Happy Effing Anniversary

Today would have been our one year anniversary.

D. came by at 9:30 with police escort to get some things. Officers were very nice. He said "Kelli?" 

I said, "yes, but I go by Jae." 

He introduced himself but now I can't remember his name. I shook his hand in introduction. He said the lady over there needed....and then I couldn't hear what he was saying because when I looked across the street, there she was, parked in her truck. I had a little palpitation and felt myself step backward.

They stepped in and I explained that I only had to drop off at storage what was in the U-haul today. I had wanted to leave today, but didn't have enough money for hotel for two nights. Had to wait for Friday when my check went into the bank. And then this stuff they could see, I would load into my vehicle on Thursday, and then go to court, and after that I was going straight to a hotel for two months until my permanent place was ready. So I would be out by Thursday, and I just wanted the opportunity to do that, and it was really hard because I had a million things to deal with and moving by myself was very difficult.

I retrieved her toothbrush and she complained that it was the Sonicare. I told them I bought that, and she had this other set before I moved in, and so that was hers. He nixed her argument and said we weren't going to get into that now. Just take that one.

Then she wanted her reading glasses. I got her reading glasses, sunglasses, Daytimer, old cell phone in a box and handed it to cops. She complained that her eyeglasses weren't in there, and I said I put them in the box, maybe they fell out--and checked. Then the officer found them on the chair near where I had the box. I gave them to him. 

Then she asked for her dentures and I got them, didn't know where the case was. He wouldn't take them because they weren't in a container. I put them on a napkin, gave him that.

Then she asked where her gun was, I handed him the pieces of her service pistol, which was broken because she broke it. Officers saw it on the bedroom floor that night. This cop couldn't give gun to her. Then she asked for her .357 and I said I didn't have it, it was in her truck last I saw it; she said it wasn't in the truck and accused me of taking it. I said I had moved it from beside her seat shortly before the incident and under the passenger seat, to PROTECT her, and then when I felt it was okay, I put it back between her seat and console where it was before. She made like I had stolen her gun and might press charges. geez. I told officers I had no interest in her guns. He asked about the other guns. I said the only other location I was aware of was a gun cabinet with rifles. She made some comment about she was afraid I'd use one of the guns because I was suicidal. I sort of laughed and grimaced at the same time. I could tell she was trying to incriminate me as unstable. 

I said, "I'm not suicidal. I value my life, which is why I'm removing myself from this situation. I don't care about your guns, except that they don't hurt me." The officer said that he didn't want to have to search her vehicle because she was not supposed to have guns during this Protection Order and she would be arrested. She said she looked and it wasn't in her truck. I said I didn't know where it was now, I only know the last time I saw it, I had moved it back to between her seat -- ironically, because I was trying to protect her from herself a short time before that, when there was another upheaval. I said she had driven away that night with it, and I had been afraid that she would use it to kill herself. She made some other stupid comment and I said that since she was drunk that night, maybe she misplaced it herself. I told the cop I don't know where it was now, didn't care. Everything that is hers is still where she left it.

So then I needed to tell her about storage,  but she interrupted me with some other thing about her stuff, and not being able to get to it. I said I had to change the gate code and lock to protect myself and my belongings, because I had to store things for two months and I didn't want her to have access to the things I needed to protect...I continued, and she interrupted again, and I said, "Don't make this worse than it already is. I am trying to be fair and still take care of myself." She interrupted again with some argument, and I addressed the officer, "Okay, I'm trying to give her some information that is STRICTLY for her benefit, but she won't let me finish." So I addressed the officer-- that I had spoken to the office girl at storage, (got choked up and had trouble continuing for a few seconds, still crying) and told him that when I get my things out to move to a permanent place in June, I would leave her things and close the door and she could contact D. to come get her belongings then. I had not harmed her things, will not harm her things, I don't want trouble, I just want to get out, but have only had a few days to do all this myself and hundred other things to deal with on top of being stressed and sad about this whole thing. Tears were streaming down my face. He said he understood. 

