Archive for elderly

Post #70 – More BALONEY from Ms. Cranky Pants…

Posted in Family, grandmothers, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 31, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

I sat on my couch numb-struck for a moment because my brain was SIZZLING and crackling with ANGER.

“I’m sorry, she said, what?” I asked my mother-in-law, Sarah, who was sitting next to me.

Wearing a grim expression, she replied, “When Nana* and I went grocery shopping, she said she wouldn’t buy DIRT at Kroger and that Charlie buys cheap meat.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I know it is. I reminded her that Charlie frequently makes Porterhouse steaks for everyone on Memorial Day, and last time I visited too, and he bought her filet Mignon,” Sarah explained in a bitter tone.

“And the only cheap meat I’ve ever seen in your fridge in the 15 years since you got married,” Sarah continued, “is that Kroger brand deli meat that Charlie buys for himself because he doesn’t care what brand he buys. And there’s nothing wrong with Kroger meat anyway, but I know he didn’t buy that for her HIGHNESS. She also said that you never bake anything and that her room hadn’t been cleaned in months.”

“What the hell is she talking about? I clean her room every Saturday! And I just cleaned it the day before we left for Vegas. Was it dusty or something because of her opening the window?”

“No. I told her that her room was spotless when I got here until the dog took a nap in there and got blond fur all over the place, which I vacuumed up while she was in the shower.”

“And I stopped baking anything for her because she’d eat maybe two pieces of cake or a couple cookies or something, and I’d end up throwing the rest out unless it was something that Max likes because she wants a different damned desert every day except when I made donuts. And she ate TWO donuts every day.”

“I know. She told me,” Sarah said.

“She just doesn’t understand. I’m already spending 3-5 hours every day cooking, washing dishes and trying to keep the house clean, which as you know, doesn’t leave near enough time for me to work. So, I’m sorry that I haven’t had time to bake Ms. Cranky Pants a fresh dessert every day. And she’s the ONLY person who eats all that anyway. Charlie and I are both trying to lose weight. And Max is here so little now with his work schedule and everything that he only eats dinner here at 10 or 11 o’clock at night when he may or may not be in the mood to eat angel food cake or whatever.”

Sarah nodded. “I know. I don’t understand her attitude. And what’s wrong with Kroger? And I told her that all the stores carry about the same thing. So, why go over to Giant Eagle or whatever when everything is going to cost 50 cents or a dollar more.”

And for the record, since Nana moved in with us 18 months ago, I’ve made: Coca Cola Cake THREE TIMES, and all of the following at least twice: blueberry muffins (from scratch), chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal cookies, Snickerdoodles, blond and chocolate brownies, chocolate chip muffins, sugar cookies, peanut butter cookies, pound cake, lemon cake, cheesecake, honey bran muffins, and homemade bread more than 20 times because I prefer it to store bought bread.

I’m thinking this lack of RECALL is a pretty good indicator of Alzheimer’s or Dementia, is it not?

Sarah nodded. “I know. I don’t understand her attitude and how she can be so ungrateful.”

“And how tactless to badmouth my husband to his MOTHER of all people.”

Sarah nodded.

I was so furious that I avoided Nana for the next three days, and then I couldn’t help it. My inner most BITCH broke free and lambasted the old bird.

I walked into her room, sat down on the bed and said, “You and I have to have a serious chat.”

“Oh, is something wrong?” Nana asked innocently.

“Yes, you can disparage me ALL you want, but if you EVER make another derogatory comment about Charlie or my boys, you’ll be living in the street!”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Sarah told me what you said about Charlie buying cheap meat and that you wouldn’t buy dirt at Kroger.”

Nana blinked, her eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t say that.”  But I could tell by the way her eyes were shifting nervously that she was lying.

“Really and you didn’t hoard any money to give Cathy, either, did you**?”

Nana grimaced and began taking deep and rather loud breaths like she might hyperventilate, which is ALL an act because she stopped doing it like 30 seconds later.

“Yeah, Sarah made up awful things about her own SON? So, I suggest you keep your obnoxious and insensitive comments to yourself from now on or start packing!” I hollered, slamming the door behind me.

For those of you who might not GET why Nana’s comments infuriated me so badly, take a gander at:

https://tenaciousbitch.wordpress.com/2011/03/10/as-my-mother-lay-dying/

Nay, what she said on my mother’s death bed was worse. However, this latest defaming of my husband’s character was a major turning point in my life. A few days after I got back from Vegas, I started researching nursing homes…and that’s ALL I’m gonna say about that for now.

