You're my best friend

2005 was an eventful year for us on a near epic scale. So many things happened that year that honestly, it was hard to remember all of it - but I'll do my best...

It was the year I discovered (and joined) a site called deviantArt - a place where I could post the pictures I had taken, projects I was working on and my lame attempts at drawing. I still have an account there today.

It was also the year that I started becoming agoraphobic. I think that was triggered by the guy that moved into the house behind us. He seemed normal enough when I met him, but that was going to change. We had more or less 'adopted' a bunch of stray cats that had taken up residence in our backyard. They used to live in the salvage yard that was down the hill from us, but the property was sold, cleared and now being developed - so they all migrated uphill. My sweetie liked to sit out there and feed them in the morning while he was having his coffee. He'd buy packages of cheap hotdogs, cut them into small chunks and toss them to the cats. Eventually they became friendly enough that they'd let us pet them. One day we came home and the new neighbor (who I'll call Freak Show) came to the fence that divided our yards and asked us if the cats were ours. We said "Not really, they're strays - but they're friendly and we feed them." He said there was a kitten under his porch and he was afraid his dogs would get it, would I mind getting it out? I said 'sure, no problem' and went to retrieve the kitten. It only took a few minutes to chase it out (and I wondered why he didn't just do it himself) but as I was holding the kitten (and getting clawed for my trouble) he asked if that didn't hurt. I laughed at him and said no. My tattoos hurt worse. I told him "It's just a kitten - they aren't a threat to anything but mice really" and turned it loose in our yard.

I've always been a night owl, and shortly after the kitten rescue I was up late one evening playing a new game I'd just gotten on my computer. My sweetie was sleeping, so I had the lights off and was sitting in the dark alternating between watching the tv and playing my new game. The tv was behind me, so I had to keep swiveling the chair around to see it and then back to the computer. Around 2am, I noticed the Freak Show's lights were on and since he didn't have any curtains hanging I could see right into his room. I only gave it a passing glance as I swiveled around and went back to watching my movie. About 15 minutes later I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to look - and there was the Freak Show, standing in his window, stark naked, looking into my apartment grinning and jacking off. From his place the only window in our building that he could see into is mine, and I had the distinct impression he wanted me to see him. Ewwww! Creepy! I have got nothing against people masturbating, but I didn't need to see that and I definitely didn't ask to see it. I didn't acknowledge that I'd seen him, and instead I went upstairs to visit my friend the Dungeon Master who was playing D&D with his buddy. I told him about it and we had a good laugh over it. By the time I went back downstairs the 'show' was over and I went back to playing my game.

A few hours later the sun was coming up and I was getting ready to crash when I heard something outside. It was the Freak Show's pit-bull running around in my backyard. A scary looking dog. I considered calling animal control on him but by the time they'd get there the dog would probably be gone anyway. Then I heard the most horrifying noise on the back steps. I looked outside and saw the dog had one of our stray momma kitties in its mouth and was shaking her like a rag! The poor kitty was screaming, I was screaming, days old kittens were scattered across the sidewalk. My sweetie heard me freaking out and ran outside without even waiting to see what was going on, he scared off the dog who then dropped kitty and split. The kitty freaked out, ran off and disappeared leaving her babies behind. We gathered up the babies and reassembled their shelter and kept watch waiting for momma to come back. At this point I thought she was injured and had gone off somewhere to die and the kittens were orphans. Freak Show came outside and called his dog and my sweetie (nicely) advised him to keep the dog on a leash. Momma kitty eventually came back and moved the kittens, but I was pissed off. There had been several pit-bull attacks in the Twin Cities that year and here this asshole was, letting his dog run loose. After that I called animal control on him any time I saw his dog in our yard.

Shortly after that I got a new digital camera which was a huge improvement over the old one. I was now capable of taking hundreds of pictures without having to pay for film developing and I went out often to find stuff to photograph. My sweetie always came with and when I couldn't think of anyplace to go, he could. We went to Carvers Cave, Como Zoo, Swede Hollow, we saw concerts at The Taste of Minnesota - I toted that camera with me everywhere and took pictures of everything. My deviantArt gallery grew quickly. Suddenly I had people telling me I take really good pictures and that I have a good eye. My answer to them was the same then as it is now - "I just take pictures of what I see, the camera does all the work."

I had almost forgotten about the Freak Show and his dogs for a few weeks, but then he was at it again. I made many calls to animal control (as did our other neighbors) when he let his dog run loose. For their part, they kept telling him that if he didn't comply he'd be fined and they'd eventually seize his dogs. So he finally started putting the dogs on a leash - but the leash was long enough that the dog could run into the yard of the Hmong people next door where it would wind itself around their satellite dish and screw up their signal. When the elderly lady of the house would come out to fix it, she'd yell at him and the Freak Show just cussed her out like it was her fault and his dog had every right to be in her yard. More calls to animal control and he finally put up a fence to keep the dog in his own yard. It was an incredibly flimsy looking thing and I doubted it would contain them.
He also resumed his exhibitionist behavior.

After the first incident, I just started closing my curtains as soon as it got dark out - but now the weather was getting warmer and we only had two windows. We had an air conditioner, but it was old and didn't work properly. All it did was make a lot of noise, drive up the electric bill and instead of cooling the place off it actually made it hotter. We had to open the windows, there just wasn't any way around it. We did our best to block the windows so he couldn't see in but we could have some air flow. Then one night while my sweetie was off at a concert with Former Roommate #2, I discovered that despite our efforts the Freak Show could still see in. In fact, not only could he see in but he was spying on me with a scope in one hand and his dick in the other. Just like the first incident, as soon as he saw me he stood up and started doing his thing. That was too much for me so this time I called the police and told them about it. It was a huge waste of time though, the cop that came out said he couldn't do anything unless I had pictures or something and why don't I just keep my window closed (ummm, because it's over 80 degrees outside and the air conditioner doesn't work?!). Since my camera isn't good enough to take pictures across the yard in the dark I figured there was nothing I could do. I had a large curtain I was using as a partial room divider and my sweetie rigged it so it now went all the way across. We could have the window open to keep the apartment cool and the Freak couldn't see in anymore. He did it just so I could sit at my computer comfortably again - I loved him for that.

Freak wasn't going to let that stop him though. He was always sitting in his window at night just waiting for me, and as soon as I was on the other side of the curtain he'd pop up and do his thing. I just heaved a sigh and quickly retreated to the other side of the curtain. One night we even caught him climbing up the tree in our yard and snapping off branches. My sweetie went outside to confront him - "What the hell are you doing?" and the Freak claimed that he was just trying to improve the view of skyline from his window. (Bullshit! He was trying to see if he could see in the other window!) My sweetie thought this was a believable excuse though. He told him to do it in the daytime and ask permission first. Freak climbed back down and went back in his house. When my sweetie came back in and told me what the Freak said, I called bullshit and told him why I thought he was in our tree.

By this point I'd had more than enough of the Freak and I figured if the cops wanted photo proof, I'd try to get it for them. I immediately went to ebay and found a web camera with night vision and ordered it up, along with a usb cord long enough to go from the window to my computer. When they arrived my sweetie helped me create a housing for it. We wanted it to be protected from rain and snow, so we mounted a bird feeder outside the window, removed one of the glass panels and mounted the camera inside it. Less than 15 minutes later and I was able to see the backyard and the Freaks house on my computer screen. I rubbed my hands together with glee - I couldn't wait to catch him! My plan was to make several cd copies of the video - one for the cops, several for the neighbors, I also planned to burn a stack of them labeled with his address and have a friend leave them in the mens room of the gay bar downtown. I figured if he wanted an audience I'd help him out. My evil plan did not come to fruition however. The Freak noticed the bird feeder - and the camera - and that very night decided to hang a bed sheet curtain in his window. I didn't really care how the problem was solved, I was just happy he stopped - but I left the camera in place anyway, just in case.

