Ok, so...tonight's post is about money and kids. The two of which cannot co-exist in the same space. I must advise you, this will be a rant! I'm up to here. I can't deal with this B-fucking-S any more! I swear, if I had a place to go, I'd run away from home!

So, to recap the last couple of years... Scoo is a large contributing factor to my financial demise to date. He has learned that he can guilt me/cajole me/exhaust me to the point where I just give him what he wants-MONEY. He's drunk at least once a week, he hasn't worked in about two years, he lays in bed usually till 1 or 2 in the afternoon, wont do a friggin thing unless a)it fucking suits him or b) I bitch at him long enough that he gets tired of hearing me bitch. He is 22 years old and JUST got a job...where he'll be "lovin' it."  SERIOUSLY!!!!!!????????

So, when he wanted a car, he whined/cajoled/exhausted me into co-signing. What an idiot I was (am). He totaled it. Drove it through a house. His story was (and he stands by it to this day) that he was going up and down a street looking for a girl's house...he knew he was on the right block, but couldn't find the house. He was on the phone with her..she says "just stop at the stop sign. I'll come get you." He stops. Black pickup pulls up. He turns to get out of the way, but the truck turns too. He turns again. The truck turns again. It's on. The truck was chasing him, slowing and backing off, then speeding up to almost hit him. He gets to a little 'jog' in the road, as he begins to negotiate it, the truck hits him, he loses control, goes into the house. Truck leaves. Phantom vehicle hit and run. Oh, and I failed to mention that this occurred at 2:30 am!!!!!

I get the call, freak the fuck out, race to the scene....now, there WAS damage to the rear of his car, matching the story he gave...the police bought the story. The car was a goner. Within two days, he was in another car...and not just ANY car...he was in a VERY nice Acura MDX. The car he totaled was a VERY nice Cadillac!!!!!  Both of them nicer than anything I've ever owned!!!!!  So, now I'm still co-signer....he's working...full time....every single pay day it's a friggin knock down/drag out fight to get him to fork over his car payment or his insurance (yes, I was an idiot again and carried him on my policy) all he had to do was pay his share!!! FUCK!!!!

So, THAT vehicle was totaled by ANOTHER phantom vehicle. I think he had a car load of little twits and they were friggin around...he lost control and hit a parked car. Insurance didn't pay off the loan under GAP so I ended up paying over $4 Gs for what was left on the loan.

Since then, I wasn't going down that road again! No more cars on my dime!! But, he just kept on sucking me dry...beer, cigarettes, haircuts and eye brow waxes...(he's a metro-sexual for sure!), pay-per-views, dinner out with his buddies, lunch out with his buddies... this, that and the other!!!! I used to keep a book where every time money was lent and borrowed, it was written down in The Book. Last tolled, he was up to $20 Gs. Yup, you read that right. I quit keeping track. I knew it wasn't going to do me any good!

I get so friggin exasperated with his ass!!! But then, the little bastard will do something sweet...talk like he loves me (not my money), take me somewhere I ask him to (like to the store) and my damn heart just melts. DAMMIT!!!! I'm here to tell you that when I am old and decrepit, that little son of a bitch better bring me a bag of caramel cremes and a bottle of Pepsi every friggin day!! And he probably will..just to piss me off!!!!!

Ok, well, that's out of my system now...and by 'out' I mean, my adrenaline levels have almost returned to normal.  He starts his job on Tuesday. Is it Tuesday yet?

Wait....What?

In the interest of time and space (and meaning), I won't start at the 'beginning' as I normally would. Normally, I would start by telling you about my early childhood...but I've discovered that most 'normal' people get pissed about that kinda stuff. So, instead, I'll just tell you as I go along. No big intro.

I should, however, start with a caveat: this is MY blog..if you dont like something here, go away. You came here by choice, you can come and go as you please. You are welcome here but not if you're going to be all negative and shit. I say whatever comes to mind here, whatever letter arrangements I need to use to express myself the way I want to are my choice. The flip side of that is that you will NEVER have to wonder what I'm thinking, if I'm pissed, if I spent the day crying or cussing or sleeping....you will know it without having to read between the lines. 

The purpose of this blog is to share my life experiences, my story, my traumas, my bullshit, in an effort to help YOU deal with whatever you are facing or may face in the future. I hope that my open and frank manner will help you. I hope my willingness to lay bare the ugliness that is my life will help you to see how I came to the place in my life where I am qualified to be a Life Coach. I hope that you will feel comfortable with me enough to contact me should you want to start some coaching sessions. 

I want to introduce you to some of the people and players you will meet here. Names are changed to protect the innocent...or guilty...or just anyone else to keep them from bitching at me for using their real names. They are: 

• "Number 6"-this is a guy who I will refer to as my brother on occasion...he's not really my brother by blood, rather by choice;
• Tia-this is my oldest daughter, who as of right now is 28, fairly recently married and mother of a 1 y/o little boy. 
• Tommy Hilfiger-this is Tia's husband.
• G-Baby-This is Tia's and Tommy Hilfiger's son. He is 1.
• Miss Pea-this is my middle child and youngest daughter, who as of right now is 24, married and mother of a 6 year old girl and 3 year old boy. 
• Mr. Heart Attack-this is Miss Pea's husband. 
• Little Miss Pistol-this is Miss Pea's and Mr. Heart Attack's oldest. She is 6. 
• Ju G (pronounced Jew-Gee)-this is Miss Pea's and Mr. Heart Attack's youngest. He is 3.
• Scoo-this is my youngest and only son. He is 22 right now, not married, no children and living at home with me. 

Now...right now (4.25.13) I am 51 years old, unemployed and living in a house that the good ol' bank wants back. Well...sort of...I haven't made a mortgage payment in a while. (More about that later) and I included it when I filed bankruptcy last summer. They tried to auction it off, but no one bought it....and I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT....honest injun! One room of my house is stacked floor to ceiling, wall to wall with boxes of my stuff. There's a path through there to walk through the room, but even that would make a mountain goat think twice! I've begun to thin out my belongings...throwing or giving away clothes that dont fit etc...I've been packing here and there for quite some time now. I know that eventually someone will knock on the door...and I'll be much better off if I dont have to start from scratch to pack my entire house. 

This house is old and rickety, has a lot of fairly significant repair issues..but it's been the roof under which my Precious Ray of Sunshine and I raised our three off-spring and quite a few others that weren't 'ours'. A lot of love has been exchanged here. I was very emotionally attached to it for quite some time. in fact, I swore to my Precious Ray of Sunshine that they would "take me outta here feet first!" many, many times. That will not come to pass....at least I dont THINK so!     O_o    But, I held on to it long enough for my Precious Ray of Sunshine to breathe his last here...right here in the living room...in my arms..So, the heartless, soulless, sons-of-bitches at blah-bitty blah Bank can fuck off!  They can have this place...I need no...I DESERVE something SO much nicer!  Ok, there....got that outta my system. I'll fill in blanks when the time is right. 

I am also unemployed. As of January this year. After seven years with blah-bitty-blah company, fighting every step of the way with inept, stupid, unprepared, untrained, inexperienced and moronic managers who got the job because they were 'yes' men, I can't say I'm sorry. I CAN say I wish I still had the income, but it was almost like renewing the rental contract on my soul on a daily basis with Bealzebub himself; like being a hooker-selling what they want for what they were willing to pay for it; like..ok, well, I guess you get the picture. 

So, as I sit here before you now, I'm old, fat and tired; unemployed and homeless. Whoopie!!!!

FFS