Saturday, May 19, 2007
Is there anything more infuriating than a computer crash before you've saved a novel of a post??
Short business update: further correspondence with Butthead Leasing Guy, Chuck The Schmuck, reveals a space is available that is 2500 sq. ft. He implied I couldn't possibly be interested in it. When I emailed again saying, "Oh yes I am, which space is it?" I got an auto-reply saying he'd be out of the office for the next 10 days. I forwarded my message to his assistant asking that he be given my message so I could get more info sooner, but have not heard back from anyone. It's like all the freaking planets have to be in perfect alignment before anyone will ANSWER ME!!
So on to personal stuff. Rusty's uncle died. Rusty wasn't close to Uncle Stubb, but his grandparents are in their 80's and not in good health. He's been very concerned about them. There's been much family drama over the circumstances of his death and the fate of his things, with Big Brother Kit enjoying his role as Master of All Information. Already stressed over other things, Rusty hasn't been handling it well. People not answering phones, people not answering questions, it was all getting very, very tiring.
No one could afford a full-out funeral, so there was a memorial service instead. I'm just the by-stander in this situation, so I kept waiting to either be told what to do, or to have my questions answered, and since Kit wasn't forthcoming, and Rusty was pissed at everyone, there were no answers. The service was scheduled at Grandpa's Mason Lodge Friday at 7pm. This is, quite literally, the ONLY piece of information that I had. I don't know where this place is. I don't know what sort of place this is. I don't know what the dress code is. I don't know if there will be food. I don't know who's going to be there, I don't know who is coming with us. I don't know where we'll be staying. Every question I ask is greeted with more irritation. Rather than kicking Rusty's ass, I just back off and wait for him to take care of it. As luck would have it, I was not scheduled to work on Friday, so I didn't have to ask off for work. I was scheduled on Saturday at noon, though, and since nothing was said to me, I had to assume that we would be returning home after the service rather than spending the night there. Thursday rolls around and I still have no answers. Rusty picks a fight by snapping at us left and right. I made the mistake of asking questions again, and it became clear that he had completely different expectations than I had, and some adjustments in plans were needed. He had assumed that the kids would be coming with us, and that we would be spending the night at Kit's. I had assumed we'd drop the kids with their dad first, and we'd be returning that night so I could get to work on Saturday. He informed me that he had WANTED to spend the night, but was terribly put out by having to get up early to drive me back in time to get to work. This isn't rocket science--tell me what you want to do, and I'll make all the necessary arrangements. Don't tell me, and I'll have to make those decisions and preparations without your input. Turns out he was also mad because he didn't want to make any of these decisions. Well who does?? I sure as hell didn't, but it's not my family. But somebody had to, or we'd just stay home. So I laid out all of the options for him. He was quite contentious about it, as if I were trying to pick a fight by pointing out that my children and work schedule were logistical obstacles that had to be dealt with before we actually got in the car and left. It was as if he believed that making any plans ahead of time would doom him to eternal hellfire and brimstone.
Eventually, we worked it out. When we went to bed at midnight, we had decided to take both the kids and the dog, leave the dog at Kit's house, drop the kids with their dad AFTER the serivce, and spend the night at Kit's, and I'd ask off work so we didn't have to rush back.
I got up at 7, got the kids ready for school, then started making the final plans. I called around and found someone to take my Saturday shift. I drove to 2 different stores looking for dress clothes for the kids, since they're outgrowing everything they own at the moment, came home and had lunch, and waited for him to wake up. The service is at 7pm, and while I have no idea WHERE it is exactly, I do know that it's at least a 2 hour drive. 1pm comes and goes. 2pm comes and goes. 3pm, and he's still asleep. Yes, that's 14 hours. The kids get home shortly after 3 and the commotion from the dog's excitement gets Rusty out of bed. Now he's pissed because he hadn't intended to sleep that late. We rush to get ready so we can get out of town and miss the worst of rush hour. We still don't know the dress code. He tries on several outfits, and is extremely agitated by his weight gain. I convince him to go with the suit (he calls it his "Fat" suit, since it fit him in his 'bigger days'). He was sure he'd be overdressed and his Uncle Jackass would make fun of him, 'Har har, why'd you wear a SUIT??' "Just tell him you did it out of respect. Or maybe because you're not a freaking HILLBILLY." In the midst of the chaos, I grab my overnight bag and begin throwing in necessities. He looks at me like I've just vomitted on his shoes. "What are you doing??" Huh? "Packing."
