously, much less, actually file an Answer. After all, Danny walked away from his double wide and let it go into foreclosure instead of working out payments on the lot rent, which he THOUGHT was included in the mortgage payment, but it wasn’t…so, please, Lord God, let him be his usual LAZY self..

With my heart PECKING angrily in my throat, I spent an hour typing up all the forms. I then overnighted the initial Notice to Margaret. You had to give the tenant THREE DAYS to pay the back rent, and if he didn’t pay, I would file a Complaint that he had FIVE days to Answer.

The next day, Margaret had the neighbor’s gardener take her picture WHILE she was posting the Three-Day Notice on Nana’s front door. Gotta love Margaret. She was worried that Danny would say he hadn’t received anything, so she stopped by the Sheriff’s Office. And they told her to photograph herself as she posted it. And she used the industrial strength packing tape that UPS uses.

Waiting those EIGHT DAYS added decades to my age/wrinkles on my face. Finally, ten days later, the Clerk’s Office SENT ME the forms for a Motion for Default Judgment, the actual DEFAULT JUDGMENT itself and a form for the Writ of Eviction, which was the form the Sheriff would serve, giving Danny 24 hours to GET the fuck OUT.

Somehow, it gave me hope that the CLERK’S OFFICE sent me the final eviction forms. I spent TWO HOURS completing the paperwork, correcting them, copying them, etc. Afterward, I had them notarized at our bank. Finally, I overnighted them to the Clerk’s office.

The odd thing was, we hadn’t heard from Danny, and that lack of any telephonic IRE made me nervous. Even though his number was blocked on my cell, there was nothing stopping him from calling my house, except the fact that he could never keep TRACK of my house phone number though he’d programmed my cell into his Blackberry when I was in Georgia last March.

And I know that he was absolutely LIVID that I had dared to try to hoist him from Nana’s house, and then… happened….the volcanic voicemail from someone else’s phone FIVE DAYS after he’d gotten the Three Day Notice – in which Danny said:

“I got that summons, Kennedy, and it doesn’t mean SHIT! My dad’s name is on this house, and I’m in his Will. He left me ONE-THIRD of everything, which gives me every FUCKING right to live there! So, this is MY home, and I’m not leaving. Fuck you, bitch!  I spoke to an attorney, who said you’ve got nothing. And I never agreed to pay any rent! This is bullshit! So, you can forget it right fucking now!” And then a loud CLICK followed by a dial tone.

A smile curved its way across my face. I loved the fact that I was getting to him, and I loved his rationale. It’s a MOOT point. Yes, he’s in Dad’s Will, and, yes, Dad’s name is on Nana’s house. However, whose name is on the deed doesn’t matter until after Nana dies. So, his argument has no bearing on the instant case, as the lawyer’s would say. However, my feeling of elation was short-lived as the days stretched from one LONG week into another.

Meanwhile, Nana didn’t know Danny was crashing in her house, and I managed to keep that a secret until Easter weekend. Unfortunately, a friend of hers drove past Nana’s house and saw Danny enter the front door with a key.

The Monday after Easter, I heard Nana holler, “Kennedy! Kennedy, where are you?”….over the monitor (we bought baby monitors, so I could hear Nana if she fell or something)….. I went LEAPING downstairs thinking she had split open an artery, and she was about to bleed out

But I found Nana sitting on the couch in the living room, her face as red as a Christmas ornament, but otherwise, seemingly fine.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your brother broke into my house, and he musta changed the locks!”

I nodded and told her the WHOLE sordid story, including how, yes, Margaret had gone by a few days ago to get a few pictures Nana wanted, and her key didn’t work. Yeah, the bastard changed the locks, so now, once he’s out, Nana can’t even get in her own house.

Luckily, she wasn’t angry at me for withholding information. She knew I was just trying to spare her the stress. She was A LOT angrier about him changing the locks.

But I DIDN’T tell her about the back door. He took out the deadbolt and just left a gaping hole there. So, anyone could just reach in and unlock the lock on the doorknob. Yes, someone could walk in off the street and rob her blind. But at this point, Danny had already sold most everything of value when she was in the hospital – like a brand new Fuller vacuum cleaner and most of her jewelry.

