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.

     [ The following is angry.  If you don't like anger and angst, don't read it.  But it's shit like this that's a big part of my problem. ]

     I have no brother, either.

     After all that crap, mom coming in and trashing the place, breaking computers and beating on me because it’s “her” house (even though she lived in Indiana and I was in Powell keeping the place up and paying the fucking mortgage), my own Brother decides to turn on me.

     Check out this Audio clip.

     He’s pretty sedate on this one.  The subject matter is amazing, considering I didn’t write poetry.  And if I did, how the Hell would he get it?  That’s just bizarre. 
     I didn’t know he was even working at the time, but when I asked WTF he was on about, I was told he drove a dump truck.  And things fall out of those pretty frequently, and people call in pissed.  Me, I’m smart enough not to tailgate dump trucks and wouldn’t've called in anyway.  Besides, I was working too much to bother with bullshit like that.
     But hey, he was having “someone” come and evict me, even though I’m supposed to face “him.”  That’s sort of ironic, really … getting someone else to do the dirty work?  When the truth is, he came and put rubber cement in all the house locks, stuck nails under my car tires, and even had the audacity to come and let the air out of two of my tires while my car was parked at a client location!  Got him on camera and everything!
     And it’s amazing how he never thought that maybe I hang up when people who start cussing me out and hurling abuse from the time I pick up the phone.

     After the court case, there was this one…

     This is immediately after the Judge ripped him a new asshole for lying on the stand.

     But I wonder who I was gonna murder?

     Pretty cool!  Sounds like it make a kickass book, and I have a great name for a lead character!

     It’s kinda fitting that in October of last year, he got the same treatment outta Mom.  He gave her money for a loan he’d made, and Mommy Dearest never bothered to tell my Father.  She also tried to subvert his wife just like she did mine, and he called to whine. 
     All I had to say was, “See?”

     In March, he called me to tell me his daughter was in the hospital.  He didn’t say what hospital, what room, what town he was in, or anything pertinent.  He just bitched that I didn’t call or care.

     When I finally got hold of him a few weeks ago, all he could do was whine about all the things Mom was doing to him, since I wasn’t available as her target of choice.

     I told him to suck it up and quit whining.

     Just like he did me.

     Except, uh, I didn’t sound like an inbred, paranoid hick when I said it.

     I hope to never hear from Asshat, Jr. again.

     [ The following is angry.  If you don't like anger and angst, don't read it.  But it's shit like this that's a big part of my problem. ]

     Back in 1999, I had some pretty bad misfortune fall on me in a foreign country.  I met a woman.  I liked her.  She was hot.  She was fun.  Everything else in my life was turning sour in that damn country.  In February of 2000, I moved in with her, and she helped me out for a few months while I got everything back on track.
     I met and loved her family.  We were all supportive of one another.

     By June, things started getting weird.  She started getting emotional.  By July, she was completely bonkers.  In August, she finally went to the doctor.  In September, she had surgery.  I felt so bad for her.  And on the 29th, I married her.

     Things got better.

     We both had good jobs and were able to do pretty much whatever we wanted.

     We took out an insured loan of $27,000 so we could have a bit more cash onhand.  With the insurance, it became a $30K loan.  We needed a refrigerator, which was around $8,000 in that shitty country.  We could have afforded it in a couple months, but needed it then.  And then, for some reason, I wanted her to meet my family.  We took a very, very long trip through the United States and Canada and back to the Hell country we lived.

     In May of 2001, we moved to a new house.  And that’s when the trouble started.

     She became distant and quiet, and completely and totally demanding.  She was angry at me 24-7.  I didn’t know what to do. 