Of course, since he must've dreamt a conversation about it, I should have known that he had decided NOT to spend the night. OK, I'll begin moving the dog's crate so we can block him in the kitchen for the evening. He finally gets an answer from Kit, who reveals that his children will be staying with their other grandparents, so now MY kids will need to be dropped off with their dad. "Kids, forget the dress clothes I laid out for you." [Too late, they were too excited about having new clothes. They will wear them for 3 days straight at their dad's and they'll come back ragged and ripped up.] I call Shitfoot, who is miraculously flexible about the whole thing and we agree on a new meeting place that is the least inconvenient for both of us, since this will require driving through some of the worst traffic areas during rush hour.
All Righty. So now we're NOT spending the night, the dog's staying home, and the kids are going with dad. It's so simple, why was I nagging him about it all week? Oh yes, and now I have Saturday off since I have someone covering my shift. Nevermind the money I'll lose, I have a DAY OFF!! Whoopie!!
I was determined not to give in to the urge to turn into a raving lunatic--had I thought of it, I would have raided the medicine cabinet for a Valium or 2. But the drive helped both of us calm down. We listened to music and the kids napped, and all was well. We got to their dad on time with minimal frustration and no road rage, and we got to the service in plenty of time to make small talk with people he barely remembered.
Now, the service. The serivce was held at the Mason Lodge in a teeeny tiny town on the Kentucky side of the Ohio river. I was struck by the similarity of this experience to the movie "Elizabethtown"--which, not coincidentally, is just a few miles east of where we were. Stubb's daughter had made a nice little scrapbook as a memorial to him. The pictures really showed what a colorful man he was. He was a big, hairy back-woods looking kind of guy, and in every picture he was smiling--either up to no good or working on something. Lots of pictures holding babies and tossing kids in the air. A few with his brothers at various ages. I loved the candid ones the best: there's one of him with a slab of meat--I can only assume it was venison and he'd been hunting... another tickling Rusty's mom; one of him sitting in his truck lighting a cigarette. I shook hands with dozens of people--it was impossible to keep track of who was related to whom and how. Grandma and Grandpa were putting on the brave face for everyone, and the second the minister finished his prayer and asked if anyone else had anything to say, Grandpa stood up and thanked everyone for coming, and declared that his back was killing him and Mikey was taking him home. Rusty's step-mother was probably high on something because she never shut up from the moment she walked in to the moment she left (ha, Kit had driven her, so he was saddled with her all night). I feel guilty for taking advantage, but she revealed to me that Stubb hadn't died under any 'mysterious illness' circumstances at all, as Kit had allowed Rusty to think. No, Stubb (real name David, BTW) had a serious drinking problem and had drunk himself to death. And Kit and Uncle Jackass's trips to Stubb's house to clean it out were actually out of embarassment of the condition it was in, not an attempt to plunder anything. Stubb, apparently, hadn't been taking care of himself or anything he owned since his common-law wife left him a year or so ago, and there was quite a LITERAL mess to clean up. Step-Mom is in a pretty pitiful state herself... she claims to have kicked her daughter out of the house, and her daughter is being hateful and won't believe her when she says that she's clean now, and hasn't touched 'a single thing since APRIL.' [note: it's May 18th] StepMom is incredulous that her daughter has the audacity to say the only way she'll believe StepMom is 'clean' is if she completes an "actual" in-patient rehab stay of at least 40 days. Well, StepMom has a LIFE, and she can't just take 40 days off to satisfy her daughter.
*sigh*
They really are a good group of people. Many of them are quite troubled, though, obviously. So all in all, I'm glad they live a safe distance away and we can limit our contact to visits that we initiate. Sadly, I expect Grandpa to pass soon. At 86, he was already in poor health and has a hard time getting around, but I suspect losing a 2nd son will be more than he can handle. Although when we stopped at their house to say goodbye before we left town, he had quite a twinkle in his eye for Grandma. He winked at her when he informed her, "Mom, I'm gonna need a bath before I get in bed." I see the libido runs in the family.