After that, Nana posed her chronic question almost daily: “Why is this eviction taking so long?” She would ask in that helpless, pleading tone.

“I don’t know, Nana. It’s probably just because of the huge volume of casework, you know?

However, I assumed that by May 20th – MORE THAN TEN DAYS after I filed the Motion for Default, the judge would’ve granted the eviction already. I hadn’t gotten an Answer from Danny, so I couldn’t understand the hold up. I’d call the Clerk’s office, and they’d say, “I’m sorry. It’s still pending The Judge hasn’t ruled yet.

Nana wouldn’t say much for a couple of days, and then some friend of hers would call wanting to know what was going on, and, again….I’d call the Sheriff’s office in vain, hoping against hope that they HAD the Writ of Possession. No luck, and I’d call the Clerk’s office again.

And I’d get the same questions: “Did you file a Three-Day Notice?”


And then the inevitable: “He still hasn’t ruled yet.”

THEN, ON JUNE 3, I was told, “Your case was forwarded to the judge yesterday.”

The MACK TRUCK of RELIEF rolled gently off my back, and I was back to feeling 40-something instead of 109!

“And how long until-?”

“A couple of days to a week before he signs off on it either way.”

ONE week EEKED by, followed by another week, and I was beginning to watch for PIANOS to drop from the sky because, it seemed, that was the NEXT step…for my being SO BOLD as to think I could WIN when I….well, kind of… cheated… (i.e. my Complaint alleging Danny had failed to pay rent.)

Then, that piano, did indeed descend from the sky in the GUISE of a KNOCK at the door on June 18, 2011. I was in the loo, so I didn’t answer. A few hours later, there was a NOTICE in my mailbox that a CERTIFIED LETTER was waiting for me at the Post Office from DANNY SMITH (i.e. the knock while I was occupied)!!!!

OMG! I prayed FEVERISHLY that it wasn’t an ANSWER to the Complaint….that if it was an ANSWER that he filed it too late. After all, he was supposed to have replied by May 15……..why was I just getting it now???

UNTIL NEXT TIME, CRIME STOPPERS where BOYS will be BOYS, or perhaps, BOYS will be tweaked out SHEEP….

GOODBYE, from the fat lady ain’t singing yet – central….

Love and cookies (with Merlot… :)) –

~Kennedy/Tenacious Bitch

* For those just joining my Stop and Smell the Crazy Life, Danny broke in to my Grandmother’s house in Georgia after she moved in with me and my husband (see Blog #23 for details).

POST #23 ….He did WHAT?

Posted in Family, family battles, grandmothers, siblings, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

A couple of days after receiving that blood-boiling/nerve-splitting threat from Danny that he was gonna kill me (see Post #22)…

and in the midst of getting insurance quotes to renew Nana’s homeowner’s policy (long story for another post), I received a disturbing call from my Grandmother’s best friend, Margaret, who has always taken care of Nana’s house when she was out of town, particularly, when she used to go to West Virginia in the spring with my parents’ and would be gone 3-4 months.

Anyway, Margaret said, “Someone’s broken into the house. The kitchen is a mess, dirty dishes everywhere, and there were women’s clothes in the room where Danny used to sleep.”

To say my heart TANKED hearing this news, was an understatement. And is there ANY doubt who the intruder was? Apparently, Danny picked the new lock on the side door because Margaret found it unlocked. I felt like a COMPLETE MORON. I guess I should’ve booby-trapped it, you know, instead of a pail of water over the front door….maybe, a bucket of horse shit…perhaps, that MIGHT HAVE deterred Mr. Danny-I-take-FIVE showers-a-day SMITH. Or….at least, it would’ve slowed him down, but, I like a NORMAL person, would NEVER have guessed he would’ve broken into his OWN grandmother’s house.

I immediately called the Sheriff’s Office, and I spoke to a Detective Lawrence. She went by Nana’s house and called me back about ten minutes later. Danny actually ANSWERED the door and told her he lived there!

“So, why can’t you arrest him?” I asked Detective Lawrence. “I don’t understand. She kicked him out.”

