Archive for the college Category

Post #155 – Revenge is best served via Taye Diggs or something like that…

Posted in blogging, comedy, dating, life, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, uncategoried, work with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 24, 2015 by tenaciousbitch

“Is your phone all set?” I asked when Jackson waltzed in the breakroom all giddy and smiling at 5:15 as promised earlier that day after he’d unveiled Gordon’s despicable motive (see my last post).

“Yes, ma’am, armed and ready,” he replied as I slipped my arm through his.

“Take one,” Jackson said laughing, encircling my waist with his other arm.

“One’s all we’ve got,” I said giggling as we sauntered into the hallway, gazing at each other as if en route to the nearest boudoir. Quite a performance since he’s gay, and I’m happily married with no intention of cheating. But Griffin and Gordon didn’t know that.

“After this, the whole office will think we’re having a thing,” I said grinning.

“Except, pardon me, but I’m pretending you’re Taye Diggs right now,” Jackson mumbled.

“Whatever works for you, baby,” I said with a giggle. “And when you’re done with him, I’ll take a turn,” I said jokingly,

Jackson busted out laughing but managed to stifle himself by buttoning his lip so as not to over-dramatize our scene.

Out on the sales floor, I could feel a dozen eyes on us. But I couldn’t tell how close we were to Griffin’s desk.

“Are they looking?” I asked.

“Yep, 2 blond idiots at 6:00,” Jackson murmured.  “And about 1/3 the sales force is gawking our way as well,” Jackson said as his dark eyes swept back to mine.

“Can’t wait for the video.”

“Oscar-worthy I’m sure,” I replied.

Jackson nodded with a giggle.

To make this moment all the sweeter, I had instructed Jackson to turn on the video camera on his phone before we embarked upon our scandalous stroll down the hallway. While only part of it is on camera (momentarily), the dialogue that ensued is hysterical.

I stole a sidelong glance at the 2 Douche Bags (Griffin and Gordon). They were slumped over their desks, their eyes plucked wide open with shock and, perhaps, exasperation by mine and Jackson’s display of manufactured enrapture.

For the coup d’etat, I batted my eyes at Jackson seconds before passing Griffin’s desk and in a sultry voice, I said, “See you round 7:00, then.”

“You bet,” Jackson said softly as I sashayed toward the elevator, shaking my ass as if it were on fire… 🙂

Seconds later, I heard Griffin say, “Hold up, Jackson, what’s goin’ on?”

I snuck a glance over my shoulder just as Griffin stood up and wedged himself between his desk and Gordon’s, so Jackson couldn’t pass by to his own cubicle cage, not 3 feet away.

A broad, devilish smile broke out on Jackson’s face, which I’m sure the miscreants believed was from basking in the glow of our lust.

“So, what’s the story with you and Mrs. Smith?” Gordon snapped.

Jackson leaned down and quietly replied, “Well, she won’t be Mrs. Smith much longer.”

“Yeah?” Griffin asked.

“She left her husband a month ago.”

“Really?” Griffin asked. “Then, why was she such a bitch when I tried to talk to her?”

“Maybe, because you’re an asshole,” Jackson quipped, still grinning.

Gordon laughed. Griffin scowled.

At which point, I was standing at the elevator sending Jackson a text.

When Jackson’s phone made that obnoxious DING notifying him of my communique, he took his phone out and held it up so that while reading my text, he was also simultaneously recording Griffin and Gordon on video. And Jackson was so kind as to enlighten me later that evening on the phone – with the details that weren’t captured on film.

Griffin’s angry eyes cut to Gordon – when suddenly, Jackson erupted into laughter. I hadn’t mentioned the particular verbiage for my text.

“She is a naughty girl,” Jackson said.

“Who, Mrs. Smith, aka Kennedy?” Griffin demanded sarcastically. “What’d she say?”

“Not much, just how much…uh, she can’t wait to cover me in peanut butter and lap me up and down,” Jackson said, laughing.

“Seriously? The uptight woman with dark hair who just left?” Griffin sputtered. “Said THAT to you?”

“The one and only,” Jackson answered, wearing a bemused grin elicited by the two confused dimwits, whose eyes were all aglow with ideas of sexual weirdness between me and the gay man.

“Bullshit,” Gordon barked.

Jackson smiled. “Whatever. See you two dickheads later,” he said pushing past Griffin.

A couple cords of laughter rippled in the background, but Griffin and Gordon were auspiciously silent.

“Prove it,” Griffin said contemptuously.

“You didn’t hear her say she was looking forward to seeing me?”

“So what?  You could be going to Bible study for all I know.”

“Oh, it’ll be biblical all right,” Jackson said with a chuckle.

Gordon laughed, but Griffin just glared at my imaginary beau.

“Okay. Let me see your phone,” Griffin insisted.

“No, that’s private. Besides, I’ve got work to do.” Jackson said, barging toward his desk.

Griffin moved closer to Jackson, growling in a low voice, “Oh, right, because there’s nothing on your phone but photos of you whackin’ off.”