Shortly after that, it was my sweeties birthday - his 40th. He was still sober and his mom wanted to make a big deal of it, so she threw him a birthday party at her house and invited everyone she could think of. I didn't really want to go to a party at her house. I knew it would be packed with people and crowded, but it was a milestone event and I'd been trapped in my apartment for the past few months by mean dogs and their Freak of an owner so I decided to go. At the time we were feeding the Dungeon Master on a regular basis (I had learned he was short on grocery money and having been friends since our teens, I would not let him go hungry). My sweetie and I convinced him to come with us because there'd be lots of food and we weren't cooking that evening. He didn't want to go, but we talked him into it.


As I expected, the party was crowded. There were people all over the yard and in the house - a pretty even mix of his friends and family members. Even his dad was there which was rather amazing because his parents were divorced and didn't really get along. For some reason I was being hailed as some kind of hero because my sweetie had succeeded in staying sober. I still don't think I deserved as much credit for that as they gave me. Then the younger of his aunts arrived with a cheerful purple haired young lady in tow. It turned out that she was staying with his aunt who also talked her into coming along with the promise of food and company. As the party wore on, the groups began to segregate and all of us 'cool kids' were sitting around in the back yard while all the 'old' people (the non-partier types) and small kids were hanging out inside. It was then that the Dungeon Master met the cheerful purple haired girl and was instantly smitten. The two of them began chatting in an animated fashion. Later some of us decided to take a recreational smoke break in our friends van before he left and we invited the younger aunt (also a smoker) to join us. She said 'maybe later' but suggested that the purple haired girl would likely be interested in joining us. My sweetie and I beamed at each other. She smokes too?! She and the Dungeon Master would be a match made in Heaven! She did join us in the van, and later when I gave her and my sweeties aunt a ride home - she and the Dungeon Master continued chattering excitedly with each other. When we arrived at the aunts house and she offered the Dungeon Master a glass of chocolate milk, I knew it was a done deal! Just like feeding a stray cat, if you offer the Dungeon Master chocolate milk you'll never get rid of him. When we finally returned to our home, we considered the day to be a huge success. Over the next few weeks, the Dungeon Master began visiting the Purple Haired Girl frequently and moped around our apartment pining for her when she wasn't around.


A few weeks later, we made another trip to our favorite camp ground and a few weeks after that a group of us went to the renaissance festival together. The Dungeon Master invited the Purple Haired Girl to come along, and they both went in costume. A good time was had by all. Not long after that though, we had a power surge and it fried my computer. I lost all the pictures I had taken because I had neglected to burn them to disks. That depressed me more that I can say... It was a few months before I was able to get a new system, and when I finally did I was almost fanatical about making sure to back up my data for quite some time. Meanwhile, the Purple Haired Girl (which actually isn't a good name for her because her hair had by that time had also been pink, blue and orange) moved out of my sweeties aunts house and into an apartment of her own in our building. The Dungeon Master was determined to woo her at any cost and my sweetie and I were endlessly amused by his efforts at nesting. He sought our advice on numerous things, but the one that made us giggle the most was when he wanted to know what kind of toilet paper women preferred. Lmao! (our answer: ANY kind! Just make sure to have some in the house!) Before long, and despite her protesting, they were an official couple. Our trio became a quartet.


Meanwhile my sweetie and I were getting along better than we ever had, but things weren't altogether well with me. Even though we had thwarted the Freak in his exhibitionist habits, he was still there and I couldn't be outside anymore without feeling like I was being watched. And the few times he was outside at the same time as me, he had said shit. I began to feel ever more uncomfortable and started avoiding the back yard. Eventually I stopped going outside if I could help it, and when I did go out I came and went through the front door just to avoid him. I became more and more depressed and I started gaining weight, which added to the depression. I felt trapped. If I didn't have my sweetie, I think I would have wound up in a loony bin. Fortunately I did have him, and he didn't care at all that I had put on weight.

Take me to the river

In September things started going downhill. My sweetie still felt well enough that he wanted to do the laundry, but climbing back up the stairs was taking it out of him. He'd make it back into the apartment and collapse on the couch, completely winded and needing to rest. Me and our friends downstairs (the dungeon master and his wife) wanted him to let us help him - at least let one of us carry the basket up and down - and he dismissed the idea. As long as he was able to, he wanted to do things on his own. Still, it was obviously wearing him out and he was spending more and more time napping on the couch.

Early one morning I woke up hearing a chainsaw. I grumbled and tried to go back to sleep, but no dice - the chainsaw just kept going. WIIIiiiiinnnGGGGwiiiiinnnngggggugugugh.... I put the pillow over my head trying to muffle it. Nope, no good. Finally, frustrated, I threw the covers back and got out of bed to investigate. I looked out the living room window and saw nothing. I remember complaining about it to my sweetie who was sitting on the couch watching tv and apparently hadn't even noticed it. Grumpy and bleary eyed, I went out to the kitchen and threw open the back door... and saw a guy in our backyard hollering instructions to another guy (with a chainsaw) in a cherry picker. Apparently the neighbors behind us had decided to cut down the tree that was on the border of our yards. It was a mess and there were branches all over our yard. I hollered to my sweetie to come look and when we both stepped out onto the balcony, the guy who was hollering instructions noticed us and cheerfully asked if we had been having trouble with our phone. "Nope", we said, "we don't even use the phone lines." So that was it...they decided to chop the whole tree down because one of the branches had grown around a phone line. *sigh* We loved that tree - it blocked the house behind us from view and gave the yard a little shade. In no time flat it was nothing but a stump and our yard felt a lot less private. The guy then asked if it would be ok to haul the branches out through our driveway. "Yep, fine. Just don't fuck up our swimming pool." The guy promised he'd be careful and we went back inside.

About a week later we decided summer was officially over, emptied the pool and packed it back into it's box. We also dismantled the deck garden and hauled the flower pots, chairs and shade umbrella down to the garage. I noticed that he was piling the pots on the floor off to the side instead of putting them up on the shelf where we normally kept them - and that's when I knew it was starting to get bad. He was a tall guy, and always took advantage of high spaces for storage. Our entire time together, I was always having to ask him to please get this bowl down for me, or reach up and change that light bulb. Tall guy stuff. Now it hurt for him to raise his arms over his head repeatedly, but he'd still grab the mixing bowl for me if I needed it. I could see it hurt though, and tried not to bother him with it if I could. Apparently it bothered him more to see me climbing the counter because he'd fetch it before I reached it and then help me back down again.

His family members were coming over a lot more frequently - his mom, dad, sister and his cousin. They all came over separately and they would sit around making pleasant conversation or snap some photos of him - then as soon as he was out of earshot they'd ask me in hushed tones how he was doing and tell me how brave and strong I was to deal with this. Inwardly I bristled at this. I did not consider myself to be brave or strong at all - I was terrified and anxious. I could keep it together when I was at home with him, but when I was alone in my car running errands, I'd lose it completely and cry my eyes out. I started keeping a box of tissue in the car just so I could dry my eyes when I got where I was going or returned home. I didn't want anyone to see me crying. I didn't want to be pitied. But here they were, doing just that. His dad would come over and buy us lunch, when his sister came over she brought coffee. His mom brought whatever item she happened to come across that she thought he could use - things like hot beverage heaters. She also decided that she was going to redecorate her living room and gave us her electric fireplace which we gratefully accepted. It's got an oak mantle and also works as a space heater. The dungeon master and my sweetie hauled it upstairs. I offered to help carry but my sweetie said 'no - he'd get it' - so typical of him. Part of me wonders if he wasn't trying to make a point with his mom - "I'm not dead yet! Quit trying to baby me!" She had been trying to fawn over him ever since his diagnosis and acting like a bit of a martyr while she did so. I think it was as annoying to him as it was to me.

His cousin was the daughter of his mothers oldest sister and they practically grew up together. Her parents have a place in Marine on the St. Croix - a beautiful house on the bluff along the river. They also have a pontoon boat, and his cousin asked us if we wanted to go out for a boat ride. We both like boat rides and jumped at the chance. I brought the camera along and took pictures of the scenery and my sweetie as we were enjoying the ride, but it was a chilly day and we set out late, so we didn't stay out very long. She promised she'd take us back out again though, before they pulled the boat out of the water for the season - hopefully it would be a warmer day, and we promised that we would hold her to it. Back at her parents house, her mom had gotten out her camera and there was more photos being taken. Then we hopped in the car and I drove us back home.