Then she said, "Jae, why did you break all those things in the living room?"  

I felt my blood pressure shoot up. I said "OH MY GOD! D., YOU trashed all that stuff Sunday night during your meltdown, threw all kinds of things around and eventually started throwing things at ME. Don't try to accuse me of things I didn't do."

Then she asked for and I got her a nice shirt to wear to court. In the bedroom, I told the officer that I didn't have any desire to take anything of hers, I just needed to get out of this situation and feel safe. I said she has been distorting things and hasn't been able to think clearly or communicate clearly for months. I didn't want her to start trying to trump up charges on me, I was the one victimized here, not her. He was understanding, and said I appeared genuine.

Then they were leaving, and I just reiterated I wanted to feel safe and when I was going to be out, and I was doing my best to get out as soon as possible. All I wanted for her was that she get the help she needed, counseling, substance abuse help, and that I just wanted to get on with my life. He commiserated that he knew it was difficult and he understood and it seemed that's exactly how I was about it, no problem.

Then they all went to their vehicles. D. sees Bev, neighbor across street, who says something to her from the door, and D. goes over there, about to go in but cops got out of the car again because she was supposed to leave. She walked over and said something to them and began to walk back to Bev, and so I came out of the house to talk to the cops--parked across the street. They saw me and got out to be between us and I told them "please don't leave me here alone with her." They said they wouldn't. She was told to get back in her truck, and she paused at her door,  and said "Jae, I just wanted to say I'm sorry and I love you." I just sighed and started to walk away. Leaving it at that. But then she said something else and I can't recall, but it sort of ruined the previous sentiment. I said "D., I just want you to go on with your life and get help, and I want to get on with mine. You have to understand, I am afraid of you."

I went back in, and then watched them all leave, while I was still crying and just sobbed harder. Then I felt sick and went to throw up.

Happy Effing Anniversary

Lemony Snicket Rides Again

 I'm making a late-night trip back to my apartment to pack some more and bring a few more things back for storage. I had been a little stressed throughout the day, since my bank account had been hacked for the second time, and they were sending me still another new Debit card. Meanwhile, the transfer of funds to my PayPal account was still pending, and I couldn't use it as it was, because the back up funding was still set for the previous account number. To make matters worse, the temporary ATM card from last time was useless, as I could not recall the temporary pass code, and it was Saturday night, and the bank would also be closed Sunday. Essentially, I had no access to my own money. But I knew that getting something accomplished always made me feel better, and I'm not good at huge transitions wherein everything in my life changes all at once. My girl was still tired and not feeling well, so she stayed, but bless her, handed me her card so I could get gas. My Cherryot was running on fumes. She understood that I had to be productive or I'd lose my mind.

So off I went, hoping to get a little closer to being moved completely out of the apartment by the end of the month, without the stress of doing it at the last minute, as I usually have done.

When i drive at night in new areas, I often suffer from Directional Dyslexia. Instead of turning right, i turn left, and wind up having to begrudgingly check my GPS, only to see the little blue dot that is me, heading in the wrong direction. So last night, I realized this was just what i had done, and that section of the city was almost void of traffic. I pulled off to a side street and stopped to check my GPS, and then made the turn around back in the other direction, still worrying that I wouldn't find a gas station before I got myself stranded with an empty tank.

Ever have one of those days that just seem ripe for disaster? Too many things going wrong, and this generalized sense that the Universe is not on your side? Well, this sensation kicked into gear about the time I pulled over to see if a particular gas station was still open. The store looked closed, but the gas pumps were on. About that time, I saw the blue lights flashing in my rear view.

No way. What could this lawman possibly want? I've always prided myself on being a law abiding citizen, so wasn't sure what this stop was about.

Like the conscientious citizen I am, i placed both my hands on the steering wheel and waited. He flooded my vehicle with the spotlight and then made sure he hit me in the eyes with his maglight, for good measure.