Jackson and Gordon both cracked up at such a ridiculous statement. “Why the fuck would I have photos of THAT on my phone when I’ve got photos of…” Jackson began. “Never mind,” Jackson said, sitting down at his desk, while clicking over to the photo gallery on his phone. Meanwhile, the video camera was still recording every morsel of conversation.

“I don’t think so. You’re not getting off that easy,” Griffin said, grabbing Jackson’s arm.

Jackson spun around, beaming, “Well, apparently, I do, according to you…”

Gordon collapsed into nearly convulsive laughter.

“Shut up, Gordy, And yet, I’m the asshole,” Griffin said sourly…his first intelligent comment… 🙂

“Fine,” Jackson said with a sigh as if exhausted by their taunts, “Check this out,” he continued, thrusting his  phone in Griffin’s face. Whereupon, they saw a photo of me from when I was still modeling 5 years ago. I’m lying on a pink satin bedspread in a black negligee, my double D’s tumbling forward, almost completely exposed. And, funny thing, Gordie and Griffie didn’t notice I’m 20 pounds heavier now. Their brains only registered my “boobage”.

“Oh, my God, she’s…”

“I think the word you’re looking for is beautiful, dumb ass,” Jackson said. Awwwww, Jackson, bet you say that to all the girls.

“Okay, dude,” Gordon said. “How the hell did you score a woman like that?”

“I was nice to her,” Jackson said.

At that point, Jackson said the look on Dumb and Dumber’s faces was priceless. Unfortunately, all we have on film is a shot of everyone’s shoes. However, t’was a joint epiphany for my 2 blond adversaries, revealing that, perhaps, chicanery and stupid attempts at humor are not the best way to win a woman. And apparently, Griffin’s asinine question about my blouse was his convoluted attempt at humor.

For fuck’s sake, really?

The next day Gordon or Griffin’s team went on a company retreat, and I never saw them again because my assignment at Mega ended (due to lack of work) while they were gone. So, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to those who brought me so many BELLY laughs at their expense.

But I dare say, I’ll survive.

Over and out from CASA DE CRAZY…

~TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies

TB/ks

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Post #144 – You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet! There is no crying uncle here…

Posted in beer, college, Family, family drama, friends, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 12, 2015 by tenaciousbitch

This year, my sister, Fiona, received the Merry Christmas, “your job has been eliminated” speech as her box of wonder from her employer in mid-December after 17 years of faithful service. Awesome, is it not? The joy of living in America. Absolutely, give us your tired, your hungry, your poor and/or a dedicated workforce, so we can shred their livelihood after they’ve devoted their blood, sweat and blood to helping a f’ing corporation grow ITS business and/or make it a better place.

And, then, another family member, Mitchell, also got the congrats, it’s a shiny new pink slip for Christmas along with 78 other devastated individuals! And such was allegedly due to a downturn in profits. However, the black and white of it indicates according to the Wall Street Journal –  profits were up 32.9% at XYZ, Inc., where Mitch had been working.

And this kick to the curb occurred not 6 weeks after Mitch received a mega promotion, and one of his now disenfranchised co-workers had also gotten a leg up the corporate ladder as well not 2-3 months ago that included a nice increase in salary. Thanks for that, f’ing bastards!

Ya gotta wonder what their mindset is when upper management or whomever decide to chuck their employees when profits are up. Did they suddenly realize that a 38% profit margin isn’t enough to bid on that third world country they’d been lusting over on Ebay? For fuck’s sake, they can’t have that. What would the neighbors say?

But after Enron and the shenanigans of Bernie Madoff, and the like, we shouldn’t be surprised by corporate deception and greed, right? However, that doesn’t mean we have to LIKE it and doesn’t revoke our right to BITCH about it!

But I digress, as Fiona revealed the details of her occupational severance on Christmas Eve, she started crying/then sobbing (understandably so) and apologizing for ruining my Christmas!

Holy Fuck Balls, no one says the holidays have to be all candy canes and mystery Santas bearing Porsches! And if nobody cries on Christmas, it just ain’t a success, doncha know?

Otherwise, Hollyweird wouldn’t churn out so many dramas about turkeys that never get cooked because bizarre typhoons appear from nowhere on dry land on Thanksgiving, or Kim-Kim showing up in the not-to-die-for dress made of bamboo and Guatemalan mud that Jane wanted to wear but couldn’t fit her fat ass into… sigh.

I tried to convey to Fiona that she has every right to blubber her damned eyes out because I know how devastating it is to get downsized because such happened to me twice in 2005, and the first layoff was from a teaching position that I loved at a junior college where I’d been for almost 5 years.

And the immense frustration of watching someone you love having their life decimated for reasons that make no sense – certainly explains why so many folks begin spraying bullets in the general vicinity of those who had wronged them. However, Fiona is not that kind of person AT ALL.

Regardless, losing your job after 17 years of dedicated service and lots of overtime, and occasionally getting to work at 5:00 in the damned morning?! That fucking blows-PERIOD!