“I know, but according to Georgia law, if you live somewhere for 90 days, be it a box in an alley or a mansion by the ocean, you are considered a RESIDENT especially if you’re getting mail there, which he is. He showed me some junk mail with his name on it,” Detective Lawrence explained.

“Junkmail really? You mean I could break into some house that’s been foreclosed on, have some grocery ads sent there, and WHAM, bam, thank you, Ma’am, I’m a resident?”

“Not exactly, but if you live there 90 days WITH the permission of the owner, which he had, right?”

“Yes, he did. So, what do we do to get him out if he’s considered a resident? A restraining order doesn’t help, does it?”

“No, a restraining order only covers you and your Grandmother, not the house. You’ll have to evict him.”


I called Nana’s attorney, Frank Spencer. Unfortunately, he was in trial, but the paralegal told me that they would call me back in a day or so.

However, it wasn’t A DAY OR SO…Frank Spencer called me back TEN agonizing DAYS later just to say, “I’m sorry, but I don’t handle evictions, but I can give you the name of someone who does. His name is Trent Farelli.”

“Okay, thanks.” So, I called Farelli’s office, and his paralegal didn’t call me back for FOUR DAYS only to say, “I’m sorry, but since it’s not a straight-up eviction case for nonpayment of rent, Trent’s not taking the case.”

After calling three other attorneys, who ALL said the same thing, I decided to call Nana’s mortgage company since Danny had already been squatting in Nana’s house for almost three weeks now.

Since Nana had a reverse mortgage, and she now owed $129,000 on a house, which in this post credit-crunch economy was now only worth $85,000, I knew that she couldn’t sell the house. And my friend, Calista, was really afraid that RMS (Reverse Mortgage Solutions) would sue us for damages that DANNY might cause, and she kept URGING me to call them.

Nana couldn’t afford the upkeep of the house anymore, so she would most likely be turning it over to RMS in the VERY near future anyway. So, I thought they could assist. Surely, they didn’t want an unemployed/crazy crackhead living in what was going to be THEIR PROPERTY. And, maybe, THEY would evict him. Problem solved….perhaps?

After talking to the rep who handles Nana’s account, whose name is AnneMarie and writing a TWO-PAGE letter explaining everything, which I emailed to her with a pdf of the Power of Attorney, I was told:

“Everything’s fine.”

“What do you mean, everything’s fine? Are you going to evict him?”

“No, you’ll have to do that. Just let us know if your Grandmother decides to stay in Ohio permanently. Then, we’ll email you a form.”

“I see. And if she does decide to turn the property over to you all, what’s the procedure on that?”

“We’ll send you the form.”

“Uhm, no, I mean, how much time would she have to get everything out of the house after she notifies you-?”

“Oh, no, the house has to be empty first, so call us after you’ve evicted your Uncle-”

“My brother. My brother is the crackhead living there, not-”

“Oh, sorry, so call us after he’s moved out, and after you’ve removed all of her belongings, and then, we’ll take over the property.”

My jaw LITERALLY wouldn’t close for a good 30 seconds after this enlightening and not the LEAST bit helpful conversation. And I wasted a TOTAL of almost THREE hours on this endeavor – when you factor in sitting on hold for almost 40 MINUTES, the time it took to explain verbally, then in correspondence, and then WAITING 47.5 minutes for AnneMarie to call me back after she and her supervisor read my letter about the drug-addled squatter who will most likely cause minimal to catastrophic injury to what will be their property to try and SELL in a few months.

At this point, a DIM light bulb shone in my pea brain…THE ELECTRIC…if I turn off the electric, he’ll move out. Danny can’t stand the heat. He would frequently sit around in shorts and t-shirts constantly complaining at Christmas in West Virginia when it was a mere 36 degrees out because he was too HOT, much less when it hits 95 degrees and/or….80 degrees by Mid-April, and it was…at this point….April 7th….

I called Georgia Power and Light, and, believe it or not I HIT yet another wall!!! And not just any wall, a BIG THICK WALL made of CONCRETE, brick AND STEEL!

“I’m sorry, did you say that my Grandmother’s account has been closed already?”

“Yes, her account was closed on March 18th,” said the customer service rep who had a VERY thick Spanish accent, so thick I could BARELY understand her.

“How’s that? I didn’t call, and the bill has been….wait…was the electric transferred into the name of Danny Smith?”