"I stopped you because you pulled off the road and weren't in a parking space..."
Weren't in a parking space?
"...and you didn't use your turn signal when you made that U-turn."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I just moved here, and was lost and checking the GPS on my phone."
"And you're not supposed to be looking at your phone."
As respectfully as i could, i said. "That's why i pulled over. So I could look at it safely."
"Well, you weren't in a proper place to park."
Now, remember, this street was deserted and there were no cars.
" And you didn't use your turn signal."
"Who would I be signaling to, officer?"
I don't think he liked that, so I tried not to argue the point further. "Look. I'm sorry, there was no one around, and I was just trying to get my bearings. I'm running on fumes and need to find a gas station...I'm sure you can appreciate how scary that can be for a woman alone..."
He apparently couldn't appreciate it, and asked for my driver's license, insurance and registration. I obliged and handed him the documents. I still had my Arkansas Drivers' license. "How long have you been in Colorado?"
"About a year."
"Where do you live?"
I gave him the information about where I was moving from and where i was moving to. He said to stay put, and he'd be right back. I guess he thought he was going to find some warrant or something.

While I waited, I texted my girlfriend, D., and told her what was happening. She advised me to give him a sob story about being lost and new in town. I told her i already tried that and he wasn't biting.

He came back and announced that he was going to give me a break. He could give me two tickets for not using my blinker, twice, and one for an out of state driver's license. I told him I had not switched it over yet. He said I had 30 days to do that in Colorado. I told him I didn't realize that; it was still a valid license, and hadn't expired, so I hadn't done it yet. He reiterated that I had 30 days. So he could have given me a ticket for that. But because he was such a peach, he would only cite me for not using my turn signal.

I'm thinking, really? you have nothing better to do than this? A deserted street where one lone car didn't signal, and a person moving to the area and out of gas, and trying to find a gas station while she was lost? Isn't there a meth lab you can raid or something?

He was haughty and unsympathetic. I decided against telling him he was a dick, and just took the citation. "I'm still looking for a gas station...."
He pointed. "We're in the parking lot of one."
I said, ignoring his condescending tone, "It looks closed to me."
"The pumps are still open, if you have a card."
"Oh." I wasn't aware that this was something available to me. Good thing I had Officer Feel-Good to fill me in. He handed me the citation and said goodnight. I wanted to smack him. No oh, could you use some help finding your way? No Well, I-25 is that way, and there's a gas station right over there, and I'm just going to let you off with a warning, and you be careful about using your blinker from now on? To me, it just seems overkill. Like these types are bored, and full of their own authority. One of my bigger irritants.

So I pull over to the gas pump of the closed station, and put in the card that my girlfriend gave me. I had a hard time seeing the display and had to use a flashlight. The pump started and Iinserted the nozzle and began to pump, but the handle kept clicking off. I'd get a cent in there and it would stop. Another cent, and it would stop. I got up to ten cents before i said fuck it, and replaced the nozzle in the cradle, and moved the Cherryot around to another pump. That's when i saw the guy staggering across the street from the bar, heading for me. Don't come over here, don't come over here, i chanted in my mind. But he continued in my direction. So i leaned into the cab and retrieved my trusty .25 automatic and slipped it in my pocket. When he came too close, I said. "Don't come near me," with my hand on the gun in my pocket. He stood staring at me for a moment and i wasn't sure how this was going to play out. Would i have to pull the gun out, and then about that time Officer Feel Good would drive by, and see it, and I'd be in big trouble for having a gun? Even though, again, I was a woman alone in a dark part of town, with no one within earshot. But the drunk wandered off, and so I was relieved that I could move my vehicle over to another pump.