And the thing is, little did I know at the time that I was also about to be sans employment. Yep, I too lost my job as a fraud specialist at Jeans, Inc. a couple weeks after Fiona’s employment cessation. And get this, I found out from an announcement on the company webpage. And such was the first time I’d been canned that my manager had not been the one to convey the news, so that was odd.

With me, however, it’s not as earth-shattering to be cast adrift in the ugly waters of unemployment as it was for Fiona because I had only been at Jeans, Inc., for around 6 months, so I wasn’t as invested in the job, really. Plus, business was down so much that on my last day, they sent me home before I even got logged into my computer. And there were times when we had 8 or 9 orders to work with probably 75 people working. So, unless the phone was ringing, there was nothing to do. But when such isn’t the case, ya gotta wonder…

Plus, fortunately, my wonderful hubby makes enough coin that we shall not be worrying about keeping the lights on, but our cashflow will be a might pinched. Additionally, I tucked away some cash that will help fill the void should the scraps of government alms not suffice (i.e. unemployment compensation) until I find something else.

That said, Fiona, Mitchell and I are intelligent, capable, talented individuals, and we will OVERCOME.

That said, why am I so confident about Fiona and I rising from the ashes of cubicle hell? Well, let’s review our track record. Between the two of us, we have –

1) Obtained college degrees, which were financed largely with our OWN cash – though student loans, et. al. did help enormously.

2) Said FU to Cancer and won.

3) Tangled with the biggest bully who ever lived and.. WON big time (i.e. check out  http://tenaciousbitch.com/2011/07/20/blog-24-evicting-the-squatter-part-i/ – about evicting my drug addict brother from my Grandmother’s house )

4)  Survived 4 or 8 or 9 divorces (we lost count – okay, so maybe I’m really just talking about me, but you get the NOTION).

5) Survived being cheated on (by those who may or may not have been spouses).

6) Moved to New York City alone with no job in hand, less than $300 in the bank and a 2-year-old in tow and only one human to call a friend in that wild-assed, incredible and somewhat overwhelming metropolis.

7) Defied the laws of fashion because we just don’t give us shit.

8) Married a rock star or two and/or frequently went home with a guy in the band if frequently means once or twice ..:).

9) Held the title of DIRECTOR or VP…

10) Made more than $75K/year – which isn’t astronomical on a world scale, but ’tis nothing to sneeze at, and in West Virginia where we hail from, that sum makes us royalty/rare birds in the earnings department – especially because we’re women!

11) And ONE OF US met with and pitched a screenplay to members of Warner Brothers/CBS/Disney/Bad Robot Prod Co (who produced the TV show Lost and the Transformers franchise) and countless other execs from Tinseltown. And such was done without a trace of nervousness, which was no EASY TASK!

12) And we did not hesitate walk on cracks, skip school, chew gum in church, rip tags from mattresses, occasionally talk back to parents/teachers/cops and in my case threw up on (yeah – check out

http://tenaciousbitch.com/2011/10/04/blog-35-the-birthday-assaultaka-the-date-from-hell-part-2/

…not to mention we don’t hesitate to ask Santa for the big SHINY TOYS.

And we occasionally imbibed alcohol during school hours, got arrested and lived to tell about it, jay-walked at WILL, sweet-talked the guy from the electric company into not shutting off our electric with a Coke and a smile and, maybe, the fact that we happened to be wearing a bikini at the time didn’t hurt…:) cuz that was back in college), and one of us wore a gaudy fedora to Thanksgiving dinner despite the request not to do so.

In other words, we’re kind of FEARLESS…

However, if we’d known we were going to accomplish so much, Fiona and I might’ve chosen different togs for the photo below…
steph and i - pine tree 73 8

And if that photo doesn’t convince you that, nobody is putting BABY and her sis in a corner…I don’t know what will.

So, go ahead universe, BRING IT the fuck on…cuz we’re on the mound waiting to bat – no matter how big or bad the bullshit you might chuck our way! And this blip of joblessness is no exception in the scheme of our lives.

And I shall sign off by saying, well, guess I buried the lead. I just got confirmation that I have a new a job starting 1/19/15 – provided I pass the background check (hmmm…keep you posted on that).

So, stay tuned, boys and girls cuz in the infamous words of Bachman, Turner, Overdrive –  You ain’t seen nothin’ yet…:)

Love and chocolate chip cookies,

Tenacious B and her band of truth-spouting hippies

~TB/ks

Post #142 – Jim was just hanging out of what?

Posted in college, dating, Family, family drama, friends, humor, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, sex, true stories, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 11, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

The night I met Jim (Thompson – see my previous post –http://tenaciousbitch.com/2014/08/04/about-james-thompson-author-of-snow-angels-my-ex-husband-who-died-last-weekend/,

I was waiting tables at the Monarch Cafe in Huntington, West Virginia, when I was going to Marshall University in 1985. I was carrying a tray full of cocktails and a pitcher of beer when a man behind me called out, “Yo, babe with the legs, would you bring me a beer?”