THANKS for tuning in, boys and girls. I must go now, the Geriatric Beast is yowling for more tea…

Over and out from the FLAMES of Paradise LOST…

TenaciousBITCH and her band of bullshit QUASHERS!

~TB

*For a humorous story about Nana, check out #18 The Oatmeal Incident at: http://tenaciousbitch.com/2011/06/02/the-oatmeal-incident/    …or Post #62 – http://tenaciousbitch.com/2012/05/25/post-61-macys-alleged-faux-paus/

** For info on that, check out: http://tenaciousbitch.com/2012/07/11/the-attempted-con-of-ms-cranky-pants/   …. and Post #69 – http://tenaciousbitch.com/2012/07/19/post-69-the-brooding-nana-vs-the-world-of-its-all-fine/

© Tenacious Bitch/Kennedy Smith 2012

ALL posts:    © Tenacious Bitch/Kennedy Smith 2012

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Post #68 – The attempted CON of Ms. Cranky Pants…

Posted in Family, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 11, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

As most of you know, my 95-year-old Grandmother/ aka Ms. Cranky Pants (aka Nana Maude), moved in with me, my husband, Charlie, and my son, Max, 18 very LONG months ago. For the 411 on Nana, go to Post #1 – https://tenaciousbitch.wordpress.com/2011/03/10/as-my-mother-lay-dying/ regarding her migration from Georgia to living with us (in Ohio) after my brother, Danny, fleeced her for approximately $50K.

Otherwise…read on. This week Charlie and I are on vacation…i.e. the photo below of my feet and I soaking up some sunny respite yesterday…

The joy of lounging at our timeshare in Vegas…or are we at the resort in Aruba? Sorry, Merlot-muddled brain isn’t functioning at top capacity… :)..have to ask the husband later…

A couple of weeks prior to our joyous departure, Nana asked me to withdraw some money from her bank account EVERY single time I left the house. First, to buy a few lottery tickets, so I retrieved $20, but she only bought $10 worth.

And the 2nd time, she said, “I want some money to go shopping at the cheap store. Forty dollars, I guess.”

The “cheap store” refers to our favorite thrift store, about a mile from my house. “But they take debit cards,” I reminded her, hoping to save myself another trip to the ATM. I already had a pretty full slate that day, i.e.:  mailing a manuscript back to a client, returning a book to the library, getting a prescription for Nana, and buying a long list of groceries.

“I know, but…” she said, followed by a pregnant pause, as if she were struggling for words. “Cash is just easier.”

I sighed in annoyance. Even though she does have arthritis, Nana has NO TROUBLE whipping out her bank card at Kmart or Walmart.  Why the hell is it suddenly so difficult to pay via debit card at the Thrift Store?

I did as she asked, so she’d quit bugging me, and, big surprise! She bought NOTHING at the “cheap store” during our next visit.

As I was leaving for a doctor’s appointment a few days later…she asked:

“Would you get $20 out for me-?”

“Nana, you’ve got $50. Why do you need more than that?” I asked, once again feeling my blood pressure rising to crimson levels in my face.  I really didn’t want to make another stop since going to the doctor was going to consume half my day as it was, nor did I get this sudden need for greenbacks!

“I wanna take Sarah to lunch at Bob Evans.,” Nana answered.

Sarah is my saint of a mother-in-law who always takes care of Nana in my absence.

“You could buy lunch there for you, Sarah and half the neighborhood for $50. Use your debit card.”

She just looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed. “But I wanna go to the Cheap Store too, while Sarah’s here.”

I groaned. Too fatigued to squabble anymore, I groaned and said, “Okay.”

Her guilt must’ve sprung a leak because she said, “Well, if you have time. I know it’s a long drive to the doctor’s office.”

YES, you demanding old bat, it’s a 50-minute drive round-trip that I have to make because of YOU. I had a huge patch of psoriasis festering on my shin from Nana-induced stress, hence the trip to the dermatologist…

However, it suddenly occurred to me that maybe she wanted to do some Christmas shopping while I was gone. Last year, she complained about having trouble buying anything for me because I always took her shopping, so she gave me a check for $50, which is FINE by me. I’d prefer she save her money for emergencies like long-term medical care, but I wasn’t going to bring that up NOW.

You’d THINK after obtaining $30 more, that’d be the end of Nana’s cash obsession, but you’d be SO wrong. The next day, I didn’t wanna deal with the nightmare of cooking her midday cuisine*, so I decided to go get KFC for her. After I hollered good-bye, Nana called out, “Don’t forget to get some cash out for me. I wanna take Sara to Bob Evans.”