Guess what? that pump had the same affliction. So with 13 cents in my empty tank, I cursed my way back into the Cherryot, and headed back down the street toward what i hoped would be an open gas station with working pumps. A few blocks later, I saw a Shamrock station and pulled in, got gas in the normal way, and things seemed okay as I was replacing my gas cap. That's when i noticed the big black guy coming toward me. He was saying "I know you don't know me, but--" I didn't need to hear any more. I just got in the Cherryot, closed the door, clicked the locks and pulled away. The guy RUNS around the pumps to block my exit, screaming obscenities at me. I had to swerve to miss him, and circled out of the lot, checking my side mirror and noticing that my gas tank door was still open. I hoped I had put the gas cap back on securely, and was thankful that the timing didn't force me to drive away with the nozzle still in my tank. 

So yeah, it could have been worse. I made a circle down a back street for good measure, in case he was following me in his vehicle, if he had one nearby. I headed down the main drag for a while until I found  still another gas station and I just parked to the side, stressed. Just then two police cars shot in and stopped and I had all kinds of tragic fantasies about that. They went inside as I imagined that this station was probably being robbed, and I would be a victim of crossfire. Things looked quiet enough, and so i just sat there for a minute and took a breath.

I called D. again and filled her in on what had happened. I was thinking i shouldn't go to

Lakewood this night. things were just out of sync and i felt something bad might happen. 

That's when D. said, "You know, Baby, maybe you should just come home--" I told her i was just thinking the same thing. This was not a night i needed to be driving around. It would probably be wise for me to just take all these signs as warnings, and just avoid tempting fate.

So I told her I was coming home. I checked my map again, and headed to the house.

When i got there, i had a beer, and got some supportive cuddles from my girl. My need to be productive could wait another day.

Lemony Snicket Rides Again

Jae-Walking

My new exercise program consists primarily of walking, (and sometimes Jumping to Conclusions). I prefer walking the golf course for several reasons:

• aesthetics (Not many parks around here--the golf course is the "parkiest" place,
• convenience--it's just down the hill,
• the winding, undulating path gives variety to the muscle-workout, and
• I guess I have a secret desire to be beaned with a golf ball.

There's a little old man on a golf cart who patrols the area; he's more like the Hall Monitor than a Security Guard. My first encounter with him went something like this:

He whirs up next to me and stops, saying, "You shouldn't be walking here."

Obligingly, I play along. "Why not?"

"You could get hit by a golf ball."

"Interesting you should bring that up," I say, proud of my forethought in doing a little Googling, just on the off-chance I might have this exact encounter. "There is a zero point 1 percent chance of that happening. Odds are higher that I'll be struck by lightning. I think I'll take my chances." I have a moment of abject fear when i hear thunder in the distance, but just decided that this irony would be too profound to consider, and was instead the slurry of bad comedies. "I think I'll take my chances," I add, knowing that the odds of getting struck by lighting while golfing were much higher, but i wasn't golfing. I was walking. Jaywalking, apparently. (Jae, walking. snort snort).

He rubs his chin and squints into the sun, mumbling, "Well...still...we wouldn't want to be responsible if it did happen, you know..."

"I'd be happy to sign a waiver," I say, smiling.

He moves something around inside his mouth and offers, "Well, okay... but keep your eyes peeled." And he whirs away on the little cart. Peeling eyes. Eye peeling. Colloquialisms from hell.

The next day, we cross paths again and he smiles and greets me like we're friends. I pause and say, "Aren't you going to offer me a ride?"

His caterpillar eyebrows squirmed high on his forehead. "I thought you were walking for exercise."

"Still, it's only proper to offer. It's really hot today."

"Would you like a ride?" he asked agreeably.

"No thanks. I'm trying to get my exercise." I walked away, smiling, and heard him chuckle behind me. I don't know why I feel the need to fuck with people so much.

After a midnight run through Wal-Mart, I decided that my earlier walk and the shopping still was not enough to make up for the cheese sticks I indulged in for lunch, so I decided to go one more round on the golf course. It was one in the morning....No golf ball hazards, I told myself. No whirring, Golfing Police with caterpillar eyebrows and a concern for my well-being and the liability of the country club. And perhaps more important for my winter-loving ass, no blazing noonday sunshine.