I turned around to see Jim sitting along a row of benches in the pool room with a couple of his friends (who exactly, I don’t remember). He had this big, goofy grin widening across his face, and he was waving at me as if he knew me. Not the quote I would’ve volunteered to my grandchildren about my first encounter with my future husband…:), but I was only 19 years old! He kinda had me at YO BABE (ugh my feminist alter ego YELLS).

I went over and took their order. Later, I caught sight of a couple 8 x 10 black and white photographs on the table. As I walked over to see if he and his friends wanted another round of beer, I noticed one of the photos was of a quarry from a rather high altitude. I recognized it, but I wasn’t sure why.

“You like the photo?” Jim asked, those bedroom blue eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, and it looks really familiar,” I replied. “Where is that?”

“It’s in Ashland by the refinery,” he answered. “Ever been there?”

“Many times,” I said, smiling. “My Dad works at Ashland Oil.”

“Really? So do I. What’s your Dad’s name?”

I told him, and then I asked, “Do you work in the plant?”

“No, I’m a photographer. My Dad was a photographer there too, and he got me the job.”

“Oh, cool. So, how’d you get that picture? Did you go up in one of the towers?” I asked, meaning one of the cooling towers in Ashland’s refinery (where they make gasoline and other petroleum products).

“No, I didn’t like the angle from the cooling towers, so I went up in the company helicopter.”

“That sounds like fun. And it must’ve been challenging to get the photo since the only window surrounds the pilot.”

“The propellers obstructed my view from the co-pilot’s seat, so I laid down on the floor and had Troy hold my ankles as I hung out of the helicopter for a minute or two while I snapped away.”

“Oh, my God!” I shrieked laughing. “Who’s Troy?”

“An intern in the PR department. Should’ve seen his face when I was done, white as a damned sheet,” Jim said laughing.

“No safety harness of any kind?” I asked.

“Now, that would’ve been a good idea, but I didn’t think to ask for one,” Jim said, laughing. “And they probably didn’t have one anyway. I doubt the executives at Ashland Oil would wanna hang out of the helicopter.”

“Probably not. Well, I need to get back to work. You guys need anything else?”

“Just your phone number,” Jim said smiling.

“I’m dating someone,” I said.

“I don’t care,” Jim replied boldly with his most auspicious fuck the world attitude.

I laughed and later I gave him my phone number, and we started going out. Frankie, my boyfriend at the time, was out of town at a music festival with a couple of his friends, and things weren’t going well between us before he left anyway.

On our third date, Jim told me loved me, and we were inseparable for the next 3 years…except for the night Frankie returned.

With tears in my eyes, I broke up with Frankie, who said. “I don’t blame you” because we had a lot of serious issues in our relationship (like the fact we’d been dating for 6 months and had never had sex, but that’s another post itself). Frankie’s lack of anger and such made me feel all the worse. And he moved out that night.

That said, for those who knew James David Thompson, Jr, I’m sure you’re not surprised to learn that I fell for a guy who seemed absolutely fearless, and the hanging out of the helicopter incident kinda put him in the realm of Indiana Jones or Tony Stark on a small town scale…

But we were very young, and things didn’t work out. We divorced in 1988, and I’ve been happily remarried to Charlie since 2000. While Charlie hasn’t hung out of any helicopters, he’s been known to impersonate a Tesla Coil on occasion (hence his nickname – SPARKY), and he’s an Olympic cutter, who could cut himself in a room full of cotton! 🙂  And he’s always there when I need him…:)

~Tenacious Bitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies

TB/ks/lsl

Tenacious Bitch © 2014

Post #138 – Wish I Could Boil My Fingers…an Adventure in Sink Surgery

Posted in college, Family, family drama, humor, memoir, Motherhood, mysteries, nonfiction, parenting, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 8, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

One Saturday, a couple of weeks ago, Susan, my mother-in-law, came down to visit from Cleveland. On the Monday prior, I asked Max, my 22-year-old, to clean his bathroom by Thursday, so she wouldn’t have to either traipse through mine and my husband’s bedroom to the master bath (which she’d never do) or trek downstairs to the half bath in the wee hours.

I gave him until Thursday so that if it wasn’t sanitary, which is usually the case, I could kick his ass back in there to clean it again on Friday. WARNING – if you have a weak stomach, turn away now! Go back to the pristine premises from which you hail because the images below ain’t pretty or for the faint of heart. No, they’re not as disturbing as, perhaps, the latrine at a concentration camp but probably not a whole lot better.

On Thursday afternoon around 4:00, I was in my office down the hall working, and I heard him shuffling around in in his sorry excuse for a loo. After about 15 minutes, I heard the unmistakable sound of an explosion in the vicinity of his room, and I heard him shout, “Dammit! What the fuck?”

Not to worry. It was a fake bomb, accompanied by rather impressive graphics – all courtesy of his XBox.

I crept into his bathroom for a peek at his progress, and I was bitterly disappointed. Check out his sink…

BAX'S SINK JUNE 2014

And, then, there was the toilet…

BAX'S NASTY TOILET - FLOOR

I marched down the hall to his room and beat my fist against his door rapidly, which I’m sure sounded like machine gunfire from outside, LOL.