“Why the hell did you do that?”

“I’m sorry?”

“He broke into the house. He’s not supposed to be living there. I’ve called the police. He can’t do that! He has NO RIGHT to be there.”

And in the most bored MONOTONE/I-don’t-give-a-shit/time-for-my-coffee-break voice, she said, “We can’t refuse service to anyone.”

“What? You mean some bum off the street, can break into an empty house while someone’s out of town, put the electric in their name, and-?” And again, the worse than Muzak voice, “We can’t refuse service to anyone.”

“Well, SERVICE THIS, you STUPID BITCH!” And I slammed the phone so hard, another CHIP of plastic from the receiver broke loose and wedged itself into my neck. Okay, so I shouldn’t have yelled at the less than brilliant Hispanic woman who was just doing her job, but JESUS H…will this EVER END? I can’t believe that SUCH THINGS are legal???

Seriously, I think I’ll break into Bill Gates’ 50,000 square foot house in Seattle, and after selling my car to pay the deposit…I’ll put the electric in my name…and just start living the high life, swimming in his pool, eating whatever food might be in his fridge, drink his $700 bottles of wine and forward my subscription to Weight Watchers magazine while he and Linda are out saving the world… and just let Mr. Millions spend a miniscule amount of his mega cash and MUCH heart-pounding aggravation as I’m experiencing right now trying to get me out. WHY NOT? They can’t refuse SERVICE to anyone….and if I’m getting my MAIL THERE….FUCK! FUCK AND DOUBLE FUCK!

Luckily, Nana said something rather amusing after my disappointing call to RMS when I went into her room to see what she wanted for lunch. And, YES, I needed a good laugh almost as much as my beloved Merlot, which I would consume in a few hours.

“Oh, my God, they’re real. I told Margaret those movies weren’t just folklore. I knew it!”

“What movies?”

“Them vampire movies. Oh, honey, you…look at your neck. You got bit, oh, heaven, help me…Don’t come after me…Lord, let her turn on someone else. Please, dear Lord, spare an old lady from living off the dead.”

“Nana, what are you talking about?” I asked feeling around on my neck, and I realized I was, in fact, bleeding.” I laughed. “Nana, I got into an argument with Charlie. I slammed down the phone, and a piece of the phone broke off and hit me in the neck, and for the record, vampires don’t live off the dead. They suck your blood and CAUSE your death.”

“Oh, well, thank you, Jesus, you didn’t get bit, still don’t mean, they ain’t real.”

I smiled. “You’re right. They could be. Maybe, that’s what’s wrong with Danny.”

And in a wide-eyed/hushed tone of revelation, she said, “Uh, huh…yeah, that would make sense,” she said relaxing back into her easy chair. “Maybe, that’s why he can’t keep a job.”

I really wanted to LAUGH, but I didn’t…

So, after guzzling five bottles of MERLOT that night (LOL), I decided that I would do the eviction paperwork MYSELF, and I didn’t care if it took every ounce of strength and every dime that Nana and I had. Danny, the PSYCHO BULLY, was NOT going to win this time. He was gonna crawl away from this fight bleeding and BROKEN because ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.  You can fuck with me all, you want, but when you fuck with my Nana or anyone else in MY FAMILY, I don’t EVER say uncle! 🙂

Besides, I was a paralegal for seven LONG years. How hard could it be? I looked at the Chatam County Clerk’s website, which THANK YOU, JESUS, had all the forms I needed to EVICT said SQUATTER. And the documents were pretty easy to fill out.

So, buckle up, boys and girls…it’s gonna be a ROUGH RIDE TO HELL and BACK, but I’m going in….. 🙂 because sometimes…. brains/determinations of the WHITE HATS/chicks on WHITE HORSES gotta win to maintain the balance of the force….and, well, Danny hasn’t really ever gone toe-to-toe with me WITHOUT hiding behind MOMMY’S skirts, and he’s in for a HELLUVA shock….