A week or so later, and it was time for another scan to be done. He had to drink another bottle of what he called the nastiest orange shake drink he'd ever tasted, and then we had to wait for enough of it to circulate through him before they did the scan. I remember sitting there and foolishly hoping against hope that the results wouldn't be bad. When the scan was finished, they set an appointment for him to see his oncologist and get the results on October 1st. Neither of us spoke about it on the ride back home. We talked about anything but doctors, tests and results.

Rubber Biscuit

2004 started with me being turned down for disability and filing for an appeal. In the meantime we were living on welfare, my building caretaking gig and whatever odd jobs my sweetie could line up. Welfare in Minnesota is $200 a month and my rent was $190 a month after my caretaker pay was applied. I also received an allotment of food stamps, but there are certain things you can't buy with your food card - like toilet paper, soap, and other miscellaneous hygiene products. So we had a roof over our head, and our bellies were full, but if we didn't figure out a way to generate extra cash we were going to be smelly. Something had to be done. My case worker was also upset to discover that my sweetie was living with me because his official address was at his moms house. Even though my sweetie didn't have a permanent job and his moms place was just a mailing address for him, the case worker said he felt it was fraudulent for him to be there without the folks at welfare knowing about it. For my part, I felt it wasn't any of the welfare offices business if my boyfriend was staying at my house more than his moms. Telling them he was there would only complicate things - so my case worker quit. I didn't care. The guy wasn't really doing anything to help me, he just showed up and asked questions, jotted down some notes and left. I'm not even really sure just what his job was supposed to be...

For a while my sweetie and I worked together on a few painting gigs, and I did laundry for the guy who lived upstairs from us to get some extra cash. Things were really tight there for a while but somehow we managed to keep our heads above water. Another thing I did for extra cash was house cleaning for my old friend the Hoarder.

Some background: I had known the Hoarder since I was about 15 and he hadn't always been a hoarder, a series of tragic life events had triggered it. One of his brothers had died, then another brother fled the state to escape jail time after he was caught embezzling from his job. His sister - the twin of the embezzler - committed suicide, and his father passed away shortly after that. The dudes family had pretty much gone up in a puff of smoke and I felt bad for him. During my teen years we were music buddies, we shared our tapes and albums between us and always tried to stump each other with new stuff the other hadn't heard. He wasn't the first hoarder I'd ever met, but he was the first one I ever tried to help clean up.

The Hoarder used to live a quarter mile from my house in a once beautiful turn of the century home, and despite the deplorable condition of his home I used to visit him frequently. He was full of interesting stories, and quite computer savvy. He spent most all of his free time downloading movies and tons, TONS of music. He had everything I ever heard of and even more that I hadn't, all of which he burned to disks and sent copies home with me. If I was looking for any particular piece of music, the Hoarder had it or he could get it and thanks to him I now have a music library that numbers in the thousands. My sweetie used to go over there with me every once in a while largely because he was awestruck by the Hoarders vast music library, but he didn't really like going over there and was less forgiving of the mess than I was. There was barely anyplace clean to sit, there was bags, boxes and trash piled high everywhere, and the place was infested with mice. When my sweetie was with me, our visits weren't very long.

Anyway, the whole house was pretty well trashed. The Hoarder and his girlfriend (who also happened to be a hoarder) had the place packed from basement to attic with an immense amount of stuff. There was just little pathways through all of it. Compounding the problem was their pets - 4 dogs, 3 cats and a bird who wasn't doing very well. Both the Hoarder and his girlfriend were pretty lazy about cleaning the litter box and letting the dogs out, so the whole place stank of animal shit on top of it. When you add to it that they were also compulsive internet shoppers, well... it was a perfect storm of filth. Still, he was my friend and I didn't want to offend him so I just held my breath a lot when I went over there and didn't say anything about it.

It all came to a head for him one day when the mailman came to deliver a package and got a look beyond the front door. Like most hoarders, they had kept their mess a secret - all the shades pulled and no one they didn't know was allowed in. This time though, the hall door was open and the mailman got a good look inside. The next thing they knew, a public housing inspector was coming over and they were told to clean it all up or their house would be condemned. So the Hoarder called me and asked if I could help tidy the place up. I had no idea what I was in for...and my sweetie - ever the wise one - opted to stay home.

We started on the Hoarders computer room, and at first things were going ok. He had no problem with me hauling out all the empty soda cans and the trash that was on the floor. But when we started on the other stuff.... There was a mountain of stuff to dig through, and it was very much like an archeological dig. He had piles of boxes from Fire Mountain - all unopened. The guy had spent hundreds of dollars on beads and jewelry making supplies and never even opened the boxes when they arrived! Sandwiched between the boxes were articles of clothing and unopened bills and more trash. All of it had been the top of the pile at one time or other - he just kept piling more on top of it. You could tell by the postmarks when stuff had last seen the light of day. Then we finally got to the 'bottom' of that pile, a large trash bag full of old clothes - and the Hoarder had to go through every thing in the bag. I pointed out to him that by the dates we'd seen in the pile, he hadn't seen or used anything in this bag in nearly 10 years. Nope. Gotta go through ALL of it. It was all full of mouse shit and about midway through the bag he pulled out a sweater that had a hole in the belly the size of a dinner plate. Mice had gotten into the bag and were disassembling it to use as nesting material. The Hoarder wanted to keep the sweater! I argued with him for no less than 20 minutes about that sweater. "I can fix this" he insisted. "No" I said, "this can NOT be fixed." I went on to say that everything below that point was covered in mouse shit and piss and wasn't worth keeping, especially since he hadn't seen or used it in all that time. I had a minor victory with that one - he acquiesced and I was allowed to haul it to the trash. After hours of work, we finally had his little computer room tidied and moved on to another room.

And it just got worse from there. His idea of cleaning up was simply to reshuffle the stuff around. Move this to the attic, move that to the basement. Keep everything. He really didn't seem to get it that it wasn't going to be good enough and he was going to lose his house. Eventually I was forced to give up and go home - where I immediately hopped into a scalding hot shower. The inspector came back out and the house was condemned. There was even an article about them in the local paper - it listed their names and described in detail the state of their house. Humiliating. The Hoarders next plan of action? Sell the house and start over elsewhere. /Facepalm. So they listed the house - something I didn't know about until I was over and a realtor suddenly came through with a very unimpressed prospective buyer. The realtor looked appalled. The Hoarder thought his house was worth 160k, but no one wanted it. In addition to the mountains of trash and mouse infestation, there were giant holes in the ceilings and walls. Worse still, the realty company was now refusing to show it and I don't blame them. He wound up calling the "We buy ugly houses" people, who offered him 60k and also said they'd provide a roll off dumpster for the crap he didn't take with him. They took the offer, found a house in their price range down in Albert Lea and moved there.

So now they were in a brand new house and everything was all nice and clean. After their humiliation in the local paper, they said they were determined to keep it clean and asked if I'd be willing to come down once a month to help them if they paid me. I needed the cash and I am unopposed to longish drives, so I said ok. I shoulda known better...

They really got their money's worth out of me. I busted my ass helping them get the furniture arranged, pictures on the walls, knickknacks on the shelves and boxes put away. When I was done it looked like a model home. They loaded up on cleaning supplies and I gave the place a good once over. Then they thanked me, gave me some cash and I went home.

When I went back a month later, I was shocked. I shouldn't have been, but I was. I was supposed to be helping them 'stay on top of it' but they clearly hadn't done a damn thing but generate more trash and acquire more stuff. There was wads of pet hair rolling through like tumbleweeds and a new pile of boxes in the center of the living room. I set to work and had the place looking nice again. I hauled out the trash, I flattened cardboard boxes (which they wouldn't let me throw away), I emptied the cats litter box and swept up the now petrified dog poo and pet hair. I scrubbed the bathroom. I started helping them organize the basement which is where the Hoarder had set up his new computer room and discovered that they had several boxes of dirty dishes down there. They had actually boxed up and moved dirty dishes! The cupboards upstairs were already full to capacity with more clean dishes than they needed, but for some reason they didn't want to get rid of these now moldy dishes that they packed and moved down there. It was beyond disgusting! I didn't complain, I just moved the crap around and piled it where they wanted it. I got my cash and drove back home.