“What?” he asked in a rather annoyed tone.

I opened the door to find him lounging on his bed, his Xbox controller in his hand, but luckily, his game was paused, so he was at least listening to me.

“You can’t possibly think your bathroom is clean?” I snapped.

“Well, what’s wrong with picking up all the trash first?” He whined in a defensive tone.

“Nothing, but you were supposed to be finished by now. Please get back in there and scrub your sink, the tub and your toilet, and I’ll do the floor to make sure it’s clean.”

Yes, I know, he should’ve done it all himself, but I knew such was asking too much of the universe that he do a decent job on the floor as well because his idea of cleansing the tile was swooshing a mop around for 3o seconds, paying no attention to the grime on the floor around his toilet or the weird crud huddled up under the canopy of the cabinet under the sink.

“Okay. Okay.”

“Now, please. I’ve got enough to do before she gets here.”

He frowned, and I slammed out of the room.

The next day around 3 p.m, I went downstairs to get a glass of water, and he was in his bathroom again. And this time, I could smell the effervescent perfume of SCRUBBING BUBBLES. My relief was tempered by my skepticism that his toilet would be hygienic enough for any woman to park her behind upon it.

Unfortunately, while I was eyeball deep in work, he managed to slip out of the house before I could inspect his janitorial efforts. And goddamit – his toilet was still filthy. The counter was clean, but everything else was still dirty, and he hadn’t even touched his bathtub, which had a smattering of dead bugs layering the bottom. Awesome!

He’d been showering in the guest bathroom downstairs (at the back of the house) because his tub wasn’t draining properly. No wonder. There’s probably a family of insects clogging up the pipes or something.

I left several vitriolic messages on his phone and a few angry texts to boot, but I knew I wouldn’t hear from him. And I didn’t. He said his phone died. WHATEVER…DICKHEAD!

Funny thing though, he hadn’t mentioned his sink wasn’t draining either…didn’t take a genius to figure out why…

BAX'S SINKThere was something stuck in the drain.And he might not show up until 2:00 the next afternoon, and Susan was supposed to arrive around 11 a.m., so, of course, it was all on me.

I donned my hazmat gear, an old t-shirt, ratty shorts and a pair of vinyl gloves. I stuck my finger down inside the sink, but I couldn’t seem to get a hold of the object. It was about the size of a quarter, and it kept flipping around between my gloved fingers.

First, I tried a pair of tweezers, but they weren’t long enough. Next, I grabbed a pair of salad tongs, but they were too wide.

I finally realized, the only way I was going to fish this thing out was to use my fingers – sans the protective vinyl. I ripped off the gloves and stuck my fingers into the drain, and I managed to pluck it out on the first try. It was, in fact, a very hairy and grimy quarter…but, alas, there was something else wedged in the sink.

After a momentary bout of cursing, I took the plunge again, and this time I snatched a penny from the bowels of the sink.

COINS FROM BAX'S SINK

You’d think my time playing sink surgeon was over, right? Oh, but, of course, you’d be dead wrong because there was still something else stuck in the curve of the pipe.

“Holy fuck balls, Max!” I shouted.

The last tidbit appeared to be a tiny bottle of some sort. I tried several times to pull it out, but it was plastic, and it kept slithering out of my grasp. At which point, I went into my bedroom, grabbed a sewing machine needle from my chest full of sewing junk. And I stuck the needle into the teeny, tiny bottle…and voila…

THING IN BAX'S SINK 2

It’s a little bottle of eye drops, a sample from the eye doctor, perhaps?

We had a robust shouting match about him shirking his responsibilities when he returned very late that night. And I told him that he’d have to clean his bathroom once/week from now on because I was not going to spend another two hours on my hands and knees scouring his bathroom floor ever again. And for chrissakes, if you drop something in the sink, remove it before it turns into a waterlogged bit of rusty goo!

He apologized later, but the damage was done. And the worst part was – though I washed my hands repeatedly, I couldn’t shake the phantom slime lingering upon my skin after my dissection of his sink.

Yeah, wish I could’ve boiled my fingers!

And I seem to be cursed by nasty plumbing mishaps, i.e., http://tenaciousbitch.com/2011/05/16/like-a-really-bad-sit-com/   …when Nana’s toilet imploded…:)

Hope all is better in your world than that auspicious day was for me!!!

Over and out from insanity central…

And for my wonderful fans who keep emailing me about my memoir, I’m getting close to finite! 🙂

TenaciousB and her band of truth-spouting hippies~

TB/ks

© Tenacious Bitch 2014

#134 – Time to Go To Prison~Again!

Posted in college, Family, family battles, family drama, friends, marriage, memoir, Motherhood, nonfiction, parenting, relationships, true crime, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 2, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

My son Rory’s first DUI occurred when he was 21, not long after he got married. He was working at Chase bank, and he’d been partying with some friends one night and fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into a tree. No one was injured, thank God. All of which happened in Upper Arlington, a very ritzy, old money suburb not far from Ohio State University.