Short business update: further correspondence with Butthead Leasing Guy, Chuck The Schmuck, reveals a space is available that is 2500 sq. ft. He implied I couldn't possibly be interested in it. When I emailed again saying, "Oh yes I am, which space is it?" I got an auto-reply saying he'd be out of the office for the next 10 days. I forwarded my message to his assistant asking that he be given my message so I could get more info sooner, but have not heard back from anyone. It's like all the freaking planets have to be in perfect alignment before anyone will ANSWER ME!!
So on to personal stuff. Rusty's uncle died. Rusty wasn't close to Uncle Stubb, but his grandparents are in their 80's and not in good health. He's been very concerned about them. There's been much family drama over the circumstances of his death and the fate of his things, with Big Brother Kit enjoying his role as Master of All Information. Already stressed over other things, Rusty hasn't been handling it well. People not answering phones, people not answering questions, it was all getting very, very tiring.
No one could afford a full-out funeral, so there was a memorial service instead. I'm just the by-stander in this situation, so I kept waiting to either be told what to do, or to have my questions answered, and since Kit wasn't forthcoming, and Rusty was pissed at everyone, there were no answers. The service was scheduled at Grandpa's Mason Lodge Friday at 7pm. This is, quite literally, the ONLY piece of information that I had. I don't know where this place is. I don't know what sort of place this is. I don't know what the dress code is. I don't know if there will be food. I don't know who's going to be there, I don't know who is coming with us. I don't know where we'll be staying. Every question I ask is greeted with more irritation. Rather than kicking Rusty's ass, I just back off and wait for him to take care of it. As luck would have it, I was not scheduled to work on Friday, so I didn't have to ask off for work. I was scheduled on Saturday at noon, though, and since nothing was said to me, I had to assume that we would be returning home after the service rather than spending the night there. Thursday rolls around and I still have no answers. Rusty picks a fight by snapping at us left and right. I made the mistake of asking questions again, and it became clear that he had completely different expectations than I had, and some adjustments in plans were needed. He had assumed that the kids would be coming with us, and that we would be spending the night at Kit's. I had assumed we'd drop the kids with their dad first, and we'd be returning that night so I could get to work on Saturday. He informed me that he had WANTED to spend the night, but was terribly put out by having to get up early to drive me back in time to get to work. This isn't rocket science--tell me what you want to do, and I'll make all the necessary arrangements. Don't tell me, and I'll have to make those decisions and preparations without your input. Turns out he was also mad because he didn't want to make any of these decisions. Well who does?? I sure as hell didn't, but it's not my family. But somebody had to, or we'd just stay home. So I laid out all of the options for him. He was quite contentious about it, as if I were trying to pick a fight by pointing out that my children and work schedule were logistical obstacles that had to be dealt with before we actually got in the car and left. It was as if he believed that making any plans ahead of time would doom him to eternal hellfire and brimstone.
Eventually, we worked it out. When we went to bed at midnight, we had decided to take both the kids and the dog, leave the dog at Kit's house, drop the kids with their dad AFTER the serivce, and spend the night at Kit's, and I'd ask off work so we didn't have to rush back.
I got up at 7, got the kids ready for school, then started making the final plans. I called around and found someone to take my Saturday shift. I drove to 2 different stores looking for dress clothes for the kids, since they're outgrowing everything they own at the moment, came home and had lunch, and waited for him to wake up. The service is at 7pm, and while I have no idea WHERE it is exactly, I do know that it's at least a 2 hour drive. 1pm comes and goes. 2pm comes and goes. 3pm, and he's still asleep. Yes, that's 14 hours. The kids get home shortly after 3 and the commotion from the dog's excitement gets Rusty out of bed. Now he's pissed because he hadn't intended to sleep that late. We rush to get ready so we can get out of town and miss the worst of rush hour. We still don't know the dress code. He tries on several outfits, and is extremely agitated by his weight gain. I convince him to go with the suit (he calls it his "Fat" suit, since it fit him in his 'bigger days'). He was sure he'd be overdressed and his Uncle Jackass would make fun of him, 'Har har, why'd you wear a SUIT??' "Just tell him you did it out of respect. Or maybe because you're not a freaking HILLBILLY." In the midst of the chaos, I grab my overnight bag and begin throwing in necessities. He looks at me like I've just vomitted on his shoes. "What are you doing??" Huh? "Packing."
