Archive Page 2

Let’s take inventory shall we?

I’m all over the place.  Relieved, sad, devastated, bored, scared, petrified, lonely, fat, tired, exhausted, sick of talking, bloated, hungry, sick, nervous, alone.

But not happy.  The one thing I am not is happy.  This may have been the right thing to do.  It was.  But nothing about it represents joy.

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Day 2

Well?  He didn’t go.

When Mark got to NY he was driven straight to the rehab facility that we set up for him.  It was all “Intervention” on A&E style, but totally didn’t have the same ending.  There was no “…3 months later” footage to be had.  Mark did his initial evaluation and was told he needed to go to a 3 day detox.  I guess this silly 3 day detox was out of the question?  It’s truly amazing what the addicted mind can come up with isn’t it…

His parents then decided the best course of action was to take him to their house, accuse me of being insane, enable him with a new computer and all the creature comforts of home, and basically act as if the last 24 hours was just a silly prank.  I’ve since ceased convo with them.

What I find to be the most amazing though is that Mark’s goofball friends have transformed into a group of the most amazing people I have ever met.  He and his friends have known each other since childhood and the minute I called on them, they stepped up.  Boys that spend most of their time being too cool to confide in each other or have a conversation that doesn’t involve the words titties, boobies, gay, werd, or fart have spent the last few days writing letters of concern, calling each other to make plans for an intervention and working as a team to do what is necessary to get Mark into rehab.  These silly boys that I have never been able to take seriously about anything have shocked me.  When the time came, they really did step up.  They love him that much.

Mark’s friends didn’t have to do this.  They could have sat back (as I expected) and said “shit man.  let me know what happens”.  But no.  They didn’t.

I have always loved Mark’s friends.  I really would do anything for them.  I’d literally drop everything in my life for them just because I knew how important they were to Mark.  But now?  Wow.  I don’t even think I can express to them in words how much they mean to me.  They are saving his life.  Mark and I may be ending our relationship, but it doesn’t mean I want him to die.  I just know we can’t be together.  And I have so much appreciation for what his friends are willing to do.  Any one of them could call me up 20 years from now and I’d still drop everything for them.  (as long as I wasn’t doing something really awesome like labeling my cabinets or something).  These boys are by far the most impressive group of goofballs ever to grace this planet.  I only wish they knew that.

Things are still shitballs.  But I am taking huge comfort in knowing that Mark is truly one of the luckiest people I will ever meet.  He has managed to foster friendships stronger than most people will ever understand.  He may not know it, but I do.  And it feels so good to know that this type of friendship really does exist.

Stay tuned…

Day 1

Mark is gone.  He’s really gone.  Word’s cant even explain how disgusting and horrible I feel here.

Sunday afternoon I found coke in a small little piggy bank that I gave him.  Two baggies.  While this was a horrific discovery, it turned out to be only the beginning of what has been the worst week of my life.  Some rudimentary digging uncovered what I like to call:  a big fucking crap pile on top of a pile of shit.

Apparently our missing money can be found snuggly nested inside the nasal passages of Mark’s nose.  Along with thousands of dollars his parents secretly sent to him.

There is also a girl.  Her name is Jane.  I feel as though we have become really close through the 3 messages that she left him on his phone.  We’re like bff’s now.  Although being that we don’t seem to understand each other when it comes to our thoughts, belief systems or sobriety, I see this friendship being short lived.

It also seems as though all these meetings Mark has been attending as of late were more like Alcoholic’s Alliance rather than Anonymous.  He hasn’t been seen at a meeting in weeks.  By anyone.  And his old sponsor that seemed to pop back up in the picture to “help him get through his job loss”..well?  He hasn’t heard from Mark in years.

With all this pirate treasure of information, change had to happen.  I mean really.  I didn’t exactly have a choice here.  An intervention was planned.  His father flew out here.  We staged a meeting behind Mark’s back to surprise him.  Everyone was involved.  Mark freaked the fuck out.

He had two choices:  1.  go back to NY with his father and straight to the rehab facility that we lined up for him.  Bags already packed.  Planes already booked.  2.  Get out and never come back.  Locks changed.  Police called.

He ran away.  Called his bff junkie dealer who turned on him.  Came back.  Got on plane.  No lookin back.  HATES me.

I know I did the right thing.  I absolutely did.  It’s single handedly the hardest thing I have ever done.  (and probably will ever)

Time to start over.  I’m terrified.

Fail

OK.  Frankly I’ve been a terrible blogger in 09′.  I know this.  It’s hard to stay positive and upbeat when you’re life is turning into a big pile of donkey shit.  What started out as a blog about trying to have a baby has kinda become a place where I store all my venting about my happy happy hell.  Having a baby has become so far off into fantasy land that it isn’t even remotely recognizable anymore. Somebody probably turned that light off years ago to conserve energy.  I’m really hoping that can count as me being “green”.