And so it went. Every month I'd get down there and it would be worse than the last time I saw it. Even worse, I was running out of cleaning supplies and they hadn't bought more. I made it very clear that I couldn't clean much without cleaning supplies, but they did nothing. They weren't cleaning up after themselves, and they weren't providing me with the stuff I needed to do the job. After about five or six months of this, I went down there to clean and this time the Hoarder told me they didn't have the cash to pay me. They could cover my gas for the trip there and back, but they'd have to pay me the rest 'next month'. They didn't tell me any of this until after I was done cleaning of course. I was upset but I didn't make a big deal out of it. After all, he was an old friend and I know what it's like to come up short where money is concerned. But when I went down there the next month, the Hoarder told me they couldn't pay me at all - not even gas money! It seems his girlfriend had spent a couple hundred dollars on MAC cosmetics. She didn't even wear make-up, but she blew $200 on the stuff! I was upset. I don't piss gasoline and it cost me $20 at the time just to drive down there and back. Even so, I did my cleaning and the Hoarder said I could take away his cans - at least I could get a few bucks for them at the recyclers and they had a lot of them. So I drove home with my car crammed full of bags of aluminum cans. The trunk was full, as was the back seat and the passenger seat. It was sticky and nasty. At the recyclers I got $25 dollars for them - just enough to cover the gas and a little left over for some upholstery cleaner to get the soda out of my car seats.

When the next month rolled around, the Hoarder asked me if I was coming down. I asked if he was able to pay me. He said yes, so I went. Once again I busted my ass whipping their house back into shape, and when I was done he gave me $25. *sigh* I went home. Meanwhile my sweetie was pissed. I was spending money we didn't have on gas to go down there and clean their shit pile and coming home with just the gas money at best. He asked me why I was essentially working for free. I didn't have an answer for that other than 'He's my friend'. It just wasn't a good enough answer anymore. It was 110 miles one way, it was hard on the car and it was definitely hard on me. So I quit. When the next month came around and I didn't call or show up, the Hoarder called me and we had a little chat. I made it clear that I couldn't afford to keep making the trip down there - not even to visit. I had less cash per month to live on than they did. I also pointed out that they hadn't kept up their end of the deal - they were supposed to be cleaning up after themselves between my visits and they obviously weren't. He begged. Apparently his girlfriend was part of an internet forum for foodies and she had invited several of them to come to their house for an irl gathering. She had even offered to put them up at their place, but their house was of course a disaster. I said 'sorry, no.' I told him that if he wanted to visit, he could drive up here for a change. "There's a free Foghat concert at the Taste of Minnesota" I said. He said 'ok' and then never showed up. Me and my sweetie went to the show without him...his loss. I have no idea if they actually went ahead with their gathering or not. If they did, it had to have been horrible. For a few months after that, the Hoarder kept trying to get me to come back down and clean their house. I kept refusing. We had some vacancies in our building and doing the apartment turnovers paid better than cleaning their mess. 

The Taste of Minnesota happened every year on Harriet Island during the 4th of July. Over priced food, free music, carnival rides you couldn't pay me to go on and fireworks. I saw so many concerts at the Taste that I can't even list them all. For me Harriet Island is synonymous with music, I'd been seeing concerts there since I was a teenager. That summer in addition to Deep Purple, my sweetie and I also saw Bo Diddley. Both put on great shows, I'm still thrilled that I got a chance to see Bo play before he died. The man was legendary.
*edit* Oops...I just realized Deep Purple and Bo Diddley came here the following summer in 2005. Ah well, I'm getting old. My comment about Bo still stands.

As poor as we were, I still managed to squirrel away some cash for my sweetie and I to make our annual trip to the smallest state park in Minnesota. It was something we just couldn't do without. The quiet, the sound of the rapids, the sound and smell of the campfire, and at night the stars...just billions of them. We always referred to site 12 as 'home' and felt sad when it was time to leave and go back to the city. We wished we could live there forever.

Once we got back to town I discovered that my appeal had been denied. I could appeal it again though and this time I got some legal aid. I should have done that sooner because this time it was approved. I was told that in March 2005 I would start receiving social security, definitely a step up from welfare. It had been a rough year, but my sweetie was still sober and we still managed to have some fun despite our limited income. The rest of 2004 was just as lean as the first part, but there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel...

Summer in the City

It was August and the dog days of summer were here. We were in the middle of a heat wave - it had been 100 degrees every day for a week with no end in sight. The weather was hotter and steamier than normal, and our apartment was like a brick oven. The heat was inescapable and it was really taking its toll on my sweetie. We had fans blowing all over the house - 4 box fans, 2 ceiling fans and 2 portable fans - and it was all for naught. They seemed to be generating more heat than breeze, and what breeze they did offer was like sticking your head in an oven. I swear I could hear my brain cells sizzling.

We were sitting in the house dripping sweat and trying to come up with an idea to beat the heat. Suddenly my sweetie spoke up. "Huh?" I didn't hear him over the sound of my own brain frying. "I said lets go for a ride in the car, we can at least run the air conditioning and cool off" he repeated. "Ahhh" I replied. I had another idea though, something a little more long term. "Let's buy a pool instead" I said. "No argument from me" he said. So we hopped in the car and went off in search of a pool. At this point I would have settled for a child's wading pool... As luck would have it, the store we went to was having an end of summer sale and I found us a decent sized pool. It was one of those inflatable ring pools - 12 feet wide and 3 feet deep. We raced back home to set it up.

Upon our return, we discovered that neither of us had the lung power to inflate the ring and the bicycle pump we had wasn't cutting it either, it was exhausting trying to pump it up by hand - so I ran back to the store and bought a small electric pump. Meanwhile, my sweetie went to work getting the pool pump assembled and attached. I quickly got back with the air pump and after filling the ring we turned on the garden hose. Then we sat and watched and waited. An hour later, the water was barely a foot deep and I started wondering if we couldn't get the fire department out here with a bigger hose. Finally I couldn't wait another minute longer - ready or not, I was getting in that damned pool! I jumped in and immediately shrieked - OMFG!!! The water was arctic!!! I mean seriously cold - like members of the Polar Bear club would have dipped a toe in and said 'No freaking way'. One thing was certain though, I was no longer hot. I got back out as quickly as I had hopped in and stood by my sweetie, shivering. "Feel better?" he asked laughing at me. "I advise you to wait until the sun warms the water up a little" I said. "No problem" says he...

Neither of us had any idea how long it was going to take to fill that pool. At 1am it still wasn't full! At that point, we turned the hose off and decided we'd finish filling it the next day. In the morning after another hour and a half of running the hose, it was finally done! It was supposed to be over 100 degrees again and we decided to wait just a little bit for the water to warm up. By afternoon, the sun was high in the sky and we couldn't wait anymore. The pool thermometer said 88 degrees. I hopped in and immediately submerged - holy shit! It was still pretty brisk initially, but after sitting in the water a few minutes it was heaven. I wanted to live in it. My sweetie finally hopped in as well, but to him the water felt a lot colder than it actually was. He didn't have an ounce of fat left on him to protect him from the cold, so he didn't stay in long. I suggested an inflatable pool raft so he could dangle his legs in the water without freezing to death. So my sweetie ran off to the store in search of one. He returned a short while later with more inflatable pool crap than would actually fit in the pool and I made a crucial discovery about inflatable ring pools. Never, EVER(!) push down on the ring! I was trying to hop up onto my little raft while unaware I was too near the edge and accidentally pushed down on the ring. WHOOOSH!!!! Water started pouring out like Niagara Falls and I went right out of the pool, raft and all, hitting the ground hard. Ouch. Shit! Did anyone see that? If they did, they were managing to stifle their laughter. I pulled the ring back up, stopping the flow of water. No harm done, just a slightly bruised ego. I made sure to warn my sweetie against trying to board the raft too near the ring. I decided to forgo the rafts myself, with the slightly lower water level I could sit on the bottom of the pool and the water came to just under my chin.