Good day all…

~PEACE OUT from GAME ON central! 🙂


#22 -The communiqués from crackland…

Posted in Family, family battles, grandmothers, siblings, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 6, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

Though I warned Nana about the Midwestern climate, she’s complained about the cold EVERY single day since she moved in with us. However, she lived in an electric blanket until April (shown in the photo marked: how Nana spent the winter), and the space heater in her room and another in the family room were rocking full BLAST 24-7 all winter long…while Charlie and I sweated it out… and Charlie sometimes wore shorts and a t-shirt while watching TV because the temperature in the family room frequently crested around 78 degrees.

If that weren’t bad enough, she told everyone she was, in fact, dying. Her new doctor confirmed she just had bad chest cold, which, sadly, hung on for a month. Finally, Nana started feeling better, and things calmed down. But the hint of tranquility was shattered when I got several psycho-babbled texts from Danny:

You fucking bitch you had no right to take Matt’s TV.

(Sent from his Blackberry on March 14, 2011).

Matt is one of Danny’s drug buddies who lives near Nana. Never met Matt because he was in jail when I was in Georgia. Apparently, he’s a chronic offender, and a neighbor said his latest stint in the big house was probably due to a parole violation since he’s an habitually unemployed alcoholic/addict.

Anywho…Matt had brought his TV over to Nana’s. It was in the office when I arrived. Danny and Matt would sit back there knocking back a dozen beers or so with a side of crack. Nana’s niece, Cassie, who lives in Virginia, walked in on them smoking crack at 3 a.m. one night when she came to visit Nana last summer, which I didn’t know about until I went to Nana’s in January.

Before leaving Georgia, however, I called and texted Matt’s girlfriend, Connie (mentioned in Blog #6) about Matt’s TV. Connie is an Oxy-ho (Oxycotin), and her and Matt’s six-year-old daughter was taken away from them two years ago and now lives with Connie’s sister. Wonder why?

That said, I did NOT steal Matt’s stupid TV. It’s a 20-year-old Zenith that I have no use for. We have NINE televisions. Seriously, Charlie bought most of them at thrift stores, like some people collect coins. We have five in the basement alone and a 73” HD/DLP TV in the family room….

So, I texted Danny back:  Look, DUMB ASS, I did NOT steal Matt’s TV. It’s at Nana’s where he left it. Connie was supposed to come and get it, but never did. Take it up with her.

To-wit, he did NOT reply. However, more crack-muddled communications followed, which started the DAY before our parents’ house was going up for auction on March 16 (2011). I assumed Danny received the same letter from some law firm about the auction that I’d gotten, or that info had trickled down through the Facebook grapevine since Danny is still in contact with several friends from back home.

The following texts are his cracked out attempt to shift his anger onto me because…

For those just arriving in Crackland, Danny forged Dad’s name on the loan papers when he bought a double-wide trailer in 2002. Said mobile home went into foreclosure/was repossessed, whatever one does with a house on wheels circa ‘03.

Three years later, Dad was charged $60,000 in storage fees and God knows what else. Dad had paid off his house in ‘97, but he had to take out TWO mortgages on our childhood home (bought in 67) b/c of these debts. Danny also racked up $40k in credit card debt in Dad’s name buying big-screen TVs and other big ticket items, which he sold to buy drugs. After Dad died, the credit card companies put liens on his house. Unfortunately, Dad owed more than the house is worth, which we didn’t know until May 2010, two days before the closing to sell the house, which, of course, Ben had to cancel.

When Ben called to tell me this, I was in Mom and Dad’s backyard watching Charlie, Max and Archie (one of Max’s friends) haul an old fridge out of the basement on a dolly. I wanted to BAWL my eyes out, but…I was stunned…. We would’ve made almost $20K each if we’d sold Dad’s house if it weren’t for FUCKING Danny. Not that I could use THAT to pay Max’s tuition next fall or anything. Yet, Danny tells everyone I’m the devil (keep reading)…

So, the day before the auction, Danny twisted that anger around, added a little coca-smoke and booze to the mix, and a flood of vitriolic emails/texts came racing my way…for example:

—–Original Message—–
From: Danny [mailto:]
Sent: Tuesday, March 15, 2011 2:36 PM
To: kennedy….

You stole my car and I hope you filed you taxes correctly. Did charlie report his truck as a work vahicle. Its going to get ugly bitch fuck u game on

Sent from my Blackberry

I didn’t STEAL his car. See Posts #10 through #15, excluding #11 About Mary K’s Crack, which is just a humorous aside.