     After watching 9-11 not happen on local television, hearing radio personalities go on about how we deserved it, getting a ration of shit for trying to buy cigarettes on multiple occasions and having a Prime Minister ensure her country that “The events in the United States have no influence on New Zealand,” I decided I needed to be back in the United States.  
     It was a long process.  In February, I had to beat the shit out of a Consulate guard just to get in and keep my appointment.  Everything kept getting worse.
     I lost my job in February because my sorry-ass South African bosses didn’t want to pay salary or bonus or wage increases or anything else, and decided that in order to reduce costs, they’d claim that I was stealing intellectual property.  A real joke, being that I was Senior Developer — the only developer — for that company.  
     Fortunately, our $30K loan was paid down to just over $8,000, and being insured and my just having lost my job, that was pretty well done.  The policy clearly stated that they would pay my payments for a full year in the event that I got divorced or lost my job.  It didn’t have all the fun stipulations that most do, and I’d clearly lost my job.  However, they were unhelpful.  They ignored the insurance policy and started threatening and cussing me out.
     I told them to stuff it.  It was their $8,000 to pay, and I had a signed contract to prove it.

     Finally, in June of 2002, we made it back.

     We lived in DC then.  I had a pretty cushy Government job and she was teaching school at a prestigious-yet-shitty institution who didn’t pay their staff even half of what their public school counterparts made.  It was disgraceful.
     Still, my wife was distant, angry and demanding.

     I had a six-figure job offer in Knoxville, my hometown.  And so, in June of 2004, we moved back here.  My six-figure job was a lie.  Everything was.  I started another business and kept us afloat until just after Christmas of 2005.
     Things had stayed the same between us.  She was distant, angry, demanding.  There was no budgeting with her.  On top of that, she took a part-time job working full-time hours as a substitute teacher at a school, and the school board would make no exceptions for her foreign experience.  She wouldn’t get her stuff together to get a full teacher’s license, and by this time, she wouldn’t drive anywhere.  My responsbility to drive her around, to and from work, and I’m trying to work, but dear God, would she take the bus?
     Eventually, she wouldn’t leave the house anymore… just sat there barking out orders from the couch, and spending every single dime we had if she went out with my mother.

     They were best of friends.

     In January of 2006, I felt so much pressure that I was about to kill myself.  I told her… and she responded with 847 more reasons why I should go ahead.

     I pulled myself together.  I told that I wanted a divorce and that I wanted her to get out.

     Back to New Zealand for her, a one way ticket.  Instead of feeling pain immediately, I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders.  Not long after, the depression hit.  If I couldn’t keep my promises to her, what good was I?

     By April and May, it was pretty obvious that talking to her was like talking to a wall.  I stopped for a long time.  I sent her final divorce papers in June, and she never bothered to sign them.  She said she never received them.
     In July, the National Bank of New Zealand started letting her have it good and hard claiming that we owed them $23K.  I sent her the papers for the loan, along with previous balance statements.  Open and shut, right?
     By then, I was well into a major depression.

     In November, she came back to pick up some of her things.  I thought we could at least part as friends.  She apologized for the way she treated me, and that was good enough for me.  I spent every dime I had making sure she was comfortable on the trip, as Mommy Dearest dropped her on me and took off.  She signed the divorce papers before we left Knoxville.
     For a short time, I thought we talked about reconciliation, but apparently I was incorrect, as was blatently pointed out.  I filed the papers, but the property settlement was kicked out.  I sent her an ammended property settlement to sign, and she never bothered to respond to it or the emails I sent her.
     I mailed back more of her things in 2007, all to no avail.

     Eventually, her phone was disconnected.  All of her mail was returned.

     In January of 2008, I filed another divorce, having been two years (which showed abandonment) hoping that I could finally get on with my life.  The Wildcat and I had plans.

     In March of 2008, she finally responded … that I owed her $27,000.

     After supporting her for four years and having her spend every single dime of every single paycheck, regardless that we had to pay rent or insurance or… Yeah, stress, when you have to magically pull money out of your ass for four years because your wife is too lazy to get off her butt, get her license and actually make a decent wage for a change.

     But oh, I owe her $27K.  And I still don’t have a divorce.