It got the job done and when we went back into the house it felt about 20 degrees cooler in there. And that was how we got through the rest of the heat wave. As soon as we were feeling too warm, we'd go out and dunk ourselves in the pool a few times and cool off again. His mom thought we were geniuses.  Overall, it was the best money I ever spent - I just wished I'd thought of it sooner. A week or two later, the heat wave finally let up. Autumn was just around the corner.

Sometimes Salvation

2003 - I was still working security at the casino and doing well... that is I was doing well until another power shift guard made it to 3rd shift. Apparently he was upset with me because he was 'supposed' to be the next in line to leave power shift but I got out before him because of all the drama that had gone down. You'd think he would have been happy that he was finally out, but no... He was harboring a grudge and determined to make my life miserable because of it. Suddenly my work environment was hostile again. I was good at my job and my supervisors liked me, but grumpy guy was doing everything he could to try and make me look bad. One night I was assigned to relief duty - my job was to give the post guards their breaks. At the beginning of the shift I went around and asked all of them what time they wanted their lunch break and if the time they wanted was already taken, they had to choose a different one. That night, grumpy said he wanted 5am. I told him he would have to choose another time because someone else already had a 5am break. I told him 5:15 and 5:30 were still available. He grumbled about it and finally settled on 5:15.

So at 5am I was giving another guard their break when I received a call on the radio from a supervisor demanding to know my location. I told him where I was and he said to see him at post 4 when the guard returned to their post. At 5:15 I went over to post 4 (which was where grumpy guard was supposed to be - but he wasn't there) and the supervisor was angrily asking me why I was late to relieve grumpy guy. I explained that I wasn't late - I was right on time! He said that grumpy guy had told him his break was supposed to be at 5am. I showed him my notebook and told him 'no - he wanted 5am but it was already spoken for and he was told that his choices were 5:15 or 5:30, he chose 5:15 but was unhappy about it'. He had clearly lied to the supervisor about what time his break was. The supervisor was now angry at grumpy guy and said he would have a word with him about it. When grumpy guy returned to his post, he was clearly annoyed that his little plan had blown up in his face. I tapped my notebook and reminded him that he chose 5:15, don't try that again - then I walked away to relieve the next guard.

Things continued like this for a few more weeks, he would try to make me look bad one way or another and I did my best to deflect it. After a while though, I had enough of his shit. Even though I was good at my job and he had been discredited several times in his efforts to make me look bad, the supervisors seemed unwilling or unable to put a stop to it. Then an opening became available on 1st shift and I decided to apply for it. My 3rd shift supervisors were sad to see me go, they tried to talk me out of it - but it was him or me. 3rd shift just wasn't big enough for the both of us.

I started working 1st shift, and things were once again going well. I no longer had to deal with grumpy guy and the 1st shift guards seemed to like me. My mom and my stepdad were both on 1st shift in their departments too, and I was able to have lunch with them every so often. Things were going well at work and I was happy.

My home life was a different story. My sweetie was still getting drunk and I began to dread going home. I was never sure what I was going to find when I got there. I wasn't even sure home would be there, because my sweetie would often pass out with a cigarette lit. I kept thinking that one of these days he'd accidentally burn the building down while I was away. To make matters worse, he was spending a lot of time hanging out and drinking with former roommate number 1. His drinking escalated and so did our fighting. One evening he said he was going over to former roommate #1's place and I told him that if he was getting drunk he should just stay there - I didn't want to deal with him when he was drunk. The stress was killing me.

About 2am I got a phone call from him asking if I would give him a ride home. I could tell by his voice that he was wasted, and I said no. I told him he was going to have to sleep it off there and I hung up the phone. He called back and ranted at me belligerently - I hung up again. He called again and I didn't answer the phone, I just turned the ringer off. In the morning I had 20 voice mails. I wished I hadn't checked them, but I did. They were pretty ugly. He was ranting about how I knew he was a drunk when I met him and how dare I expect him to change now. Another message and he was he was still ranting, and trying (and failing) to slam the phone down. The third message he screamed BITCH into the phone at the top of his lungs. In the background I heard former roommate #1 tell him to call me a cunt and my sweetie obediently yelled CUNT! YOU'RE JUST A FUCKING CUNT! before hanging up again. And with that, former roommate #1 became my sworn enemy. Most of the other 'messages' were simply calling me a bitch (again) or cunt or just the sound of him hanging up the phone.

Sober, my sweetie was a leader. Drunk and he became a lemming. I wanted to locate and physically harm former roommate #1. I was also sinking fast into depression.

I saved those messages. When he finally came back home, I told him I couldn't deal with it anymore. He had to get the drinking under control or we were done. He looked very sad and tried to convince me that he was unable to control his temper when he was sober. He said he loved me but was afraid I wouldn't like him anymore if he went to treatment. *sigh* This was the fallout from vapid girl. Remember her? He went to treatment at her request and she cheated on him while he was there. I learned that this bitch had actually told him that she didn't like his personality since he went to treatment and that's why she cheated on him. It was all bullshit of course - she was simply trying to justify her own lack of morals. So I played his messages back to him on speaker phone. He looked completely shocked at first - he'd clearly never heard himself when he was drunk before. Then he looked sad. I said "What's the matter? You don't remember saying this shit?" He didn't. Message after message played. He said he'd heard enough. I said "No, I don't think you have" and played all of them. I gestured toward the phone and said "Oh yeah - that guy really loves me." By the end of them, he was actually crying. Now it was my turn to be shocked. I had only ever seen him cry once before, and that was at a funeral. He said he was sorry, he begged me to forgive him. I wanted to forgive him, but it was getting harder to do. I told him he had one more chance - just one. Screw up again and you're out. Don't call my bluff.

The stress of all this was starting to follow me to work. Then one day I fucked up - and I didn't even know it. I had said the wrong thing to a day shift supervisor. It was well known that she was 'on a diet' - she wasn't keeping it a secret or anything - she was always talking about being on a diet and counting calories. Once a month we got a cake to celebrate the birthdays in our department, and I saw the dieting supervisor peaking in the cake box in anticipation. I foolishly said to her "Don't do it! Resist the temptation!" I was just joking with her, but she dropped the box lid and shot me a look... She didn't know I was joking, or she didn't care - I had offended her.

The next thing I knew, I was being assigned to post duty - every single day. Before that, I had been a 'floor guard' - which I loved. Being on the floor meant I could keep moving, I took radio calls, did escorts, the time just flew by for me. Being on post, you stood by a door. No moving around. Time stood still. Dieting supervisor assigned the guards positions. It was killing me and she knew it. It also pissed me off. There were several guards who actually preferred being on post and she knew I preferred being on the floor. I knew I was being punished for my comment to her, but she insisted that it was standard procedure to rotate the guards. Bullshit. I had been there long enough at that point to know that it wasn't - and if it was, then why was I the only one being 'rotated' in this fashion?

My depression worsened and it was impossible to put on a happy face for my job. Then another supervisor (one of her buddies) started picking at me as well. Before long I was completely miserable and began to hate my job.

To make matters even worse, I came home one evening to find my sweetie passed out on the floor again. Dammit to fucking hell! This was the final straw for me. I woke him up, I screamed at him, and then I piled him into the car and dumped him off at the house of former roommate #2. I waited for him to go inside and then I went home. The next day I got a call from him - he was at his mom's house and wanted to know if he could come home. I was completely heartbroken by that point. I said "I'm sorry, no. I just don't think this is going to work out anymore - I think we should just go our separate ways." He was crying now and asking if he went to treatment, would I let him come home - and I said I no longer knew if I could do that. He'd been to rehab before but he always relapsed. I said if he was really serious about making it work, I'd think about it - but I had my doubts and I'd already given him more than his fair share of chances.

Later that day I got another call - this time it was his mom. She said he was quite a mess. I learned that former roommate #2 was unhappy about having to let him crash on his couch the night before and when he got up for work that morning he'd told my sweetie he was not welcome to hang out there all day. He'd piled him into the truck and dumped off at his mothers house at 6am, hung over and sick as a dog. His mom was even less happy than former roommate #2 about this turn of events. I told her I was sorry, but I couldn't let him stay with me anymore - I'd had enough. She said she spent the day convincing him that he couldn't stay with her and that rehab was his best option but he wanted assurance that he'd be able to come back home if he went. I said "We'll see."

