Thursday night, my car all but died.  Friday morning, I was supposed to have a fix, but didn’t.  Friday afternoon, I was supposed to get picked up, but wasn’t.  Friday night, I was so stir crazy I couldn’t stand it. 

     Saturday morning, I was supposed to get a call to help with the car, but didn’t.  At 11AM, I decided, “Screw it, I’ll find someone with tools to help!”  And while he got the bolts out of from behind the exhaust manifold — and directly under the intake manifold — to change the thermostat, I removed and replaced the water pump.
     After all that, I started onto the process of body work where I hit the deer back in June…
     Now, the car is fixed.  As long as I leave the air conditioning on… which means, there’s obviously a temperature sending unit bad, since it’s not turning on the second radiator fan.
     I also managed to scald both my hands in process, get various cuts, and break the top of my right hand — it now has something akin to half a golf ball atop it, just like two months ago. 
     Only one word comes to mind: F#&$.

     And so, last night, stir crazy and exhausted, yet unable to sleep (two and a half months now), I went to walk around downtown.  At Market Square, I sat and reminisced about the days of old when Preservation Pub was Mercury Theater.  I thought about the Snakesnatch Lounge and all the other places that were there twelve-plus years ago.
     I thought about celebrating Pirate Susan’s birthday there in 2006, when she stood atop one of the benches near the door of Preservation Pub, arms outstretched, yelling, “I am an asshole bleacher!”

     But even more, I thought about the day the Wildcat and I went to Preservation Pub… QSL later… and that night… and that kinda did it for my mood, because I miss her more every day.

     A drink would’ve been in order, but I had to quit that after a few too many bad nights…

     Then I learned that last night, a friend of mine was sexually assaulted in her home by a “friend” of hers who she actually knew very little about.  Packed her kids in the car, drove them to a mutual friend to be watched and took her to the ER.  I prepped her a little beforehand about what was going to happen, having been through this with other friends I’ve known, and just pretty much tried to be there for her so she didn’t feel totally alone.
     Fortunately, the KPD investigator was really good, as was the crisis unit who performed her exams and tests.  They were pretty unbeatable, and I was out of the room most of the time — I didn’t need to be there the whole time, anyway, because it just makes me wanna kill someone that much more.

     She’s really young … and all I could think about the whole time was how bad I missed the Wildcat, how bad I missed the kids, how much they meant to me, and what I’d do to someone who tried something like that with any of them.

     Finally discharged, I took her to get some food after her battery of medication, fill another prescription and back to her place, where I stayed until her sister could get there.  I can handle the “crisis” portion calmly and capably, but for the rest… she’s gonna have a long road ahead.

     Sometimes, life is hard.

     And sometimes, other peoples’ are even harder.

     I am pissed.  Really PISSED.

     Alright, so I moved to this tiny, insignificant small town to be with a woman who I love more than live itself. 

     I still do.

     So, after moving to Hyden, KY and working for a sister company of Mary Breckinridge Hospital:

1. I have had someone try and charge me rent for the “closet” I lived in at $250 a month.
2. I have had the people I am supposed to be working with screw me in never giving me enough access to do my job.
3. I have had her family tell me to “drive away, and never come back again.”
4. I have had resistance after resistance when trying to train these people how to do things in such a way that it miht be helpful to both them AND the patients.
5. I have to put up with someone running aroudn town telling people I am beating the shit out of my Wildcat on a daily basis.
6. I have had my job being threatened by people who aren’t hospital emplyees, nor health providers, saying that I would be fired if I did not give them access to personal health records,  Thanks to Frank Baker and Connie Norris, the recipient of social security numbers, addresses, phone numbers, etc. of pateients without their knowlege.
7. I found out who kept giving Connie Norris access to the afforementioned records — John Hoskins, son of the esteemed womanizing-yet-prize-employee Norman Hoskins — and turned it in to my boss at the Clinics, Ben Peak.
8. I have been gossip[ped about that I beat my Wildcat on a daily basis.  (I took the joke, and said, “Goddan, I take a break on weekends!”)
9. I have been accused of criminal trespassing when going to see my family doctor.
10. I have been threatened of my life for showing up to pick up my personal belongings.  By the way, you assholes at MBH owe me EVERYTHING that was in that notebook case — not just a frew checks and paystubs.  You owe me what was under and on my desk, too, dickheads,  Severak thousand.  You ready?