So, I'm walking around the dark course, realizing that although I had the presence of mind to bring a flashlight, it's still spooky in the pitch dark outside with all that greenspace. Night time critters, doncha know. Or the errant serial killer. I stopped after getting about 100 yards into it...had one of those moments. Should I go back? Did i think this through properly?

Luckily, any continued distress was alleviated by the fact that I had a pistol in my kangaroo pouch (no, i don't have a flap of skin on my belly...on second thought, maybe I do..I have lost some weight. Anyway...) I pulled the diminutive .25 out of the pouch and held it, redirected the flashlight and started walking again. What event, I mused, would justify me firing this gun? I had a quick image of a rabid raccoon hugging my legs and gnawing a hole in my kneecap. Not likely, but dramatic enough to entertain me. Then I had an image of a buck deer, trying to impale me with his antlers. Why would he do that? I was in his territory and he mistook me for another buck deer? Ridiculous, even though I do have quite a rack.

The only wildlife I did see was either a raccoon or a possum, and all I could really make out was two glowing eyes as he begrudgingly moved toward the taller grass. I finally made my way around the other side, realizing I could put my pistol back in the pouch, as it was unlikely I'd need to use it, and if I did, it would not be a quick draw.

Feeling like those cheese sticks had magically increased my Body Mass Index to 62%, I headed for the footbridge, vowing to eat only fruit and drink only water tomorrow. Then I saw the headlights. Headlights pointed toward the golf course. Toward ME. I thought, ah, there's that serial killer, now, my hand moving to the opening of the pouch, locating the handle of the .25. Admittedly, it was the type of firearm that would only piss off any attacker, and distract him long enough for me to escape, but it was better than just a flashlight and a kangaroo pouch. I continued moving toward my Blazer and he got out and said, "Hello!" Maybe it's the Caterpillar Eyebrows dude. When the beam of a Maglite caught me in the face, I realized who it was. A cop. Now, I had a quick hope for something like this::


But what I got was this:

I could now see the white car, with the stripe on the side and those precious twirling blue lights on the top, thankfully not in use at the moment. I understood that he was checking out who the oddball was walking on the golf course in the pitch dark with a flashlight. "Everything okay?" he asked.

That's when it occurred to me that having a gun in your kangaroo pouch with an inquisitive cop a few yards away, was not one of my better situations. I knew I could not give him any reason to be suspicious. My creative, novel-writing mind kicked in. So I lied. I told him I had dropped my cell phone earlier and had to come back and look for it.

He immediately accepted that, and I thanked him for asking, and said it was good to know that the Bella Vista Police Department was out and about, keeping everyone safe. Considering the zero crime rate in this little retirement village, that was such an overstatement, it bordered on sarcasm, so I decided to zip it. He wished me a good evening and pulled away to investigate some other menace. Like a buck deer goring a raccoon on another golf course.

Jae-Walking

The Wrong And Whining Road

(From "The Misadventures of No One Famous" my memoir)

Music has always figured prominently into my life. I spent six years in an all-girl band, and then another two as a member of an acoustic female trio. Bookings had been sparse the last 12 months, since one of the women had decided to move to Colorado to be with the love of her life. We had just started another 6-week stint of gigging while she was in town, and again, my luck would be of the unfortunate variety. My financial security had become laughable, though I found no humor in it.