He couldn’t remember who was in the vehicle with him. However, his unnamed drinking buddies were seen scattering into the darkness when the police arrived.

Apparently, not only had he thrown back quite a few cocktails, he’d probably taken double the recommended dosage of Dexedrine, his ADD medication, and he’d been awake for around 36 hours straight. So, yeah, he was a mess. And he shouldn’t have been anywhere near a car.

Long story short, he was shuffled off to the drunk tank downtown and was later sentenced to six months probation and attending some sort of group therapy. Rory hadn’t augmented his Dexedrine intake to get high. He did it to increase his productivity and stay awake longer in order to get more accomplished – because he’s always been an overachiever.

Besides his job at Chase, he started moonlighting at Victory’s bar and restaurant downtown after Lacey lost her full-time job at a bakery. They had accumulated a massive credit card debt, and he was attempting to stave off foreclosure on their house. Lacey was unemployed for six months and had just started working part-time as a receptionist at Mt. Carmel hospital when he’d gotten the first DUI.

Three or four months later, he was out drinking and decided to give Kim, a co-worker at Victory’s, a ride home.  According to his friends, she was rather inebriated.

Kim didn’t doze off en route to her apartment as expected. No, she attempted to seduce him. Fending off her her advances caused him to swerve into the opposite lane where, thank heaven, there wasn’t an oncoming car. But a cop just happened to be right behind him.

Yeah, he was totally fucked.

On the advice of a friend/attorney who handles a lot of DUI’s, Rory refused the breathalyzer. But, apparently, when he passed the field sobriety test, the cop didn’t believe he was sober. So, the officer snuck up behind him, popped the breathalyzer in his mouth and told him to “blow”.

His blood-alcohol level was high enough for an arrest, but if I’d known how the cop had obtained his probable cause, I would’ve helped Rory prepare a Motion to Dismiss since all the evidence against him was fruit of the poisoned tree nullifying the policeman’s probable cause.

It might not’ve have been a Supreme Court-worthy document, but having been a paralegal for almost 7 years, I think it would’ve sufficed for a Pro Se defendant.

It might’ve eliminated or at least truncated Rory’s 2nd turn in County. Either way, worst case scenario – the judge could’ve denied the Motion to Dismiss. No harm. No foul. But I didn’t know what the police officer had done until a few days ago when I asked Rory about the specifics of his arrests to confirm all the details.

He pled guilty to the 2nd DUI because he couldn’t afford an attorney. He was sentenced to 5 days in lockup for violating his probation in the Upper Arlington case, and 5 days for the 2nd DUI.

Additionally, he lost his driver’s license for 2 years. However, at least the judge was kind enough to allow Rory to serve his time on his days’ off so that he wouldn’t lose his job. And since he was on flex time, his days’ off varied.

Rory’s 2nd prison term began in mid-summer. He had moved back home temporarily because he and Lacey were separated. (They divorced about a year later).  Since he didn’t have a driver’s license, I drove him to the corrections facility, which was only 4 miles away from our house.

I didn’t mind providing transportation. Plus, I could make sure he clocked in at at 9 a.m. sharp as required by his sentencing agreement. I was concerned he’d be late or not show up at all because he’d started drinking even more after he and Lacey split up. I knew that if he was a no-show, he could get thrown in the clink for 3 months to a year.

So, I’m sure you can guess what happened next. One particular morning in August, I got  up to take Rory to serve his time, and he wasn’t sleeping peacefully in his room. He wasn’t steeped in Jameson, dead to the world, on our couch downstairs in front of the TV. He was nowhere to be found.

I called and texted him a dozen times, but all I got was his voicemail and no reply to my texts. I texted every single friend of his whose contact info was on my cellular Rolodex. No one had heard from him, and none of his friends had a reason to lie, especially given the severity of the situation.

Finally at 9:45, I decided to toss out a Hail Mary. I suspected Rory might’ve spent the night with Lacey because he’d been talking to her a lot on the phone lately. She and I have a rocky history because I never wanted Rory to marry her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a beautiful girl, and she can be extremely sweet when she wants to be. But I just didn’t think either of them was ready for marriage since he was barely 21 and she 22.

I also didn’t think they were a good match. He’s very serious and intellectual, and Lacey is not. And as I feared, they split up eight months into their marriage.

Therefore, it was a delicate proposition to contact Lacey. God forbid, I didn’t wanna call and wake her up unnecessarily since she works night or embarrass her if she happened to be with another guy. So, I chose a different route.

I called Rory’s friend, Nelson, who is probably Rory’s most responsible friend. By the time Nelson was 21, he’d already completed his BA in automotive technology from Ohio State. He works at a local Chevy dealership, and he’s got his own side business repairing/restoring old muscle cars. Yeah, I like Nelson. He’s a good egg.