For fuck’s sake? SERIOUSLY? “Nana, you’ve got $80 already.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” I snapped. My temper was definitely ready to detonate. Aside from packing, I had a lot of cleaning and such before vacation. Arguing with Ms. Cranky Pants was NOT on my list of action items (and if you don’t know what “action items” are, for Chrissakes, go watch FIGHT CLUB already :)).

I marched into Nana’s room, snatched her purse and handed it to her. “See for yourself.”

She opened up her wallet, which contained ONLY $20. YES TWENTY DOLLARS!

“Nana, where’s rest of that money?” I inquired, somewhat panicked.

“What money?” She asked, flat-eyed, and seemingly unconcerned.

“You had EIGHTY dollars yesterday. Remember? I went to the ATM after I saw Dr. Spender. What’d you do with it?”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot. I don’t know . It’s in a drawer in there somewhere,” she replied with a shrug.

I trotted back into her room, rifled through every drawer and the closet, to no avail. Nothing under the bed and in her hamper either.

“Well, don’t worry about it. I’ll find it later,” she replied, smiling, as if losing $60 was no big deal.

WTF? Last Christmas, she misplaced a $50 gift from her friend, Margaret. She kept saying she’d given me the check to cash for her, but I knew she hadn’t because I couldn’t have cashed it since my name wasn’t on it, which I explained NUMEROUS times.

She fretted about that check for weeks. She finally found it buried in her dresser somewhere in March. But THIS TIME she’d misplaced $60, and she wasn’t upset, AT ALL.

Her attitude completely invalidated my Christmas shopping theory. I assumed that Nana had finally succumbed to the treacherous wasteland of Alzheimer’s, or there was a rat squirming around that ancient brain of hers…

Turns out, it’s the latter. She told Sarah yesterday that she didn’t lose that $60. No, no, no Nana’s been HOARDING money to give to Cousin Cathy, who lives in West Virginia.

Cathy is my 2nd or 3rd cousin, whom I’ve only met once. She doesn’t work, and she milks some mysterious and seemingly nonexistent medical issues as a means to convince everyone, including her shrink, that she can’t work.

However, when I’ve asked about Cathy’s health, her answer is always the same, “Oh, I’ve got all kinds of things wrong with me.”

She’s NEVER more specific than that. The only medical maladies she’s actually talked about is being constipated or having insomnia. And last I checked, neither of those prevent full-time or part-time employment.

Additionally, during a brief period of sobriety, when my brother Danny, lived with Nana, he mentioned Nana giving Cathy a lot of money, including $600 for dental bills, then another $400 while I just happened to be visiting in March of 2010 also supposedly for dental work.

When Cathy called the day before I left Nana’s, I asked, “Are you feeling okay? Nana said you’d been to the dentist?”

“Yeah, I, uh, had a filling replaced.”

EXCUSE ME? “Why would that cost $400?”

“Oh, and I fell on the ice a few weeks ago too and broke a tooth.”

“Good Lord, Cathy, I’d change dentists.That’s way too much for that-”

“Well, um, that’s what he charged.” And it was quite obvious by her tone that she was LYING.

“If your co-pay was over $1000, why bother with dental insurance, which Nana said you have, right?”

“Um, well, can I talk to Maude? I don’t have much time before church.”

But she told Nana she doesn’t go to church, that she hasn’t found a minister that she really likes…

Aside from that, Cathy and her husband, Bobby, are always on the verge of starvation though Bobby has a decent job repairing bulldozers and such for a construction company.

However, one day last fall Cathy told Nana about having only $200 for groceries for an entire month. A week later, a round of violent thunderstorms took out electric service for 50,000 homes, including theirs. Too dumb to put their food in coolers or merely move a lot of it into the freezer, covered in ice, they allegedly lost everything after 36 hours. We lost power for two days once and only lost a couple frozen pizzas…After a lengthy call to Cathy after these storms last October, Nana said, “Oh, my God, I’m so worried about Cathy, I don’t know what to do.”

“Why is that, Nana?”

“She hasn’t eaten in two weeks. I have to send her some money.”

I almost laughed. “No, you don’t. She told you last week she’d spent $200 at Kroger, so she just voluntarily stopped eating PRIOR to the power outage? And if she hadn’t eaten in two weeks, she’d be dead or in the hospital.”

“Well, I don’t know about the dates, but they lost everything.”