I strangely take comfort in knowing that the rest of the country is in an economic hell with me.  We’ve all come to play at the same party and somehow found ourselves locked in the basement where the scary S&M shit is going on.  I’d really love to be let out now please.  You’ve scared the hell out of me and I have been sufficiently scared for life.  Thank you.

I spend at least 60% of my day telling myself how happy I should be about the things I still have.  My house, my dog, my health, my family, bla bla bla.

Then there’s 30% of stuff I have to just kinda laugh off.  No baby, no job, a banking nightmare, a fat ass…

But just when you thought I was horrible at math, no.  10% of my day is spent freaking the fuck out curled up in a corner crying.  In a dark room.  With damp walls.  And a clown laughing at me relentlessly in the corner.

Its that 10% that we will be focusing on today.  For some strange reason, its that 10% that has me paralyzed with sadness these days.  While I’m sure there is plenty about the other 90% that outweighs it, it’s this last 10% that I can’t stop thinking about right now.

My husband is a bipolar alcoholic and has turned into a selfish, all consuming child as of late.  He lies.  He manipulates.  He yells.  O sure there are good things about him, but I am really having a hard time finding them anymore.  Nobody else is allowed to be depressed when he is.  Everyone else has to be responsible and thrifty and careful because he simply wont be.  He’s a child.  Not a husband.  He wants a mother.  Not a wife. (O and anyone concerned with him seeing this, don’t be.  He has never been supportive of my blog.  Never reads it.)

He hasn’t had any respect for me or our marriage for a rather long time.  Its been hard.  I think I’ve been trying to tell myself that its temporary and that we’re just going through rough stuff, but common.  Things are hard for both of us these days but you’d never know it by observing the unbelievable attention and support that Mr. Babypants has been requiring lately. At the mere suggestion to his horrible behavior he goes bananas.  He gets manipulative and mean.  Then says crap like “leave then if you want to.  I can’t make you stay.  You’re the one that wants to go.  Then go!”

This last 10% has me all consumed.  I actually don’t exactly know what to do to fix it.  I know what some of you might say.  Leave him.  That’s not as easy as it sounds. I can’t change him.  I know this.  I don’t even want to.  He did the changing.  This isn’t even close to who I married.  He doesn’t even look the same.  And he took up smoking??  Who the hell takes up smoking in their late 30’s?  Really.  Who does that?  Especially when you know your wife loathes it.  And wants to have a baby someday.  See?  Completely self absorbed.

There have been no flowers, or nice gestures.  No selfless acts.  No making up for any of the insurmountable crap he’s put me through.  No meaningful “I’m sorry”s.  He figures that since he doesn’t think I’ll care he wont even try.  No effort at all.  No respect.  He’s just turned into a lazy child who wants to be taken care of and coddled and do absolutely nothing in return to show his appreciation.

I don’t know guys.  Things are bad enough.  I’m starting to think that a huge part of all this sadness is based on my bad decisions to stay with this man.

Chase Bank can suck my dick.

**this post as nothing to do with anything.  But I’m mad.  So deal.

OK.  I’ve been a Wamu banker for over 10 years.  I have a platinum account with them and have done a great deal of business with them.  I have a total 6 accounts with them!  So naturally, you would think that if there was something suspicious with my account, they would be more than happy to help me right?  O I’m so sorry to tell you this, but you would be dead wrong.

When Wamu was purchased by Chase, everything went to hell in a hand basket.

We have recently been the lovely recipients of bank fraud.  Somebody has been transferring our money around and then withdrawing it.  Like 5 times a day.  For a month.  Awesome right?

You would THINK that the bank would help us out.  Its so obvious that its not us.  There are buttloads of transfers all happening within minutes of each other.  Who does that?  Well apparently we do.  Mark and I are allegedly using the online banking as our own form of video game.

Not only is Chase accusing us of doing it, they froze all of our accounts giving us zero access to our own money.  Because clearly people don’t need money anymore right?  And as an added bonus, we can’t do anything at all without going into the bank and speaking to the branch manager personally.  Convenient.

O sure.  This is for “our protection”.  Umm.  That would be great if it WASN’T STILL HAPPENING.  And with no access to any of our own money, you’d think this would tip them off.  Please?  Awww sigh.  No even without any access to our own money they manage to find our signatures on stuff and let us spend days on end living in the bank waiting for them to screw us some more.  Or…we’re even allowed to call them and get transferred to everyone that works for Chase so that we can personally explain the situation to each and every one of them.  We’ve been dealing with this nightmare for a month now.  And while we want to tell them to suck it, we also want our thousands of dollars back.  And being able to use our non compromised money would be nice too.