     Yeah, I’m still married.

     And while she’s sitting around in New Zealand making $50K a year — about fucking time — I owe her $27K when I made us far more than that for six years solid… And me, I can’t afford to pay attention.

     Right this second, I’m thinking that since we’re still married, maybe I should just move back to New Zealand and move in with her.  I mean, what could she do about it?  I mean, she is my wife, isn’t she?

     So seriously, Mommy Dearest’s bestest little buddy — GET OVER IT AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!

     [ The following is angry.  If you don't like anger and angst, don't read it.  But it's shit like this that's a big part of my problem. ]

     When I was three years old, some pretty bad things happened to me.  When I told my dear, sweet, innocent mother about those things, she beat the living crap out of me for it, and called me a liar.  So, at three years old, she took a wide, thick leather belt and wailed on me with it until my legs were bloody.  She did it a million times — wherever and whenever she could.  Legs, ass, arms, torso, face … you name it.  And it wasn’t just the belt.  It was anything she could pick up.

     Whenever anyone asked what happened to my legs, she’d always say that I got eaten up by mosquitos, and had scratched myself to death.  When they asked about the stripes which went most of the way around my arms (lengths of belt tend to wrap unless doubled, and she never did), she’d tell them that I was tying things around my arms, and to not let me do that.  A blow to the head, “Oh, he fell off the swing.”  A bloody nose, “Oh, he’s prone to nosebleeds.”
     I don’t scratch my bites.  Wrapping things around my arms is laughable.  I’m only clumsy when drunk.  And I’ve only had two nosebleeds in my life outside of the ones she gave me because she had no self control.

     Nobody ever bothered to think or even to try and stop it. 

     In public, she was so coy.  So convincing, calm, victimized.  There were facades to keep up, you see.  She had to appear to be financially secure, while spending every dime they both made.  And she never let my father live down the fact that she made more money than him.

     And so, I wish him a Belated, yet Happy, Father’s day.

     Happy Father’s day to my father, who watched the Devil he married beat me my entire life.  Happy Father’s day to the man who, just last year, let her come and trash my house and start breaking computers and beating me with a plastic bethroom shelf.  Happy Fathers day to the man who, when I got a restraining order against his wife, he allowed her to have me evicted, thus destroying my credit regardless of the fact that the judgement said I didn’t owe her a dime.  Happy Father’s day, to the man who got up in court and perjured himself repeatedly during the restraining order hearing, so much so that the Judge saw right through the inconsistent bullshit of his, his Devil wife and his son.  Happy Father’s day, to the man who’s whining to everyone in the world about how it’s tearing him up that he doesn’t hear from his son, and the day that I finally call, all he can do is bitch and call me a liar.

     Ultimately, it is you, Father, who allowed that situation to continue. 

     It was you, Father, who came to my house threatening me to drop the Order of Protection that I needed.

     It was you, Father, who made up your story in court.

     It was you, Father, who didn’t call me or return any e-mails.

     And it was you, Father, who turned on me — yet again.

     And it was you, Father, who perpetrated and condoned her lies and condemnation — “See?  He’s a liar, just like he was when he was three years old!” — even when you knew better.

     You, Father, are why I never had a family.

     I never deserved any of that, Father.

     And unlike you, Father, I could never do to people that I care about what you both did to me.

     So, to the biggest liar of them all, and the perfect role model of a crying, useless husband, Happy Father’s Day!

     Are you Happy now, Mr. Good Christian Man?

     I certainly hope so.

     The opposite Love is not Hate. 

     It’s Apathy.

     Something you’ve always had plenty of.

     I have no Father.

     The last two weeks have been trying and terrifying.

     I’ve realized something, too.  The Wildcat and I hate drama so much that we’ll ignore it until everything falls down into a catastrophic event.  At that point, we both panic.  Everything becomes a thousand times worse.