     At some point, this fucking drama in Leslie County, Kentukcy has to stop.

     Even the Police Department, County Attorney’s Office, and even the Kentucky State Police have been embroiled in this mess.  FOR WHAT?  I HAVEN”T DONE ANYTHING WRONG!
     Leslie County pussies.
     You wanna use the Cops to do your dirty work, and eventually the police officers and judges are going to get sickand tired of your bullshit.  Get that, Randy?

     I have also been accused of endangering the life of My Wildcat.

     I love this woman with all my heart.

     I’ve lost my job, I’ve lost my things, I’ve lost my dignity, and for fucksakes —- WHAT FOR?

     Bullshit.

     And THAT is why I was so happy when Pizza Dave decided to push me for a change.

     He didn’t use the cops to do his dirty work.

     He was a MAN.

     It’s bad enough the people in that fucking town are lying, backstabbing pieces of shit.  I’d just hope they do it somewhere else. 

     I have a GHOST-clean record.  I do NOT need you assholes in that county trying to pull dirty tricks to use the Cops to do the dirty work you should have the BALLS to do yourself.

     And for my family, who I miss like mad, I love you.  I love every damn one of you.

     No matter what you think.

     As for MBH, they admitted to a hospital for a panic attack.  They fired me, without my knowlege, in the meantime.  Cancelled my insurance.

     Took my notebook.  Sure, it was a work notebook.  But the case contained:

1. My Glasses
2. My Contacts
3. My contact solution and case
4. My Stratitec card reader
5. My Stratictec USB hub
6. My copy of Windows VIsta Ultimate OEM (from Ebay)
7. My copy of Office Ultimate OEM (from Ebay)
8. My Intel Webcam Pro
9. My Corssover network cable
10. My 8′ Network Cable
11. My 25′ Network Cable
12. My USB Docking Station (Kingstong, I believe)
13. My personal notebook (a ring-bound notebook, black with copper spring)
14. Multiple business cards
15. Multiple post-it notes, some non-work related
16. A $50 Starbucks Gift Card
17. A couple sticks of 1GB DDR-400 Memory
18. A Sandisk Cruzer 8GB Titatnium with all my IMPORTANT stuff on it?
19. A couple of Lexar 512MB keys
20. A couple of Lexar 256MB keys
21. Multiple offbrand 64-256MB keys (at least 4)
22. My CD case full of Microsoft install disdks/

     Atop my desk?

1. An Intel Quad-Core 2.4 CPU, OEM
2. A Coolermaster CPU fan for the above
3. 2 BFG 8800 GTX PCI/E Video Cards
4. 4 Gigs of DDR2-1066 Memory
5. An ATI Video Card for a Dell Notebook
6. A large, silver N-Force Coffee Cup
7. 1 Cannister of Folgers Black Silk (given by a co-worker as a birthday prent)
8. A $15 Starbucks Gift Card (given by a co-worker)
9. Multiple businesss cards, post-it notes and personal items

     They did send me a box containing:

1. Ny glasses
2. My contacts (some)
3. My contact case
4. SOME of my expensse checks
5. SOME of my mail
6. The $15 Starbuck’s card

     Fuck Hyden, Kentucky,

     Theives,

     I have also been deprived of my personal belongings, having been threatened of my life, by one Alan Osborne, boyfriend of esteemed psychotic former landlord — and daughter of Mary Brechkinridge Hospital administrator, Connie Hubbard —- but, hey … None of that’s illegal in Leslie County, is it?

     You assholes stole my things.  You fired me illegally.  You haven’t given me paperwork one. 

     And you think that’s ok?

     And you call the cops when I come around trying to figure out what’s going on?

     Thanks, Randy North.

     Don’t you think they’ll get tired of that soon?

     I am clean.  Totally. 