So he went to rehab. And I went back to work. I'm pretty sure we were both feeling miserable at that point. About 2 weeks later, I got a phone call at work - it was my sweetie. He wanted to know if I could bring him some things from home - socks and underwear, a few of his t-shirts, portable cd player and some cd's. I said ok, I'd bring them after work.

When I got there he was waiting outside and he looked so happy to see me. He gave me a big hug and kiss, he thanked me for bringing him the stuff from home and for putting up with his shit for all those years. He also apologized and said he owed me at least 5 years of being sober. I hugged him back and said I wanted 10.

I visited him after work a few times and we went for walks together in a park nearby. It was around this time that I had my first real argument with his mom. It was her belief that I should also attend AA meetings. I disagreed - I didn't have an alcohol problem, I didn't even drink! She was very pushy about it though and said I should go just to be supportive. I told her I was sure I could find other ways to be supportive. She was quite miffed. During one of my visits, I told my sweetie about this and asked him if he thought I should attend the meetings. He thought it was silly. He pointed out that since I didn't have a drinking problem, there was no real reason for me to go if I didn't want to. He said he'd have a word with his mom and tell her to get off my back about it. He must have done it, because she dropped the subject after that.

My relationship with my sweetie was improving, but at work I was still miserable. The dieting supervisor and her buddy continued to assign me to post, and they were actively looking for reasons to haul me into the office and write me up. My shoes were too worn - verbal warning. I replaced them. I was a minute late coming back from break - written warning. I 'looked unhappy' while on post - 3 day suspension. I started looking for a job in a different department, but I was being blackballed. The only department human resources would let me transfer to was housekeeping. I'd rather smoke webbed feet than go back there. So I was fired.

My sweeties mom said to apply for unemployment again. I told her it was pointless - no one ever won an unemployment case from the casino. Not ever. I applied anyway, and it was denied. She said to appeal, and said she'd come with as my advocate. Having worked for the unemployment office, she knew the mediators and felt her presence would be in my favor. I tried to explain to her how the casino did things, that they wouldn't just be sending 1 or 2 supervisors to contest it. There would be several people there. While helping me to put together my case, she wanted to know the names of the supervisors involved and I rattled off a list. She became angry at me and said there can't possibly be that many people involved. I insisted there was. I knew that I was going to lose whether she came with or not. She was clueless as to how they operated and didn't believe me.

On the day of my appeal I had some small vindication. She was sitting next to me in the waiting area when they arrived - all 7 of them. 6 supervisors plus 1 person from human resources. She was shocked that they would send so many people just to fight my appeal... I had tried to warn her that this was how they worked. The only thing in my favor was that they were obviously surprised that I had someone with me and that made them nervous. She sat next to me taking copious 'notes' - useless information really, but they wanted to know who she was and what was she writing down. She replied that she was simply taking notes, she was my advocate and there for moral support which I clearly needed since they sent 7 people just to dispute my claim. She offered to let them see her 'notes' and they declined. From there on out though, it was a disaster. It was my word against theirs and they were blatantly lying about my work history. In the end, they won - but she did apologize to me for under estimating them.

By this point, my sweetie had completed his rehab and I allowed him to come home. I had to apply for welfare to make ends meet, and I started looking for a new job. It had all taken its toll on me though. I had a few interviews with no success. I kept looking, but then one day out of the blue I had a monster panic attack. I was sitting in my car in the parking lot of a prospective employer and I just could not bring myself to go inside. I got tunnel vision, the world went dark, I couldn't breathe. I remember I sat there just shaking...and then I decided to just go back home. As soon as it passed I did just that. I went home, crawled into my bed and just cried into my pillow until I fell asleep.

I told my sweeties mom about it and she suggested I see a therapist. I tried to find one, I called several -  but as soon as they would find out I was on welfare they were suddenly 'not accepting new patients'. Nice. Finally I got a referral to the county run facility. By this time I was suicidal and willing to see anyone.

I was assigned a therapist and went in to see her. We spoke for an hour and then she made another appointment for the following week. When I went in for that appointment, we spoke some more and then she told me that she was leaving the facility for a job in the public school system. She referred me to another therapist. I made an appointment and went in to see therapist #2. She was sympathetic, and offered some suggestions on dealing with my panic attacks. I saw her for about 3 weeks and then one day she said she thought this other therapist could help me better. Enter therapist #3. By now I was becoming frustrated. Every time I was given a 'new' therapist, I had to start over from square one retelling my story of how I came to be there because none of them had written any of it down. Therapist #3 was of the opinion that my sweetie was the cause of all my problems and advised me to dump him. I refused. I told her that he had just completed rehab and that I wanted to give him a chance to make it work. I was unwilling to dump him now just when things were getting better between us.

In addition to the therapists, I was also seeing a psychiatrist and his nurse - mostly the nurse. It was their job to prescribe antidepressants, etc.. Every week, I'd see the therapist and then I'd have to wait around to see the psychiatric nurse who'd ask a few questions and prescribe some drugs, then the psychiatrist himself would come in and ask a few more questions and sign the script. I was prescribed so much shit, I can't even remember all of them anymore. I quickly learned that I have a low tolerance for antidepressants. The side effects were killing me. One drug made me so jittery I couldn't sleep, another left me feeling so disconnected that the house could have been on fire and I wouldn't have cared. Another made me physically sick and yet another made me sleep nonstop round the clock. The psychiatrist was growing annoyed that none of the drugs he prescribed were helping me and started suggesting stronger stuff. He suggested lithium but I shot that idea down because I was aware that it required regular blood tests and I'm terrified of needles. When he suggested electroconvulsive therapy, I said absolutely not! Then he found out that I was applying for disability and acted offended. I explained that my case worker had suggested it because it could take a while to find the right combination of drugs to help me and I wasn't getting enough money to pay my bills on welfare. I was falling behind on all of them - he didn't care. He acted like he would be personally penalized if I received disability.  

Meanwhile therapist #3 had given up on me. I wasn't willing to take her advice and dump my sweetie so she said she couldn't help me and suggested I go to group therapy instead. In my opinion it was one thing to speak with someone one on one - it was another to have to talk about my problems with a whole group of strangers. I wasn't interested and stopped going to that facility altogether. In my opinion, they failed me.

Throughout all of this, my sweetie was taking care of me. True to his word, he was staying sober but he was growing concerned about the side effects of the drugs I was prescribed. I lost months of my life to the side effects of those drugs. When I spent a whole week doing nothing but sleeping, he asked me to stop taking them. No problem sweetie...they weren't helping anyway.

One day I realized that it had been months since we fought about anything. We remembered that we loved each other and we began to enjoy spending time together again. He was my best friend and ally. He was the only antidepressant I really needed, as long as I had him I knew things would work out ok.

Remember Tomorrow

July was a busy month for us. My sweetie was still feeling good...
For the 4th of July we all went up north to visit friends in Pine City who were having a party. We try to make it every year. They deep fried a turkey and put together a pretty tasty meal with all the fixings for all of us, and later we had a good time sitting around the bonfire chatting with everyone. Usually on the ride home we are able to catch all the fireworks from the small towns between here and there while driving down the freeway if we leave at just the right time, but this year we didn't leave on time to catch them. We were having too good a time hanging out with our friends and missed most of them. No biggie - our neighbors always seem to have the good aerial stuff from out of state and they buy a lot of them. We just watched theirs when we got home.

Back at home, we continued to enjoy the flowers and bird watching out on the deck. We got a big patio umbrella and set it up on the deck so we'd have more shade and be able to spend more time out there during the day. At night it was our favorite place to hang out, it was cool and quiet - we'd sit out there watching the stars and I'd point out the satellites in the sky. One time we spotted the space station flying over. It was our alone time when we'd just relax and unwind.