     For my part, I’ve been in panic mode for a week and a half.  But Saturday night, when she called and asked for help, I immediately snapped out of it.  There was no question what had to be done.  The only thing that mattered to me was that she was safe, and I was gonna make damn sure of that, regardless of threats or obstacles.

     I held her all day and night, and I wish that we’d had more time together.

     A few months ago, we had a dream together.  It was a dream where the last twenty-three years had never happened.  Instead, we’d met, we’d fallen in love and we’d had three wonderful kids, and finally ended up exactly where we were that night.  It was powerful, and it’s something I’ve held onto.
     Spending more and more time with those three, I realized that I do claim them as my own, and nobody who knows us would doubt it for a second.  I love them.  And I love my Wildcat for finally giving me the family that I’ve never had.

     Anyone who thinks that I am not committed 150% to my family is a fool.

     Anyone who doubts that I don’t love them more than anything in the world is a damn fool.

     Again, I ask for prayers.  And this time, I ask for all of us.

     There are a lot of problems in my life right now.  I am, at present, unable to go to work, to my home, to be around the people who I truly care about.
     That last one, that’s the crux.

     I don’t want people to pray for me.  There are more important things in this life than me.  Besides, for my part, I have some support.

     For a while now, my Wildcat has been hurting.  Many years of hurt, from what I know.  I love this woman, and the family she has given me, more than anything in this world.  I’d love to hold her, pull her close, stroke her hair and tell her it’s all going to be okay — like I always do.  I would do anything in my power, give anything that I was able, to help her.
     But it’s beyond my help now.

     And I will keep wearing this ring.

     Now, it is time to leave it in God’s hands.

     I want everyone who reads this to pray her.

     Pray that she’s okay.

     Please.

     There are three things in my life more important to me than anything else in this world.  All three things are intertwined throughout each other.  Sometimes, it’s hard to admit how much some things can mean to you.  But I’m gonna try.

     First, there’s my Wildcat, the single, most important thing, and the most important person, in my life.  If I had no one else in the world, I’d need her.  If I had everything else in the world, I’d need her to share it with.
     It’s not enough to say that I Love this women with every fiber of my being.  In fact, I would kill and die for this woman.  Ultimately, she trumps everything else in this mortal coil.  It’s no small matter that If I’m down, she can cheer me up with a look.  Although, the flipside is also true: she crush me just as easily.
     But I need that.  And I need her.

     The kids are important to me.  They’re all three over eighteen, growing-but-not-grown (though they’d surely argue that).  They fall somewhere between the Wildcat and I to varying degrees, and at times, it’s scary how much we’re alike.  With the exception of the eldest who I’ve only met a few times, we’re all so similar that that they truly seem like they’re ours together.
     I wouldn’t have them if it weren’t for her.  They’ve proven to me what family really is.
     I need that.  I need them.

     The last important thing to me can be construed as selfish.

     I have a strong desire to know that something in my life matters, that something I do will matter.
     You see, I’ve done a lot in my life.  I realized a couple of years ago that I’ve had a tremendous life, in fact, having done everything I ever set out to do and having been everywhere I ever wanted to go.  It was never enough until I met my Wildcat, who showed me the true meaning of Love and what Family is all about.
     You see, it’s important to me to have a positive effect on these four people.  They are my life blood.  They mean more to me than anything else in this world.  They matter.  Their happiness matters.  Their stability matters.  They are the something in my life that matters.
     And I need that.  I need them.

     There are naysayers in my life who can’t understand that.  Perhaps their family relationships are so fragmented and sinuous that they can’t grasp the concept.  Perhaps they’re so disconnected from humanity that they’re incapable of caring about anyone else.  Or, perhaps they’ve never known what Love is.
     I can only hope that they might understand one day.

     The fact remains that there is nothing more important to me than this family.  They have to come first regardless of consequence.  They matter, and will always matter, above everything else. 

     They are my family.

     It is thoughts and prayers for them that get me through.

     For them, I can still be Superman.