“Nana, she just wants you to send her some money.”

“She’s never asked me for any money.”

“Yet, you sent her more than $2,000 last year.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I went through all your bank statements, remember? So, I could figure out how much Danny had stolen from you. I added up the checks to Cathy. I’ll be glad to show you-”

“Well, that may be, but they’re always hard up. Bobby doesn’t make that much money, and they don’t have a thing to eat until he gets paid next week.”

“And that’s their problem that would be solved if Cathy would get a job.”

“Oh, she can’t work.” And Nana says this with SUCH conviction!

“If she can spend for two hours making you peanut butter fudge like that batch she sent last month, and vacuum and mop and all that, cleaning her house top-to bottom like she’s always telling you. Then, she can work as a nurse again, or SOMETHING.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I don’t know what her doctors have told her.”

“It’s all bullshit, Nana. She just doesn’t wanna work. And you cannot afford to give ANYONE any money. Your Social Security check is only $875 a month, which barely covers your expenses, not to mention all those bills Danny never paid when he was managing your finances, like that $300 phone bill.”

Nana stopped asking to send Cathy money until my mother-in-law assumed the helm. Nana thought she could covertly send Cathy some cash for more food allegedly spoiled during a power outage from the thunderstorms 2-3 weeks ago in Ohio and West Virginia.

But Sarah is privy to the scourge of Cathy’s half truths and imaginary hardships. And Nana actually told Sarah that poor Cousin Cathy hadn’t eaten in MONTHS!  GOOD GOD almighty! I can’t believe that my Grandmother who was the Credit Manager for a HOSPITAL in the 80s – is actually believing this load of CA CA.

Thankfully, Nana doesn’t have any stamps, and there’s no way Sarah will mail anything to Cathy.  Nana will likely assume Cathy’s windfall was lost in the mail…

Does it make me EVIL to smile about the END of the cons, both Nana’s and Cathy’s? 🙂 At least for now.

Charlie said it best. “Your Grandmother didn’t learn a thing from her experience with Danny.”

SO, THERE YOU HAVE IT! Not only did Ms. Cranky pants lie about the allegedly lost $60, but she also lied about the need for cash.

I might bad mouth the old curmudgeon, but I ALWAYS pay her bills. I don’t con her into giving me money, and she eats like a Queen, no matter how much she HATES our healthy food with our brown rice and broiled fish and the occasional meal of STEAK and POTATOES… 🙂

TA for now!

Tenacious BITCH and…………………….                                                         her band of soothsaying bullshit QUASHERS!

* To read all about how delightful it is to cook for Nana, see post #66, BALONEY PORN or is it Bologna Porn, or Post #18 – The Oatmeal Incident… 🙂

Post #27 In the wake of DANNY…

Posted in Family, family battles, siblings, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 8, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

That Sunday after the eviction was granted, I got a text from Jack that said:

Danny put the keys to G’ma’s house in the mailbox.

I replied to Jack’s text:

KS: So, did he REALLY go to NC?

JACK: He’s on the bus now.

I couldn’t stand it. I had to know the DETAILS…so, I called Jack. He answered on the third ring.

“What exactly prompted him to move out of state?”

“He said that he hadn’t really been able to find a good job down in Georgia, said the job market was better close to Myrtle Beach or Wilmington.”

“Uh, huh,” I replied.

“He said he was going to stay with Nate Taylor, remember him?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding, “I do. But I thought he was in the Marines?”

“He was. He decided not to re-enlist after his last tour in Iraq, got out like six, eight months ago.”

“He’s such a nice guy. He has NO idea what he’s getting into with Danny.”

“I know. I feel like I should call him and tell him to lock up anything worth more than $20.”

“Yeah, so WHEN exactly, did Danny have this change of heart that motivated him to move out of state?”

“Um, it would’ve been Wednesday or Thursday of last week when he called me.”

“Ah, ha, according to the Post Office tracking, on Wednesday, he received his copy of my novelette of official mud slinging that I had forwarded to the court.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. He realized the jig was up after that,” Jack said with a chuckle.

I couldn’t help but smile. After that, he talked about his family for a minute. HIS Grandmother, Nina, who is in her late 80s, fell last week, and he’s really worried about her. He thinks she has Alzheimers. She wandered out into the yard around midnight recently and fell into a rose bush before anyone realized she was out of the house. She’s okay, but she scared the Bjesus out of everyone. He lives next door to Nina, and he helps his Mom take care of his Grandmother, so he and I have a lot in common.