During the day we worked on our yard and he helped me with a planter I was building out of old tires and concrete. I didn't want him to over do it, but he wanted to help build it and I was glad he was there because I had never worked with concrete before; he knew how to mix it and what consistency it should have. I hired the son of another friend to do the actual mixing. He and my friends (the dungeon master and his lady) joined us in applying the concrete and we all had fun. It reminded me of playing in the mud as a kid.

In the middle of the month, my sweetie had another scan and we kept our fingers crossed, hoping for good news. A few days later we were back in the doctors office to get the results and I knew as soon as the doctor came in that the news was bad. He told us that although the tumor in his right lung had continued to shrink, the cancer had spread to his left lung and his liver. We asked if this meant more radiation and chemo, and the doctor said no. He said my sweetie had already had the max allowed radiation on his chest and discouraged the chemo. He said that the chemo they'd have to use this time was very strong and most people didn't tolerate it well, he said it would leave my sweetie in a severely weakened state that he wouldn't bounce back from easily. My sweetie tried to stay optimistic and said that since he was still feeling good he saw no reason to rock the boat. The doctor said he'd schedule another appointment for October and we left feeling like we'd both been punched in the gut.

My sweetie refused to let the bad news get him down and continued on as though everything was fine. I'm pretty sure that was mostly for my benefit. He was still taking taking the same dosage of pain meds twice a day and they seemed to be working for him at that time.

Shortly afterward, he accompanied me on another picture taking excursion. The Red Bull Flutag was in town and we went out to try and get some photos of it. I wound up not getting any pictures at all. We had a pretty good spot, but I saw a better one and when we tried to get there we got caught in massive amounts of traffic. By the time we got to the new spot there was no place to park so we left to go back to the old spot and by then those spots had filled up too. Ahh well. Maybe another time then. It was a miserably hot day and I would have been willing to just skip it and stay home, but he never complained and enjoyed the excuse to spend time outside.

He also hopped the Amtrak for Chicago with his buddy former roommate #2 to see Iron Maiden in concert. Chicago was as close as the tour was going to come. They had a good time and enjoyed the show, but I missed him terribly and was overjoyed when he returned. The Amtrak goes right past our house and I hung out near the track waiting for the train to go by and then raced it up to the station after it did. I won. When we got back home I made him something to eat and looked at the pictures he took on his phone in Chicago while he told me about the concert, the hotel, the people. He loved going to concerts, I'm glad he was able to go.

By the end of the month we were having a full on heat wave here and spending our time hiding from the sun, sitting inside with every fan we had blowing at high speed.

Best of you

2002 - As the year started, I was still collecting unemployment and it was due to run out by the end of the month. I still hadn't found a new job - normally I could pick up a new job without really trying but this was the worst job market I'd ever dealt with. I had applied out at the casino - I had worked there several years earlier and my mom was (and to this day still is) working there, but I had not heard back from them. Since my mom was a shift supervisor in the housekeeping department, I asked her to put in a good word for me. I needed to be employed again before my unemployment benefits ran out.

Further complicating matters was my sweetie. He had resumed his binge drinking and it was causing all kinds of havoc in my life. Worse yet, it was putting my building caretaker gig in jeopardy and that was the only thing keeping us afloat at the time. I suggested that maybe I was too hard for him to live with since he needed to get trashed so frequently, maybe he'd be happier living someplace else. For his part, he insisted that I wasn't the problem but he agreed to move in with a few friends of his and give me a break from his drinking. We still talked on the phone daily, and I visited him at his new place a few times a week.

I also spoke to his mother on the phone. I had hoped that she might side with me on this and help him get his act together. And while she did technically side with me on the drinking issue, she did nothing at all to discourage it. Quite the opposite in fact although I'm certain she would disagree. Most years for Christmas, she gave him Guinness beer paraphernalia of some kind - key chains, stickers, t-shirts, post cards, etc.. If it had the Guinness logo on it, she bought it and gifted it to him. Anyway, that year for Christmas she had given him more Guinness crap and his sister had given him a couple of Christmas tree ornaments that were little mugs of beer and I had finally had enough. During one of our phone conversations I mentioned to her that it seemed very contradictory to be wringing her hands over his drinking one minute and then turn around and gift him with beer related paraphernalia the next. I told her (and his sister) I felt like she was sending mixed messages and it wasn't helping the situation at all. Her answer? She didn't see it that way at all! Their family ancestry was Irish, she'd been to Ireland and the Guinness logo is everywhere over there. She said it was part of their cultural heritage and didn't see a problem with it. Inwardly I fumed. Looking back at our relationship over the years, I now wonder if she wasn't deliberately trying to stir up trouble between us. I had a similar conversation with his sister, and got a completely different response. His sister paused for a moment and then said 'Ya know, I hadn't thought of it that way - but you're right!' and to her credit she never gave him another beer/alcohol related gift ever again. Talking to his mom began to infuriate me though. She would 'commiserate' saying 'Oh he's so much nicer when he's not drunk, isn't he?' and then sigh and say 'Oh well, what can we do? He's been to treatment several times - it just never sticks.' My thoughts? KEEP FUCKING TRYING!!

At this point, I had only met his dad once. He didn't seem to be such a bad guy when I met him, but according to my sweetie he was quite the hard ass while my sweetie was growing up. I knew he'd side with me, but my sweetie would not be receptive to anything he had to say on the matter. No help there. And his aunt was a huge enabler - I had once told her he was doing pretty well at cutting back on his drinking and she said 'that's good!' and gave him a ride to the liquor store. This was the same woman who came to visit him when he got out of treatment the last time and brought a case of beer with her. Thanks for that you dumb bitch...

So now my sweetie was living with some of his drinking buddies and I was still looking for a new job. My mom had been talking me up to her boss and she must have said some really good things because suddenly out of the blue I got called in for an interview. She said he wanted to hire me and if I was anything like her, he wanted to make me a supervisor as well! I was stoked! No way was I going to blow this - I started my new job and was determined to be a model employee. Unfortunately my ambition was noticed by one of my new co-workers. She wanted to be promoted to the supervisor job and she felt she deserved it more than me because she had been there longer. I knew from talking to my mom that she wasn't even in the running - she had a bad attitude and had been written up for it several times in the past. Yet for some insane reason they made her my 'mentor'. It was her job to train me and since she already knew of my ambitions, she decided to train me badly. She gave me the wrong chemicals to use, and everything she showed me how to do - she made sure to show me the wrong way to do it. If I asked any questions at all, she looked at me like I was an idiot. This blew up in her face of course. When asked why I was using this chemical or that tool by the higher ups, I would simply reply that this is what 'bitchy co-worker' had instructed me to use. For her part she tried denying it and saying I was a liar - she showed me 'the right way' and I was just blowing her off and trying to make her look bad. I insisted that I was not a liar and since she had been disciplined on the job so many times before, they believed me. They assigned someone else to train me and there were no more problems. In fact, one morning I even heard my new mentor telling the big boss that things were going well - I was an awesome worker, I learned quick and did the job well.

Flash forward a few months and the big boss stopped me in the hall one night. He had been watching me and was impressed with my work ethic, there was a supervisor position coming available and he wanted me to apply for it! I immediately went and filled out the application. I would have to interview in front of a panel of 2 shift supervisors and the department supervisor. My mom would normally have been included in that group but since I was a relative she wasn't allowed this time. When the interview came around, I went in and did my best. I sat up straight, I answered all their questions the best I could. I had hoped that my past performance would also count in my favor. But when the decision was in, I learned I wasn't going to get the job. One shift supervisor liked me and voted yes, but the other supervisor and the department supervisor said 'no'. That's when I learned that the department supervisor didn't like my mom and was probably taking it out on me. The big boss liked my mom very much and for some reason that annoyed the department supervisor. She made up some bullshit excuse and said she didn't think I was ready for the position. The big boss called me into his office and said he really, really wanted to promote me but couldn't unless all 3 agreed. Since the department supervisor said I wasn't 'ready' he suggested I attend some of the management seminars over at human resources. They had a bunch of them - teamwork building, communication skills building, sensitivity training, emergency training, etc.. I went to every single one of them that they offered, and in the mean time I continued to get good marks on my performance reviews and even earned some commendation certificates for going above and beyond the call on my job. My mom and several of the other supervisors took me under their wings and coached me on what I should say if they asked me this or that question for next time I got a chance to interview. I could not have been more ready.