     I hope…

     Ya know, I’ve gone through my life trying to be conscientous, going out of my way to do things for other people, and trying to do the right thing.  Sure, like everyone else, I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and really screwed some things up — but I always tried to avoid doing things out of malice and anger.  Sometimes it could not be helped, and I picked myself up and carried on, made amends where they were possible, and really made an effort when I couldn’t.
     When an altercation happens, I try not embarrass or demean people who I care about — or cared about — further by talking a whole bunch of bullshit to everyone and their brother that I’ll have to go back and apologize for later.  Feelings get hurt too easily, and you embarrass yourself in the process if you’ve misrepresented the situation and had to go back on it.

     It is for that reason, and that reason alone, that I tend to keep a lot of the “specifics” of situations to myself.  And sure, I’ve screwed that up a few times, but all in all, I live my life simply, and with a clear conscience.

     And when it so happens that someone knows me pretty well, they’re able to manipulate that part of my character in order to make others believe that I’m some sort of Monster.  It takes a truly sick mind to use that sort of thing to say, “Oh, look, he’s not denying it!  I told you it was true!”
     And it takes a special sort of stupid to believe it, to blindly follow a tale which makes absolutely no sense, and is such a departure from the truth that it wouldn’t even be believable in a made-for-Lifetime-TV movie.

     I am not a Monster.  I have never done anything but try and help certain people, and nearly every time, it has turned out badly.  Other times, I have simply done nothing, which for some people is the absolutely worst thing I could have possibly done.
     But when someone wants to bitch and argue and start a whole bunch of crap, I usually tend to retreat and wait for it to blow over.  And, apparently, this a bad thing, too.

     I am probably going to start blogging about this crap, because it’s been a pain in my ass my entire life, and I’ve absolutely had it with the whole lot.

     And let there be no confusion from any self-victimized ‘tards with delusions of grandeur that I’m “screwing” with them all the time when I’m not: I’m not talking about any bloggers, wives, girlfriends, friends, employees or anyone else except except one very specific specific group.  I don’t care about that drama, because as hard of some of that stuff was to go through at the time, it doesn’t matter, it’s not my drama and I have no emotional attachment to it.  When it’s over, I walk away, done.

     No … I’m talking about Family.

     Two extremely large families, actually, with a literal cast of thousands.

     The ones that I share DNA with.  Or don’t, considering some of the stories.  *rolls eyes*

     It’s time to set the record straight once and for all.

     What started this?

     For the last three weeks, several of them have called me asking for my help.  They need my help and advice, or my expertise.  Nevermind that I’ve helped them my entire life, and been nothing but shit on for it in the absolute worst ways.
     They re-use their vicious lies.  Things that everyone knew was a lie twenty years ago suddenly come back into play as evidence of the new improved lie.  As a nasty little mob, they absolutely villify the object of their hatred with the most vile and disgusting slanders imaginable, never asking my side of the story and having no absolutely no regard for the verifiable truth of the situation.

     And now, after a full year of giving me the silent treatment and stabbing me in the back with their vicious lies, they call me for my help, advice and expertise?  Without so much as an apology?

     Yeah, I’m pissed, and when I calm down, I might change my mind about blogging anything more specific.  But right now, I have five instances in Draft where they’ve done some heinous crap, and a sixth which ties all five together into the biggest, steaming pile of poo I can think of — the kind of absolute bullshit that can ruin a person’s life.

     And I’m going to excercise the self-control they never had and keep it to myself until I calm down.

     But at the same time … this stuff’s been eating away at me for far too long.  They’ve tried to instill their spiteful, vengeful, righteous hatred into me my entire life, and I’ve resisted.  It’s taken a serious toll on me, both physically and mentally.
     I wear my heart on my sleeve.  Everyone around me can see when I get stressed and preoccupied — “Mark, what’s wrong?” and I’ve replied with “Ahhh, nothing….” or blown some stupid pet peeve out of proportion — and I’m honestly beggining to think that I’m losing the battle.