However, of course, my ELATION about Danny leaving Georgia was brief. Two or three days later, I walked out of mine and Charlie’s bathroom, and I heard Nana shouting over the monitor in my office. “Kennedy! Kennedy, where are you?” And then a breathless, “I need…to…I need…” she said before lapsing into a coughing fit, which was followed by SILENCE.

I ran downstairs to the family room expecting to find a bloody, severed limb or a pack of angry rats encircling Nana’s chair. But, no, just a red-faced Nana, sitting in her recliner, the Food Channel accosting my ears.

Her eyes were hardened marbles – deepened to a shade akin to navy blue. And her tiny fists were balled up so tight that her fingernails were turning a dark purplish blue.

“That piece of shit brother of yours! I wish I could string him up by his feet and beat him senseless with a crow bar!”

I sighed, relieved that Nana wasn’t in DIRE circumstances as I sat down across from her on the couch. “Nana, take a deep breath. What happened?”

“Well, Margaret and Sally, my cleaning lady, went to my house to clean, and, apparently, Danny had a dog. And it pooped on the carpet, and that ASSHOLE just left it there! Can you imagine how horrible that smelled since the house has been closed up for several days? AND the air conditioning isn’t working. So, Sally called Keith, the guy who takes care of the furnace and the air conditioning, and he’s coming over tomorrow to look at it. So, more money I’m going to have to shell out. And if THAT wasn’t bad enough, Lucinda, you remember her, the mail lady?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “I remember, tall, thin, blonde woman.”

“Yeah, she told Margaret that she saw Danny on his bike on Monday – on MY street. I thought he left on Sunday?”

“That’s what Jack said, but maybe, he got the dates confused.”

“Or maybe, he didn’t really leave, and he’s still in Georgia, maybe, living with Matt, down the street. And maybe, he’ll break into my house again! This is awful! Just awful!” Nana said, her already flushed face turning a dangerous shade of crimson.

“Calm down, Nana. I’ll find out where he really is. I’ll call Jack. He’ll know. And…” I said “Maybe…” I replied, thinking about how I might verify WHERE exactly Danny was living. “And I’ll email Bridget.”

“Who?” Nana asked.

“Bridget, Danny’s stepdaughter, you know the one who’s been going to school in Chapel Hill?” Nana nodded, and I disappeared into Nana’s room to get her blood pressure monitor.

“What’re you doing?” Nana called from the next room.

“Nana, you need to relax. Okay?” I said returning with the blood pressure monitor. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.” I took her blood pressure, which was was up to 179/85.

“You need to rest. Your blood pressure-”

“I can’t rest. I’m too upset.”

“I know. I know. I’ll get you some tea. That’ll help.”

Nana nodded. “And maybe one of those chocolate cookies, too?”

“You mean the Little Debbie’s? The Swiss rolls?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, one of them cupcakes.” I disappeared into the kitchen and put a small shot of bourbon into Nana’s tea and a little more sugar than usual to hide the liquor. Yeah, I know, I shouldn’t do that, but her doctor said it was okay…yeah, I pretended that I’d dropped my car keys at her last visit to her primary physician’s office in Georgia. And I snuck back and talked to Dr. McCan about it.

“Oh, sure, since she won’t take sleeping pills or any anti-anxiety medication, she can have a shot of bourbon or a glass of wine, but no more than that, and red wine is better than white if she can’t sleep or gets really upset.”

I just didn’t mention that I might not ASK my Pentecostal Grandmother if she WANTED a shot of bourbon in her tea. Sometimes, you just have to treat her like a kid who won’t take some much-needed “medicine” unless you hide it in her favorite drink/her tea! 🙂

I sat with Nana for a few minutes listening to Nana RAGE on about how she hates Danny and the horrible state of her house post Danny while she drank her tea and ate her cupcake. A few minutes later, her eyelids began to droop, and then in a slurry voice, she said – “I don’t understand how…” and off she went to la la land. Yes, she fell asleep in mid-sentence and started snoring before I could make it to the doorway.

As soon as I got to my office, my cell phone rang. It was Margaret.

“I didn’t want to tell your Grandmother this because I didn’t want to upset her, but one of the refrigerators is missing, and so is your Grandmother’s bed,” Margaret said in an agonized tone.

“What? Oh, my God, what an asshole!”

“I know. It’s terrible.”

“Which fridge?” I asked.

“The spare one that was in the laundry room. And I think his roommate took it.”

“What roommate?”