Yes I’m venting.  But Jesus.  We’ve done all the right things.  We’ve filed out a police report.  We have been excellent customers.  We have a lot of money tied up in their establishment.  They have been rude, unhelpful, accusatory, and downright crappy.

If anyone out there banks with Chase.  Don’t.  You may be having a great experience while everything is fine, but just you wait until you have a problem….

OK somebody had to

Do we reeeaaally need a sign on the front door telling us not to bring guns in the building? Ok ok so it might be somewhat helpful at any infertility clinic, but this is just your run of the mill office building!?!

Even better. The icon all the way to the right? No cameras. As. I. Take. Pictures. Of. It.

…and. The. Security. Guy. Steps. Out. Of. The. Way.

Just some good advice.

So…

Since I’ve been job hunting quite a bit recently, I realized that a lot of my “gut instincts” about bad jobs come from one very awesomely horrifying job I had a few years ago.  The owner of this strange company was so completely insane it was shocking he even knew how to read.  Actually, now that I think of it, I don’t remember ever seeing him read?….hmm.  I lasted a total of 6 weeks before I had had enough. And when my time was up, I did something so uncharacteristic of me that I still to this day have a hard time believing I really did it.  In one of 8 thousand meetings with the Mr. Crazy, I got up, walked out and never came back.  In the next few weeks, the rest of my peers followed suit – with the exception of one unlucky sole who is still there to keep us informed of all the madness.

I was recently catching up with my fellow peers in our annual support group and reflecting on the absurdity of this place. We were all discussing Mr. Crazy and his wild antics.  Including some of his more unusual interview techniques.  All of us should have known better, but for some reason, we didn’t. I now realize that it is my duty as a non crazy person to share with you some of the lessons we learned.

  1. If an interview isn’t longer than 10 minutes, umm, run.
  2. When you meet the owner of a company, he should spend time asking you questions.  If his upcoming wedding in the mountains of Kilimanjaro are the main topic of conversation – taking up 9 of the 10 minutes, politely exit to the restroom and run the fuck away.  (Sadly, the wedding was postponed because his dog was sick. “… Do you have any idea how hard it is to reschedule twenty Sherpas?!” )
  3. If at any time during the interview, a tour – given by the owner of the company – of a “wall of pride” with food products displayed that supposedly have the company logo somewhere on them leaves you wondering if you forgot to pay the entrance fee to this museum tour, this is not the right place for you.  Carefully guided tours by a man who speaks as though he has had years of experience as a guide – or game show host – aren’t normal first interview tactics.
  4. If the owner of the company has basically assumed that you’ve taken the job they offered, without actually offering you a job yet, and starts giving you assignments in your 10 minute interview, this means trouble.
  5. If he then calls you at home later that night and asks for you to complete work for him, again without officially offering you a job, get the heck outta dodge.
  6. If he insists that you read this “amazing book” written by “one of the leaders in the industry (of which you’ve never heard of)”, and when you start reading you realize that this book is so absurd and out of date you can’t believe it got published (o wait, it was self published of course), you should probably walk away.  Very quietly.  As to not wake the crazy man.
  7. If the company has a 99% turnover rate, and the few people you meet in that first 10 minute interview look as if they are peering out at you from behind a prison wall, you’re probably better off holding out for the next one.  If they themselves have all been there less than a month and this isn’t a startup, wow.  Go!
  8. If Mr. Crazy actually asks you for your past year’s W-9, to illustrate how much you earned at your last job  (which I’m pretty sure is illegal) then run.
  9. If you happen to meet Mr. Crazy’s right arm – a 4 pound raisin hopped up on an enormous amount of Starbucks who doesn’t believe in sleep, global warming or the earth being round, yeah really get away from that.
  10. If you are still not convinced that this man is nuts and you take the job, on your first day, at no point should the the words “I’ve decided that everyone needs to be here by 8am at the latest” be uttered.  Probably ok for some industries surely.  But mine?  Nobody is even awake at 8.  Nobody.
  11. If there is a “wish wall” in the kitchen that has a completely unrealistic wish by each of the inmates employees to be completed by Mr. Crazy when the site launches, you should really just laugh.  I mean cruises, plastic surgeries, bringing Grandma back from the dead?  Really Mr. C?  Really?!?!
  12. And finally, if you make the horrid mistake of telling this man that you are trying to have a baby and need to work from home for a bit because you are doing IVF, stuff cotton in your ears, take drugs, get loaded, whatever you have to do to avoid the spewing of gross baby advice involving sex on plains, keeping your legs up, his first wife’s miracle pregnancy because of some rare oat found in somewhere far, and his complete ignorance of all things normal and private.

There.  You’ve been warned.


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