So, I explained Rory’s incarceration dilemma and asked Nelson to contact Lacey. Not ten minutes later, he texted me confirming that Rory was at Lacey’s apartment somewhere downtown. I took a deep breath and dialed Lacey’s number.

“He got another DUI?” Lacey gasped.

Score another fuck up for me. Sorry, Dude, I thought to myself, didn’t mean to turn up the temp on the hot water you’re swimming in, Rory, but it ain’t my fault.

“Yeah, right after my Dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer, Rory, got a DUI downtown,” I explained. “Is he with you?”

Long pause.

“Look, Lacey…” I began in an apologetic tone while looking at my watch. “He was supposed to be at the jail an hour ago. Is he there?”

“I see,” Lacey sputtered. “Thanks for letting me know.” And she hung up.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

***

The conclusion to this story will be in my upcoming book – Tales From the Lunatic Lounge – which I hope to finish in a couple of months wherein you can read all the dirt on Rory’s last stint in the pokey! 🙂

And if you’re searching for some summer reads, check out my list of favorite books at:

http://tenaciousbitch.com/my-favorite-books/

Over and out-

~TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies

Tenacious Bitch © 2014

 

Post #130 – The Sterling Stalker

Posted in dating, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, sex, thrillers, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 2, 2014 by tenaciousbitch

A friend of mine calls me a psycho magnet because I often found myself in peculiar circumstances/relationships with men before I met my husband, Charlie, and this event with Sterling is no exception.

In fall of 1989, I decided to move from Brooklyn, New York, to Los Angeles with my then boyfriend, Ashe (now deceased ex-husband mentioned in http://tenaciousbitch.com/2013/10/07/how-i-almost-murdered-ex-husband-2/ ). Shortly after Ashe graduated from sound engineering school, he got a job on the Rolling Stones tour.

Unfortunately, four months later, Ashe brought home a new BFF, her majestycocaine. Our relationship imploded, and I was a single Mom again with a 3-year-old Tim in tow. Sigh…

I got a job working as an admin assistant at a computer sales company. While attending a trade show in Santa Monica, a handsome man swaggered over to my table at lunch. “I’ll trade you a bit for your byte?” He asked with a beguiling grin.

I stared at him, confused. Then, I noticed the trade show badge pinned to his shirtand it hit me — a joke about the PC biz…how charming. However, since he was a blonde-haired, hazel-eyed babe, I laughed…while admiring his thick-muscled arms…

“Hi, I’m Sterling,” Mr. Hottie said, extending his hand. “I’m at IBM.”

With a polite handshake and cool smile, I replied, “Kennedy, Kennedy Smith.”

After an awkward pause, the usual pleasantries evolved into a conversation cultivated via common ground. We both liked cooking ethnic meals from scratch, sci-fi books and movies, and both of us wanted to own motorcycles.  But neither of us had the cash to satisfy that yearning at the time.

A dozen dates later, I started to feel that flutter preceding those three little words that will kill or cement any liaison, but quick. However, since Sterling was likely a rebound beau, I refrained from verbalizing said “L” word. Thank God because…

Five minutes after our first blissful romp between the sheets, Sterling had a lengthy discourse with someone named Clair on the phone. I was half asleep, and even though his timing was odd, I assumed by his verbiage, he was chatting with his assistant…or maybe, his sister until…

“Love you, too.” And the cooing timbre of that phrase was definitely not the way one speaks to a sibling…

“Who was that?” I snapped.

“My wife,” he said.

“What? I’m sorry. Did you say wife?”

“Yes, Clair, my wife of six years.”

“You goddamned piece of shit!” I yelled, wanting to kick the short and curlies right off his fucking balls. “You’re  married, you filthy bag of dick?”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“Oh, right, so that makes it okay. How could you call your wife, five seconds after you fucked another woman?”

A wide grin slithered across his face, “Cuz, it turns me on,” he said, rolling over on me and planting a succulent kiss on my neck.

“Get off me!” I hollered, shoving him sideways. I leapt out of bed and slipped into my robe. “And get the fuck out of my house!”

“Come on, you knew.”

“How could I know? You never mentioned a wife, you lame-assed cock, and you’re not wearing a ring!!”

“A guy like me, single at 30? C’mon?? What’re the odds?” he scoffed.

“GET OUT!” I screamed, so relieved that Tim (my son) was asleep at the neighbor’s next door – because he’d taken a liking to Sterling, the wanking prick.

But Sterling didn’t move. “C’mon, this is 1989. Monogamy’s dead, especially in Hollywood.”

“We live in the Valley, and we’re not celebrities, you arrogant bastard-” I shouted while dialing the phone.

“Who’re you calling?”

“Only 911,” I snickered.

Finally, that prompted his departure, but not without trying to kiss me goodbye. Instead, I gave him a sweet caress of very sharp, red nails…even drew a little blood.

The next day, Sterling called me at work. I immediately hung up on him, but that didn’t deter the cheating lout. Not two hours later, Kiki, the receptionist, strutted over with a dozen roses in a crystal vase.

“Wow, someone’s got a sweetie,” said the dull-eyed Kiki, setting the flowers on my desk.