“You know the black guy, Reggie, who lived next door?”

“Yeah, I met him once or twice when I took out the trash or when I was walking out to my car.”

“Well, Reggie has been at the house several times when I stopped by to check on the mail, and Danny WASN’T there at the time.”

“Really? Instant roommate. How awesome.”

“I was at Publix yesterday, and I ran into Jerry, the guy who originally rented that house, and he said that Reggie moved in with Danny in late March when Jerry moved out. I guess he’s renting a house with his girlfriend in Clearview. Jerry, I mean.”

“I see. Well, why don’t we ask Nana if she wants you to have that bed moved over to your house since we’re not certain that Danny is really gone? Maybe, tell her that Lucinda and her husband could help you move it.”

“That’s a good idea. I didn’t want to tell Maude any of this. I figured I’d leave that up to you. She’s already so upset about all this, and there’s nothing she can do. Oh, and her favorite mirror in the hallway is missing, and the living room curtains are gone.”

“The curtains? Good Lord. Why do you think it was the guy next door who took the fridge and everything?”

“I went next door to ask them if they knew anything about the missing furniture, and another guy I’ve never met, Todd somebody, said that Reggie wasn’t home. And when I asked if I could come in and look around, in case maybe, Reggie had taken the bed or whatever by mistake-”

“By mistake?” I asked laughing.

“You know, I said that maybe Danny didn’t realize that your Grandmother had promised me that bed in her Will, and maybe, Danny had sold it to Reggie.”

“Oh, okay. That makes sense even though Danny KNEW you were getting Nana’s bed.”

“But they wouldn’t let me in.”

“Of course, they didn’t because all of it is probably next door.”

“Probably.”

“And then, Reggie came home, and he said that maybe Danny had taken the fridge and the bed with him.”

“On a bus?” I said laughing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Oh, and the keys weren’t in the mailbox.”

“They weren’t? How’d you get in?”

“The back door, the one with the gaping hole.”

“Oh, yeah, forgot about that. You’re a brave woman, Margaret. I don’t think I would’ve had the nerve to go over there and interrogate the neighbors.”

“It wasn’t exactly an interrogation,” Margaret said with a hefty belt of laughter.

“Well, knowing that Reggie had been living with Danny and probably does drugs too, I wouldn’t have felt all that comfortable asking those guys about any missing furniture.”

“I’m not afraid of those clowns,” Margaret replied.

After a few minutes of small talk, we said our goodbyes. And then, I left a message for Jack, but by 9:00 that night, he hadn’t gotten back to me. So, I went on Facebook, and I emailed Bridget, who apparently, had moved back to Wilmington permanently, according to her FB info.

If Danny’s in Wilmington, I’m sure he’s called Bridget or her sister, Carrie, who is 19. Bridget is 23, close to my son Tim’s age, and she and Danny NEVER got along when Danny was married to her mother, Belinda.  I didn’t want to email Carrie because she and Danny have always been close…didn’t want to tip Danny’s hand since Carrie’s TRUE loyalties lie in enemy territory.

I poured a glass of Merlot, laid down on my bed and listened to Recovery, an Eminem CD, on my I-Phone just trying to relax before Charlie got home. Dreading the hours, days, possibly weeks before Bridget might reply to my email. After all, she’s a college kid, and even though they LIVE on Facebook, she’s working two jobs this summer, and from the photos on her FB page, it looks like she’s as busy partying as much as she is working.

I heard the rumble of thunder, so I decided to take my Merlot outside…to my SECOND favorite place next to lying on the beach…our hot tub where I drank another glass of Merlot while watching a brilliant thunderstorm from our screened in porch out back…

So, STAY TUNED, GUYS AND GALS, b/c the fat lady STILL hasn’t sung yet…though she’s ITCHING to hit that high note…

PEACE OUT FROM SNOOPY DANCE CENTRAL/the Geriatric SWAMP…

~Tenacious bitch/KS

 

 

Post #26 EVICTING THE SQUATTER PART III

Posted in Family, family battles, grandmothers, siblings, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 2, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

The day after mailing out the 100 pages of documentation in rebuttal of Danny’s handwritten Answer to the Eviction Complaint, I was sitting at my desk trying to tackle an editing project that was FROUGHT with grammatical errors when I received a call from Judge McCallister’s Assistant, Holly Stone.

“I need some additional information in order to move forward in the Eviction case you filed against Danny Smith,” Holly said.

“Okay, what kind of information?” I asked.

“Well, there was no lease included with your original paperwork.”