Of course, since he must've dreamt a conversation about it, I should have known that he had decided NOT to spend the night. OK, I'll begin moving the dog's crate so we can block him in the kitchen for the evening. He finally gets an answer from Kit, who reveals that his children will be staying with their other grandparents, so now MY kids will need to be dropped off with their dad. "Kids, forget the dress clothes I laid out for you." [Too late, they were too excited about having new clothes. They will wear them for 3 days straight at their dad's and they'll come back ragged and ripped up.] I call Shitfoot, who is miraculously flexible about the whole thing and we agree on a new meeting place that is the least inconvenient for both of us, since this will require driving through some of the worst traffic areas during rush hour.
All Righty. So now we're NOT spending the night, the dog's staying home, and the kids are going with dad. It's so simple, why was I nagging him about it all week? Oh yes, and now I have Saturday off since I have someone covering my shift. Nevermind the money I'll lose, I have a DAY OFF!! Whoopie!!
I was determined not to give in to the urge to turn into a raving lunatic--had I thought of it, I would have raided the medicine cabinet for a Valium or 2. But the drive helped both of us calm down. We listened to music and the kids napped, and all was well. We got to their dad on time with minimal frustration and no road rage, and we got to the service in plenty of time to make small talk with people he barely remembered.
Now, the service. The serivce was held at the Mason Lodge in a teeeny tiny town on the Kentucky side of the Ohio river. I was struck by the similarity of this experience to the movie "Elizabethtown"--which, not coincidentally, is just a few miles east of where we were. Stubb's daughter had made a nice little scrapbook as a memorial to him. The pictures really showed what a colorful man he was. He was a big, hairy back-woods looking kind of guy, and in every picture he was smiling--either up to no good or working on something. Lots of pictures holding babies and tossing kids in the air. A few with his brothers at various ages. I loved the candid ones the best: there's one of him with a slab of meat--I can only assume it was venison and he'd been hunting... another tickling Rusty's mom; one of him sitting in his truck lighting a cigarette. I shook hands with dozens of people--it was impossible to keep track of who was related to whom and how. Grandma and Grandpa were putting on the brave face for everyone, and the second the minister finished his prayer and asked if anyone else had anything to say, Grandpa stood up and thanked everyone for coming, and declared that his back was killing him and Mikey was taking him home. Rusty's step-mother was probably high on something because she never shut up from the moment she walked in to the moment she left (ha, Kit had driven her, so he was saddled with her all night). I feel guilty for taking advantage, but she revealed to me that Stubb hadn't died under any 'mysterious illness' circumstances at all, as Kit had allowed Rusty to think. No, Stubb (real name David, BTW) had a serious drinking problem and had drunk himself to death. And Kit and Uncle Jackass's trips to Stubb's house to clean it out were actually out of embarassment of the condition it was in, not an attempt to plunder anything. Stubb, apparently, hadn't been taking care of himself or anything he owned since his common-law wife left him a year or so ago, and there was quite a LITERAL mess to clean up. Step-Mom is in a pretty pitiful state herself... she claims to have kicked her daughter out of the house, and her daughter is being hateful and won't believe her when she says that she's clean now, and hasn't touched 'a single thing since APRIL.' [note: it's May 18th] StepMom is incredulous that her daughter has the audacity to say the only way she'll believe StepMom is 'clean' is if she completes an "actual" in-patient rehab stay of at least 40 days. Well, StepMom has a LIFE, and she can't just take 40 days off to satisfy her daughter.
*sigh*
They really are a good group of people. Many of them are quite troubled, though, obviously. So all in all, I'm glad they live a safe distance away and we can limit our contact to visits that we initiate. Sadly, I expect Grandpa to pass soon. At 86, he was already in poor health and has a hard time getting around, but I suspect losing a 2nd son will be more than he can handle. Although when we stopped at their house to say goodbye before we left town, he had quite a twinkle in his eye for Grandma. He winked at her when he informed her, "Mom, I'm gonna need a bath before I get in bed." I see the libido runs in the family.
Comments:
Post a Comment