     Maybe it’s time to really set it straight once and for all … 

     …. with names, with witnesses …

     With Verifiable Proof…

     And what will they do when that God they claim to follow won’t help them?  Why should He keep them out of the mess they’ve made?

     Or am I supposed to sit here and do the right thing again and ignore it until the next time, when it will undoubtedly be worse?

     Mmhmm … Decisions, decisions.

     Maybe I should flip a coin…

     Maybe twice …

     Best two outta three …

     Hrm …

     Yeah, this might take a friggin’ book…

     And the funny thing is — I’ll be calm in an hour.

     It’s been a crazy year since last Thanksgiving.  Certainly, an abnormal and unusual amount of “bad stuff” far beyond my control has transpired, as well as a ridiculous amount from my own poor choices.  If I were to sit and reflect on it all, I’d probably end up depressed.

     But…

     Defeats made me savor victories.  Losses made me appreciate what I gained.  Every tear made me laugh even harder.
     For that, I’m thankful.

     Nearly every time I was in need, someone else had it worse.  I did what I could when I could, and the favors were returned in kind.
     For those, I’m thankful.

     The short list of people I consider “family” has grown tremendously longer.  For every loss, three were gained.  Those who were there already have gotten a whole lot closer.  
     For them, I’m thankful.

     As I sit here this morning, anticipating a huge dinner with my Wildcat and her family, I can’t help but reflect that if even one thing had happened differently, I wouldn’t have ended up here.
     For us, I’m thankful.

(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTvDDEB5aQQ)

     Sometimes, things happen for a reason.  That’s why it’s important to count your blessings and be thankful for silver linings.

     To all my friends, to all my family, and all of my friends who are family, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

For those of you that don’t know, Ms. Pat (Big T’s mom) had a severe brain aneurysm on our wedding day. Then brain surgery 2 days later on October 1st. On October 5th, they called in the family with the grim news that they (the doctors and such) gave her less than a 50% chance of making it. She was placed on a ventilator and was being fed by tubes, basically surviving on life support. There wasn’t much in the way of response at all. The awesome thing is, nobody gave up hope.

Now, on with the good stuff…

The home team scored one this weekend when Tony’s mom got to come home both Saturday and Sunday on a “day-pass.”

It works like this… they don’t do any of the therapy sessions on the weekends, so they send her home to break her back in slowly to life with husband and puppy. They start the time clock around 10AM (I think) and she’s allowed to be at home all day! Yay!

Only catch is, the rules and regs state the she has to be back at Patricia Neal by 9:00 PM. No exceptions, no excuses. If she didn’t show back up by precisely 9PM, they send the dogs and lynch mob out to hunt her down and bring her back for multiple lashings with a wet noodle.

Anyway, me and Big T went up to see her while she was in her own surroundings, eating her own home cooked food. I don’t give a shit what they say, there is no place like home to make one snap back to theirself.

When we got there, Big T told him Mom the joke of the day. Which made her cackle like a hen.

So, the women folk were sitting around the kitchen table as women folk commonly do and the men folk were congregated in the livingroom around the t.v., farting, burping and scratching their balls as men frequently do.

The phone rang and Ms. Pat answered it. It was T’s neice Christine. Ms. Pat is back to her self. She decided to tell T’s joke.

“Christine, honey, don’t buy a Butterball Turkey this year. They’ve recalled ‘em. Yah, they’ve been recalled. They forgot to butter the turkey balls.”

In all seriousness, she’s come so far in the last six weeks that they are actually kicking her loose today.

So, here’s to Ms. Pat, getting out to enjoy the drama and stress of the holiday season!!! I honestly couldn’t think of anything that sums up the Thanksgiving holiday, like the near loss of a loved one turned upside-down by an obvious miracle.

Give thanks, Kids. You never realize how important your family is to you until an eye-opening asskicker happens.