And I didn’t quite GET the tax reference, but I’ve never been to crackland. If Charlie was due a tax benefit but didn’t claim it….I didn’t see how that was a problem. My cousin, Sharona, who is an attorney…suggested that he meant, we had illegally claimed that Charlie used his truck as a work vehicle like a construction worker would, then, we would be in trouble with the IRS, which made me LAUGH.  We have a very capable/upstanding CPA, and he would NEVER claim Charlie’s truck as a work vehicle in THAT respect. Charlie is an IT GUY, who uses his Ford F-150 for commuting only.

But that’s not all…more loco RANTS via text from Danny sent on March 15:

You’ve been talking shit to jack you told me you would take it to your grave you fuckin cunt its my turn now you r going to feel my rath

Jack is a mutual friend we’ve known since junior high. And the allegedly talking shit refers to some embarrassing dirt I have on Danny. I won’t reveal said dirt because I DID PROMISE I’d take it to my grave UNLESS Danny made some kind of legal stink about my selling Dad’s BMW. Thus far, he’s done nothing but bitch and moan. To-wit, I yawn.

For the record, I’ve NEVER said a word about said dirt to Jack or anyone else – except discussing it with the person who made me aware of said dirt. And Jack actually called ME and said that DANNY told him about this incident/dirt that I was telling the WORLD, and what was Danny talking about? I told Jack it was just crack-speak from the rabbit hole and to ignore it. And every time Danny talks about this incident, he has a different explanation for what happened….but anyway….

A few minutes later, another text:

I’m going to find out what you and ben r hiding i know that safe box wasn’t empty you will burn in hell for cremating dad i know you’re hiding something with dad’s estate and i won’t stop until i…

When Ben and Alicia opened Dad’s safety deposit box after he died, there was NOTHING in it. Mom told me Dad had his Will in there when I was a kid…but Danny found Dad’s Will in Dad’s closet (after he died). But Danny FIRMLY believes there were buckets of money or stock certificates or SOMETHING that Ben and I are hiding. Yeah, okay, I bought my dream car: a Porsche 911 Carrera… I just don’t park it in my driveway or my garage or DRIVE IT because I don’t want the neighbors to know about the OODLES of money I’m hiding from my crack-fucked brother Danny…and I use coupons at Kroger FREQUENTLY in order to maintain this ruse that I’m NOT steeped in money…

And if there WERE jewels/cash/stock certificates in that safety deposit box, why wouldn’t Ben and I have sold said valuables to pay off Dad’s mortgages/the credit cards? Ben and I worked our asses off to sell that house. Emptying that house took me FIVE long months/TWO estate sales/one motherload of yard sales and 26 boxes of doodads were given to Goodwill because my mother had more KNICK KNACKS this side of Martha Stewart’s basement…

The foundation of Mom and Dad’s house STARTED sinking in the 70s, which is why the 2000-square foot rancher on an acre of land was only worth $74K…and we would’ve paid the $20K to fix the damned basement if there was buttloads of cash in that fucking safety deposit box, and the prospective buyer was actually able to get financing to repair the foundation, which is a MIRACLE.

But Danny JUST CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH….there was NOTHING in that GODDAMNED safety deposit box….and, then a few minutes later, another crack-warped TEXT….

I know someone who works at Chase and he’s goin get video of ben opening Dads safet deposit box….

Yeah, okay, Sharona confirmed, it’s illegal to have cameras in the room where safety deposit boxes are kept…

And we’ve already analyzed/explained the whole cremation issue (see Post #17)….

Then, the last bone-chilling text near midnight on 3/15:

if you ever drive across the georgia stat line you wont return bitch so i suggest you keep your cunt ass up noth

The next day, I called AT&T and had Danny’s cell phone number blocked, and I didn’t hear from him until he created a cluster-fuck of a legal battle a few days later, which will be the subject of my next blog.

TA FOR NOW…but stay tuned, there’s more MADNESS coming down the pike! 🙂

PEACE OUT FROM the Midwestern edge of quasi-SANITY… 🙂 a.k.a..the geriactric swamp…