“There is no lease. Danny is my brother. We didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Okay, well, we’ll need to schedule a hearing then,” Holly replied.

OH SHIT!

“Really?” I asked my heart GRINDING in my chest. Scramble brain – must find a good reason to delay and/or quash said HEARING. “Well, my Grandmother, Maude Miller, the Plaintiff, she’s 94, and she’s really not well enough to travel right now. And, to be quite honest, Danny is a drug addict, and he’s threatened me physically more than once, and he also stalked me at one point*, so I’d rather not have to face him in court any-”

“Yes, I see, you live out of state, Ohio, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we can arrange for you and your Grandmother to attend by phone.”

A Fort Knox-sized weight drifted off my shoulders. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

“No problem, but we’ll have the defendant appear in person.”

A WIDE grin snaked its way across my face. I was really beginning to LIKE this Holly person!!!

“I’ll schedule it for June 24th at 9:00. Can you and Ms. Miller be available then?”

“Sure, that’s fine,” I said as anxiety bubbled in my stomach thinking about what kind of impression my DAFFY Nana would make. Plus, she has a lot of trouble hearing people on the phone.

“Do you have a current telephone number for Danny?”

“No, not really,” I replied. “The one I have has been disconnected, but, oh, I forgot – he did list a phone number on his Answer to the Complaint, which, btw, I just received yesterday.”

“Uh, huh,” Holly replied absentmindedly as I heard the shuffling of paper. “Yes, here it is. I found his phone number. A week will be plenty of time for me to get in touch with him.”

“Okay, and I just sent about 100 pages of documentation in response to his answer. For some strange reason, my address was scratched out on the envelope, and it was sent to my Grandmother’s house in Georgia, so it’s been floating around the postal system for a month, and I just got his Answer yesterday.”

“I see,” Holly said in a icy tone that made me think she suspected foul play.

“So, I apologize that the judge is getting everything so late. Will he have time to read all of that before the hearing? I just overnighted it yesterday, and according to the Post Office’s tracking information, it was signed for by the Clerk’s office about an hour ago.”

“I’ll call the Clerk’s office to make sure they forward it sometime today, and not to worry, the judge will have time to review it all.”

“Great, thanks.” And with that, she gave me the phone number for the judge’s chambers and told me call, promptly at 9:00.

That next week was WORSE than the week before I went into labor with Tim or Max, and the pain in my shoulders every morning from the stress was ALMOST as bad as labor pains as well. I felt rather STRONGLY that once Danny read through my Reply and saw all his DIRT that I was going to broadcast in open court, that he wouldn’t show up for the hearing. But he’s a CRACKHEAD, and LOGIC frequently does NOT penetrate what gray matter they have left. However, I was HOPING the double whammy of paranoia stirring within the heart of said Crackhead would be stronger than his ego and his dominant DELUSION that he can do ANYTHING he wants w/out fear of recrimination.

To calm my nerves, I called Jack. I told him about the hearing, and he offered to call Danny to see which direction his wee foggy brain was churning. Jack called a couple of hours later saying that Danny was FURIOUS about the hearing And, once again, Danny said that IF Nana and I crossed the GA state line, that I would not be returning. Jack tried to bludgeon the bull with the idea that offing “your sister” was a bad idea, and that going to jail was NOT the life of leisure that Danny preferred.

To-wit Danny made some allusion that he knew people – that he could get it done w/out serving time. Yeah, whatever…my brother’s got connections…he always knows a GUY whenever he’s trying to refute someone else’s argument. We never hear the NAME of said GUY, but there’s always A GUY at Danny’s beck and call who will assist him like the GUY at the bank who has the IMAGINARY video of Ben and Alicia opening Dad’s safety deposit box. AHEM…need I say more about THE GUY….

However, in listening to Danny’s drug-mauled comments, I realized he had NOT gotten a copy of my Reply with its 100 pages of evidence YET with its 70 pages of data that was fodder for SERIOUS jail time had Nana not signed a Power of Attorney.

I thanked Jack for being my spy on-call, and I knocked myself out with three glasses of Merlot and a couple Melatonin tablets that night. I also PRAYED that paranoia would win the tide of psychotic emotions swimming within the crackbrain.