The band was my only source of dependable income. I left my little guest room one night, and headed for the city and the first of several gigs that would provide just enough to get my car tags renewed, along with insurance and registration. As I crested a hill after a sharp curve, the unmistakable strobing of blue lights erupted behind me. A local Barney Fife had been jarred from his Deer Hunter magazine long enough to look up and see the telling color on my tag sticker. He strutted up to my window in his little Smokey The Bear hat and asked to see my license, registration, and proof of insurance. Well, two out of three ain’t bad, as they say, so I pulled out my license and handed it to him. I then began to fumble in the glove box for those other two items, knowing I didn’t have them. I was just doing that, oh-my-god-a-cop-stopped-me-and-I-need-to-think stall. I usually carried an old insurance card that I used for emergencies like these, but it had landed in some box either in the back of the van or in the storage room I’d rented. I had scanned the card on my home computer and altered the date cleverly in my photo program, then printed out a copy It was a brilliant idea, if I do say so myself. It was convincing to those nagging locals who just wanted to see a piece of paper, and bought me a little time while avoiding a large fine. Survival Skills 101. Certified. I didn’t have THAT little piece of paper either, but I knew that for me auditing a class was just as good as taking it for credit.

"Registration and proof of insurance?"he asked again.

"Um. . . I just moved and I don’t have it with me." As if to verify, his flashlight beam moved to the back of my vehicle to the boxes and various items I had not unloaded into storage, yet.

“You are supposed to carry those things in your vehicle at all times."
And you are supposed to be nice, but you’re not. "I know that, sir. Things have been really difficult for me lately."

“Do you have insurance?”

Is there a way to lie and still tell the truth? I wondered. I knew I didn’t have insurance. He didn’t know that yet. I was on the horns of a dilemma. If I didn’t tell him I was sans insurance, he might skip that ticket. It reminded me of when I was kid. In the days before caller ID boxes, the phone would ring, and my father was always afraid it was someone he wanted to avoid. He’d tell me to see who it was. Then he’d rush into the bathroom, and stand in the tub and say, “If it’s ‘so-and-so’ tell him I’m in the shower.” See, my Dad was no liar. He had a real conscience.That’s what I needed. A way to lie without lying. “. . . just moved in with some friends out here,” I heard myself say. “. . . and I’m waiting on a decision from SSI and the VA about my disability status. . .” Don’t tell him that, he doesn’t care, I reprimanded myself. My lips kept moving. “I’m living on $280 a month. . .I was on my way to a job to make enough money to get my tags and everything. . . it’s the only way I can get the money.”

He looked up from his ticket book. “I also clocked you at 40 in a 30.” In my own defense, the roads leading to and from this hick town were winding and hilly. In order to maintain a constant speed, you would have to have two sets of eyes. If you watch the speedometer, you’ll miss a curve. I always opted for staying on the road and not hitting a mailbox or an oncoming Subaru. But now I was being penalized for being a safe driver. All that counted was the letter of the law.

“—but I’m only going to site you for expired tags, and no proof of insurance.” I hated this town. What do you call favors like that? Underhanded? Backhanded? Backwoods. “I won’t steal your pig this time, just your chickens.” Uh. . .okey-dokey Smokey. Say hi to the wife and kids. The ones ensconced in your dream-single-wide, no doubt. “Thanks,” I muttered, signing my name to the tickets, as he informed me of the court date. I expected him to add, “Tell it to the judge,” but he didn’t. And that’s not the end of it. The “thlot plickens.”

The very next week, I was on my way to another gig, and got nailed again. This time, at least they were nice. There were two of them. Word must have gotten around that it takes two to stop me from driving illegally. One cop even apologized to me for the inconvenience. I was accommodating and polite to him. I accepted my two additional tickets with grace and aplomb. Double-jeopardy obviously did not apply to moving violations.

At the court date in April, the local (hanging) judge had no mercy, even though I explained my extenuating circumstances and told him I was driving without all that stuff because I was trying to make enough money to GET all that stuff. He still made me pay, because by golly, I was a law breaker and needed to be taught a lesson. There I stood on my crutches, having dragged myself out of bed in a Darvon-stupor to be there while Hiz Honor was an hour and a half late for court. So I got gouged with over $400 for that, and had to beg for the payments of $33 per month, which only meant I had to do without a few things. Like food. Deodorant. Gasoline. It would be a challenge to figure out which necessity I would be trimming this time.

The Wrong And Whining Road