FUCK! I glanced at the card:

 I miss you, beautiful. 
Please forgive me. 
Just say the word and I’ll file 
divorce.
Love, Sterling

I dumped the roses in my trashcan, and I wanted to throw the vase at the wall, but I couldn’t exactly afford to lose my job.

And just when I started to relax a few days later, my hands turned cold, and my heart dashed about painfully in my chest…when a bottle of Dom Perignon appeared on my kitchen counter. A card bearing my name beside it.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Tim asked, tugging at my quivering hand.

“Nothing, honey,” I said with a weak smile, trying desperately to shield him from the terror evoked by this seemingly innocent bottle of bubbly. “You go on and watch cartoons while I, uh, make dinner. Okay?”

“Okay.”

My beautiful blue-eyed boy toddled into the living room as I tried to collect myself. I glared at the card for a second. Then, like an idiot, I opened it:

I love you. I can’t 
stand being apart.
Please call me.
Love, Always
Sterling

“Shit…” I mumbled, leaning on the counter to steady myself. I raced to the front door and dropped to my knees. I didn’t see any marks on the door or the doorknob, and that was the only entrance to my tiny one-bedroom apartment. I checked all the windows, which were still locked.

I called the police, and two patrolmen showed up an hour later. Tim, of course, was fascinated by their badges and their guns.

“Please, can I see it, Officer, your -?” Tim pleaded from the doorway, pointing to the shorter Officer’s pistol.

“No, Tim,” I scolded. “Go watch TV in the bedroom, please.”

Frowning, he slumped away.

“I’m sorry, but,” said Officer Denton, the older of the two lawmen, “There’s really nothing we can do.”

“But he broke in!”

“There’s no sign of forced entry, and that card isn’t…it doesn’t constitute a threat-”

“I don’t understand! He doesn’t have a key!”

“I know. I’m sorry. I suggest you move.”

“But my lease isn’t up for seven months.”

With that, the nightmare with the STERLING STALKER was just beginning…

And what made me think of this creep after all these years? Yep…you got it? Another…do you know –

Sterling XXXXXXX

On Facebook. And Sterling, apparently, has 3 friends in common with me who still live in L.A.  Holy Shitballs, Batman…and these are not folks I knew when I lived in Cali…they’re folks I’ve met at seminars and such…

If you’d like to read the conclusion to this story, it will be one of the chapters in my upcoming book, Tales from the Lunatic Lounge, which I hope to finish in the next month or so! 🙂

KS/TenaciousBITCH

Post #115 -She’s NOT the daughter of an Iranian Prince…

Posted in cats, college, Family, humor, mysteries, nonfiction, relationships, true stories with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 24, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

I realize people may be getting tired of hearing about my dead cat, but…

When we dropped Sasha off to get autopsied, they told us to contact the pathology department at Ohio State in a couple of days to see if they had found the cause of death right off, or if they’d had to do testing before a definitive cause of her demise could be determined. In which case, we wouldn’t know until the final report comes out in 3-4 weeks.

However, when I called earlier today, I was told they couldn’t give me any information over the phone!  What the hell?!! She was a CAT, for heaven’s sake, not the daughter of an Iranian PRINCE…or some neighbor’s kid. She was 1/2 Maine Coon, but she wasn’t a show cat. She was a stray 18 months ago. She wasn’t a descendant of Ronald Reagan’s dog – or a radioactive squirrel that survived CHERNOBYL just your ordinary – loved to eat mice/chase dog fur/play with the feather duster, kind of cat. So, HIPPA, the International Laws of NATO, and/ or the guidelines/restrictions of the World Health Organization do not apply.

I was told the pathologist could tell me, but he wasn’t there. And I was so angry, I didn’t think to leave a message for said pathologist/wizard/keeper of the Book of the DEAD or whomever has the classified intel/clearance to discuss why my cat was fine one minute and croaked the next…

So, the woman I spoke to in the Pathological Department at OSU said they’d faxed a preliminary report to Dr. Blair, our vet, but the vet’s office didn’t have any record of the report. AWESOME.  Tina, the vet’s admin assistant was going to check around to see if it had landed in the wrong inbox, but – nope. They simply don’t have it.

I’m worried about Samantha (Sasha’s daughter) and Raven, our dog – maybe getting into whatever killed Sasha. Plus, Sasha was 18 months old. Maybe, it was something genetic that Samantha could be tested for, and she’s got an appointment with our vet, tomorrow, which is why I’d REALLY like to know today what killed my beautiful baby feline – if there was any preliminary findings that point toward a particular medical condition or accidental ingestion of some sort of poison/bad meat/bad air – or did she sneak off to a rave and re-up on some bad Ecstasy? Or something more normal and cat-like a.k.a. having a seizure/heart attack/aneurism, etc., because she certainly didn’t die of old age…

I’ll keep everyone POSTED as this veterinary nightmare of redirection, reanimation and red tape unfolds…

Over and out from fracked up central…

KENNEDY/TENACIOUS BITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies…

___