     Bring it on, Asshat!  I never even HEARD you didn’t want me there til you called the COPS, asshat!  You think they enjoy wasting THEIR time on your bullshit?

     I love Ann, My Wildcat.  It’s not in me to abuse her like she always was.

     I did, however, break a wheel in trying to drive her back to the hospital we worked at during one of her panic attacks. 

     And if that’s cause for alarm.  Fuck Leslie County REAL hard.

     But it’s certainly not enough to embroil me in this caustic bullshit that seems to propagate from nothing.

     As for what went on between me and my Wildcat, she screamed.  I got scared.  I asked her to get out, and she wouldn’t.  I panicked.  I have panic attacks now.  Thanks, Leslie Country.  But I got her safely to a parking lot — safely after I hit a curb in trying to go where she wanted.  But I got her there because I couldn’t go where I wanted to — back to the hospital, where she wanted to be.
     I got admitted there against my will, where one Dr. Lauff, upon asking him for an apologiy called me a “fuckass” and told me he didn’t owe me “anything.”  Then I cussed him up one side and down the other — yet Leslie County says I attacked and cussed him and was being disrespectful?
     Fuck Leslie County.

     Fuck MBH.

     MBH fired me.  MBH fired my Wildcat.

     For shit that DIDN’T EVEN HAPPEN THERE.

     I love you, Ann. 

     I love you, Jerry, Steph and Dale.

     Fuck those people.

     We all deserve better.

     And, Mary-Mary, if you open your fucking mouth one more time, you’re inviting a slander suit, bitch.  I heard that today from someone else — Not good, deary.  We’ll both gang you in court.

      Just like you Leslie County people like it….

      In court, and legal …

      Like it isn’t.

      I miss you, Junior.  You could see the bullshit.  But I promised my Wildcat I’d I’d never put her against her family.   And I meant it.  You were a father to me where I never had one.

     When I received a chilling phone call from a sobbing friend asking for help last Saturday, it snapped me out of my funk a little.  She didn’t know where she was, and gave me clues.  “Past a craft store,” “There’s just a stop sign, no street sign,” “There’s no light and I can’t see anything,” “It says 1 Hall on the mailbox,” “They said I’m in Nicholasville,” “It’s a double wide on the corner,” “The guy’s name is somethingsomething,” and I made note of it, thinking I’d be able to look in the phone book, pick the address, look at a map and go right to her.

     I drove real fast, with Zacque riding shotgun.

     Onward to Nicholasville, Kentucky.

     “Please help me!  I don’t want to be here!  They won’t let me leave!” said the voice.  Shortly thereafter, there was a struggle.  A few moments later, the cell number she called from called back, and I answered to an insane woman hurling nothing but psychotic abuse.  Then a man… They hung up on me.
     There was no answer on the phone after that, and I drove faster.

     There was no such name in the phone book.  I was frantic.

     By 4:30AM, after driving every road in Jessamine County, I called 911 and told them what was going on to see if they could offer any assistance.

     At around 6AM, I met a Nicholasville police officer who took the incident very seriously.  While they gather the report during shift change, we were invited into the squad room and I detailed everything I’d heard so far.

     The officers took it very seriously, and set out to find her en masse.

     Finally, something hit in NCIC.

     “Sir, request permission to leave the county, sir!” said a young officer.
     “Permission granted!  I hope you find her!” replied his commanding officer.

     With Zacque and I following close behind, we made it to the residence at speeds just under 80mph.

     The officer made note of license plates, cars, and scouted the scene prior to entry.  With Zacque and I at the bottom of the steps and to the right, the officer standing top and left, he knocked.

     I was so relieved…

     There she was.

     Missing person found.

     And she was safe

     Upon leaving, the officer quickly made note of drugs and paraphernalia and said, “Ya know, that’s this county’s problem.”
     I shook his hand, and wanted out so quickly that I never got to thank them properly.

     And so, to the Kentucky’s Nicholasville Police Department, I salute you.

     You guys were professional, courteous, and incredibly efficient given the lack of information we had.  You did the jobs incredibly well, and I most humbly appreciate your assistance.