That Friday morning (June 24th), I called the judge’s chambers at 8:59 am. The judge was still busy with his first case, and his assistant told me to call back in ten minutes. Nana and I sat in the kitchen waiting as I unloaded the dishwasher. Then, 9.4 minutes later, I handed Nana the portable phone, and I called the Judge’s Chambers again. The assistant put us on hold again, and a minute later, she said to call back in TEN minutes. I thanked her and hung up, my hand so sweaty I almost dropped the phone. I called a SECOND time, and the Judge was still tied up. So, Holly said she’d call us back when the judge’s first hearing was finally over, which she thought would be in 10 or 15 minutes.

Butterflies with LARGE knives needled at my gut as I made small talk with Nana and continued unloading the dishwasher. I couldn’t just sit there. I HAD to do something. After unloading and loading the dishwasher, I began alphabetizing our spices.

FINALLY, at 9:34 AM, Holly, the judge’s assistant called back. I handed Nana the phone and raced over to the wall phone in the kitchen.

“Well, this is going to be easy,” Holly said. “The other party didn’t show up. The judge doesn’t need to talk to you or anything. He’s going to sign the Motion for Default Judgment, and you’ll get a copy of it in the mail. And we’ll forward the Writ of Possession to the Sheriff’s office sometime this afternoon, Monday at the latest.”

“Thank you so much. You have a good weekend.”

“You too.” AND WITH THAT, the DEVIL HAD LEGALLY BEEN PUNTED from Nana’s house.

I DANCED around the kitchen, in the guise of a SNOOPY dance hearing that little tune from the Charles Schwartz cartoon in my head. Nana smiled, looking a little confused. She didn’t seem to understand that it was over.

“You mean the judge doesn’t need to talk to us?”

“No, Nana, he doesn’t. Danny didn’t show up.”

“Oh…well, that’s good, I guess,” she said sounding a little disappointed. She toddled out of the kitchen and back to her room to watch the Food Channel.

I think she had really longed for the opportunity to tell Danny to GO TO HELL and to ANNOUNCE his crimes in Court would’ve given her a great sense of closure. So, even though it was over, she didn’t get her 15 minutes to spew some hatred Danny’s way, which she was totally entitled to do, in my opinion, but now that chance had been usurped by Danny’s absence.

Before the incredible euphoria had really taken root within me, my cell rang. It was Jack.

“Hi, Jack, great timing.”

“Yeah?”

“Danny didn’t show up for the hearing, so the judge granted the EVICTION, and the Sheriff’s office will be putting a 24-hour notice for Danny to FINALLY get the fuck out on Monday or Tuesday next week.”

“Yeah, I didn’t figure he’d show up,” Jack said in a somber voice, “Especially not after I talked to him yesterday.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“Danny may be moving back to North Carolina.”

“Or he just said that to you as a ruse to get me to not show up this morning.”

“Maybe, or he’s going to stay somewhere else in Georgia but wants you to THINK he’s moving out of state.

“Yeah…”

And THERE YOU HAVE IT, ladies and gentleman, on June 24, 2011, without the benefit of counsel, I EVICTED the Squatter….and you’d think the story ends here….ah, but you would be so WRONG…

Peace out from the victory/SNOOPY DANCE HEADQUARTERS!

~KS

*About a year before Dad died, when he first became aware that Danny had opened credit cards in his name, he asked me to request a Credit Report from creditreport.com b/c he didn’t have a computer nor did he know how to use one. He wanted to know who he owed what because Danny was constantly stealing the mail, so Dad didn’t know about any of the charges until collection agencies started calling. And Dad couldn’t call Equifax or anyone b/c Danny would just steal the damned report out of the mail. So, once Danny found out I was trying to uncover his transgressions, he STALKED me Thanksgiving weekend. I drove down to WV for the holiday, but I had to stay in a hotel b/c I just didn’t want to stay at Dad’s for fear Danny would attack me in my sleep or something. Anyway, he went so far as to follow me to a bar on campus where I met some friends. I didn’t see him right off when I got to the Hampton Inn, but I knew he’d followed me from the bar. I saw him in Dad’s BMW in my rearview mirror, so I parked right next to the office. As soon as I got out of the car, I heard him yelling – HEY, BITCH from behind me. And we got into a screaming match in the middle of the parking lot. Then, I walked inside the hotel office and explained my situation to the night manager, who was very kind. She saw Danny driving away, so she walked with me to my room and told me that she’d call me immediately if she saw him or Dad’s car again.

Post #25 – EVICTING THE SQUATTER, PART II

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

~Tenaciousbitch/KS

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…..it 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?”

“Yes…”

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.”

HOLY BATSHIT, BATMAN, can you say RIDICULOUS?!!!

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?”

“Yes.”

“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! 🙂

~KS