The guy who got the last opening I interviewed for was hired from outside and I was always catching him sleeping on the job. Seriously. Every night I'd find him napping somewhere. I just kept my mouth shut and did my job. It's a casino, there's cameras pretty much everywhere - I figured he'd get caught soon enough without my help. The next position to come available was because one of the supervisors was transferring to a different department and big boss told me he expected me to reapply. I went in to the second interview feeling more confident than I was for the first one. I was certain I had this in the bag. I was wrong. This time both of the shift supervisors voted yes, but again the department supervisor voted no. The big boss called me into his office and delivered the bad news. He also expressed confusion as to why the department supervisor had voted no again. I pointed out that I had taken all the available course he suggested and that the other 2 interviewers thought I would be good for the job. I also pointed out that my performance records were good and I had received commendations for my work so far... maybe the department supervisor was harboring some sort of personal grudge against me? He refused to believe that could be the problem and advised me to keep applying and interviewing. I'd had enough though - it was painfully clear to me that the department supervisor was not going to let me have the job no matter what I said or did - and big boss was never going to overrule her decision. So I applied for a job in a different department - security.

When I went in for the security interview, I was offered 2 options. I could take a regular security gig OR I could have a job on what they called the power shift. The interviewer really sold the power shift. She said it paid more money, and you were off as soon as the job was done for the day. She said they started at 3am and usually finished by 9am - but you get paid for 8 hours a day whether you work 6 hours or 10. Weird hours don't bother me and more money is always good, so I went with the power shift job. I really wish I hadn't.

While all this was happening, my sweetie had to move out of the place he was staying at and I reluctantly let him move back in. The owner of the house they were renting had decided to sell it so they had to leave - an empty house is easier to sell.

The power shift job was to follow the hard count crew around and watch them empty the money from the machines. It was the most mind numbing job I've ever had. Worse yet was the guy that was assigned to 'mentor' me. I was growing to hate that word. He made my first mentor, the bitchy co-worker, look like Miss Congeniality. So you might be thinking, "what training could you possibly need if your job is watching other people?" and that's a valid question. I'll just say cash collection at a casino is a really big fucking deal.

Every movement is watched by the security cameras. You can't move the cart or the crew without alerting the people monitoring the cameras via the radio, and when you do notify them that you're moving - you move at breakneck speed. So you have a few guards moving the locked cart rapidly to the section you're going to work on and in tow are half a dozen hard count guys followed closely by another half dozen guards carrying plastic chains. Yes. Plastic chains.

You arrive at the section you're going to empty and pray that no one is playing those machines. Those prayers are unanswered because there's always someone playing those machines. Alert the camera guys you've arrived at your destination. Now you have to announce loudly to everyone that you've come to empty the machines and they need to step away for a moment while we do that and then they can resume playing once we've finished. And they're always pissed off because they're certain, CERTAIN beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you empty the machine it won't hit the jackpot and they cuss you out for messing with their game. (Note: slot machines don't work like that kids. It's a fucking computer. Emptying the cash does not reset it and if you win "big" you always get payed off by a slot attendant - not $2000 in nickles. Get it? Now get the fuck out off the way of the poor slob whose job it is to empty this thing!) Once you get the players off the machines you must now rope off the area - that's where the chains come in. The hard count guys work like a NASCAR pit crew: a few of them quickly pull out all the chairs and the guards with the chains use them as posts to rope off the area. While all this has been happening the guards have opened the locked cart and another hard count guy runs around unlocking the cash boxes on the machines. Other hard count guys grab empty cash boxes of the cart and put one on each machine while a few more start pulling the full ones and put them on the cart. Then the guys who put out the empties plug them into the machines and they all get locked back up. Chains are lifted, chairs are replaced and the cart is locked. Call the camera guys, tell them you're moving (about 3 rows down), rinse and repeat.

The guy mentoring me was supposed to be teaching me what section was where and how far down to run the chains, where we're going next... and just like the bitchy coworker I dealt with in housekeeping, he acted like I was an idiot if I spoke at all. And I mean this was right out of the gate. I had just been introduced to him and all I said was 'hello' and he looked at me like I just kicked a puppy. Up on the casino floor he was a hundred times worse - he yelled at me because I didn't know the floor layout (Hey moron, I didn't work on the casino floor before and it's YOUR JOB to teach me!), he threw the chains at me and publicly berated me. The supervisor was his buddy and did nothing about it. He was just as nasty to me as my 'mentor'. I'm not fucking stupid, I learn new shit pretty quickly for the most part - but not when I'm being barked at or having shit flung at me! I also learned that there were a few things the interviewer hadn't told me before I took the job. Like we only got one break per day (whether you worked 6 hours or 10) and it was 4 hours into the shift. You also had to get someone to come and take your post if you needed to use the bathroom but thanks to my asshole mentor and supervisors nasty attitudes it was like pulling teeth to get a 'regular' guard to come relieve you. Apparently in the past, other power shift guards had simply walked off the job which left the poor relief guard stranded there until the shift was over. Power shift had a hard time keeping officers...I can't imagine why...

I tolerated this the best I could while I was at work, but I would sob in my car all the way home. I needed this fucking job - needed it! - I had to suck it up and deal with it somehow. My sweetie would try to console me, but it didn't change the fact that I had to go back there every night. I wasn't getting any help within the department - I had complained about the attitudes of my supervisor and my mentor to the higher-ups and got nowhere. There was practically a revolving door on this crew and they were refusing to see that the problem just might be the hostility from certain crew members. I asked to be moved to a regular security job and was told no. They said I had to wait 6 months before I could transfer. I was screwed.

Then one day, something slightly miraculous happened. We were up on the floor and my bitchy mentor was just being himself - he barked at me and flung the chains at me, hitting me in the face with them. And he did it in view of several customers who where aghast at what they saw. I didn't know it at the time, but a few of them went and filed formal complaints with the casino on my behalf about what they'd seen. Despite having just been hit in the face I tried to keep it together, but by that time I was ready to just quit this miserable job and let the chips fall where they may. My eyes were tearing and I couldn't stop them. I tried really hard to hide the fact that I was crying and I failed miserably. One of the regular security supervisors saw this and alerted the day shift administrator who promptly came and took me off the floor. In the office I sat and sobbed my way through the whole story and told the admin that I was simply going to quit if I wasn't transferred immediately - I was unwilling to tolerate this abuse even one minute longer. To my surprise, he transferred me that very day! He told me to go take a break and report to the day shift supervisor when I was done. Unfortunately he neglected to inform the power shift supervisor of this development. The day shift supervisor assigned me to a repair technician - all I had to do was follow him around and radio our location to the camera guys. While I was following him around, suddenly here's the power shift supervisor and he's furious. He immediately lit into me right there on the casino floor - yelling and ranting at me in front of customers and employees alike. I tried calmly explaining that I was being transferred and no longer under his supervision - he didn't want to hear it. He just kept yelling and told me 'my ass better be back on that cart in 5 minutes' and stormed off. The tech was finished with his work and didn't need a guard anymore, so I was dismissed. As I said earlier, I was unwilling to do the power shift any longer and if I had to go back there I was going to walk. I looked for the admin I spoke to, but couldn't find him - so I left, feeling defeated.

As it turns out, the tech that witnessed that last verbal assault went directly to human resources and filed a complaint too and I was quickly switched to the night shift - regular security. What a difference! As much as I hated the power shift - I loved the regular security detail! I have no idea if either of the jerks got in any kind of trouble, but quite frankly I didn't care as long as I didn't have to work with them anymore. I was often assigned floor detail and that meant I got to wander freely patrolling the halls and taking radio calls. I kept so busy that the shift would just fly by...it was heaven for me.

At home, my mood was better too. My sweetie was for the most part behaving himself - he was still drinking, but he hadn't gone off on a binge for over a month. I could deal with it as long as he wasn't being an out of control wreck, and we fought with each other less. I liked my job and started to feel like things might work out ok after all...