Spirits were not so high the next day. Kim the Klingon’s daughter tends bar at the restaurant and was not happy that the place emptied out during the fight. Neither was management. Apparently there was only 16 dollars in tips to split by the end of the night.

On Friday there was a custody hearing down at the courthouse, so the Kim didn’t come to work. She was supposed to be at home with her grandson while his drug-addled parents fought over him, but when we tried to reach her by phone, we found out she left the kid with her boyfriend and went out drinking. Oddly, my boss had nothing to say about this.

Nor did she say anything on Wednesday when Kim was hungover and amusing herself by searching an online roster of who is currently in the Clackamas County jail, to see if any of her friends were there. She was doing this while the boss was freaking out over state tax records that mysteriously disappeared from payables. It’s discouraging.  I’m not exactly sure what it is this woman manages, because it certainly isn’t the office.  Amy and I started keeping track of her personal phone calls. Added up, they average about five of her eight hour day. I’m not exaggerating.

I’m also not sure why she was hired in the first place. This is a small town and word gets around. About five years ago, her son needed a kidney. She volunteered one, and the whole town pitched in for a benefit which raised about $20,000 to cover hospital expenses and a portion of the medications for her son.

Shortly after the benefit and the surgery, she showed up in a new Mercedes ( well, new to her) and was buying new furniture for her house. Shortly after that, as her son filed for bankruptcy, she took a vacation.

And yet, my boss not only hired her, but loves her and believes she can do no wrong. It’s disgusting in a way I don’t understand.

I know all about why we sometimes see only what we want to see, or why we make excuses for the men we love, or for our family members, or glossing over little imperfections in our friends for the sake of maintaining friendship……….but this makes no sense until I look at it from the perspective of my boss’s addiction to chaos.

Of all the things there are to be addicted to, that are so much more fun, addiction to stress and strife just seems dumb.


The Lamp From Estacada

The Lamp From Estacada

Stuff like this always makes me nervous. While we’re sitting on the step of our delapidated front porch, and two identical big white furry dogs come over to say hello. They move in unison, bark in unison, and then go over to Nana’s tie-out and check her out in unison. I didn’t say anything about the creep factor of the encounter until my daughter’s quiet comment “It’s almost like they are aliens, isn’t it?”

She was right. But I had a different reason for the creep factor. A few years ago I had a bad dream about a big white violent dog that suddenly showed up at our front windows. When I told this dream to the local psychic, she said the dream was a warning that someone was gonna hurt me. She was right too.

The dogs left, in unison. Marina mumbled something about Twin Peaks, which was interesting being as I just got done describing this as a teeny-tiny little Twin Peaks town in my last weblog entry.

And now this. A teeny-tiny little woman named Ginger came all the way from Estacada to see if we would like to sell her big weird lamps in our teeny-tiny little shop. See picture above. Doesn’t it remind you of the Leg Lamp from “A Christmas Story”? It’s so horrible that it’s fantastic.

I get to work this morning and the Klingon of an Office Manager is beaming with pride: last night, her son and his girlfriend got into a barfight that wound up in the parking lot of a local restaurant, the patrons of which witnessed not only the fisticuffs but the girlfriend’s tube top being pulled off in the process. Yes, tube tops are still very much in vogue up here. Several cop cars were called to the scene but her kids took off before they could be busted for the drugs they were carrying. Kids? Wait a minute, they are at least 30.

My Office Manager is one tube of blue eyeshadow away from being Mimi in the Drew Carey show. I will find a picture, and you will see I am not exaggerating.

It’s all very Hatfield/McCoy. This feud started several years ago when said Office Manager drank too much tequila tried to strangle some woman named ‘Cyndee’…who happened to be Jeff’s wife, who I believe threw the first punch last night, at the Office Manager’s son’s girlfriend.

Spirits were high here at work today, I heard the story repeated 9 times to different people ( yes I counted). This was enough of a drama fix to last all day and hopefully well into tomorrow afternoon. Also, she just scored some Lorazipan, which we are waiting for an excuse to partake of.

This is why I never burn my bridges. A girl needs all sorts of friends.


Cats who disappear without a trace leave us no closure or finality, except for Slinky: I found her when the snow melted. They don’t leave notes telling us why they ran away. Like the last episode of the Sopranos, the possibiities are only as limited as your imagination and your willingness to face the violent truth.

I ran away from home exactly twice in my life, once when I was four or five, and once again after I was married for a few too many years. Both times I left notes. My mother saved the first one because she thought it was cute, and my ex husband saved the second one and brought it in to my shrink for analysis. In essence, they were the same:

“I leffed home frum yur famly becoz yu were meen too me. I am tacking blanky and bluey.” (Bluey was the name I had given to my favorite pillow)

That’s what the first one said, the charming mispells and scrawled, kindergarten handwriting (yes, I was so eager to read and write I learned way before my time, just like my daughter did) . Oh, and I illustrated it, of course 😉 With a stick figure of a sad little girl with one of those hobo packs over her shoulder.

The second note was called “My Life As A Ghost”. Somewhere around here I still have a copy of it. It should be entered in some psychological journal somewhere as a disturbing self portrait of a woman experiencing severe dissociation as a result from living too long and too closely with a clinically diagnosed narcissist. It was all about how since no one could see me, I was fading away piece by piece, and basically, was running away before I lost what I had left.

The last note was followed by an addendum which stated I’d be taking our daughter, George the rabbit, the Saab 900, my two jade trees, the Le Creuset and some clothing, and signed

I Quit,
Your Ex-Wife

There are times I feel like writing a third note, entitled “Fuck All Y’All”, but I don’t because I have a daughter, three ( soon to be four) cats and a puppy that no one else would put up with, to take care of. My daughter is not home for 24 hrs and already her father is fucking with us. My electricity got shut off ( it’s back on, obviously) and I took at least a dozen crisis calls from the fat angry incompetent bitches at work ON MY DAY OFF!

I’m getting hate mail from some psycho who thinks I stole her boyfriend ( an amusing side note, really), while I was on the phone with my boss fixing her problems she alluded to my ‘dressing like a slut’. Ah well….at least I can still almost pull it off…let’s see: a daughter in tears over our finances….could my day get any better? Thank god for Peter, who in his infinitely twisted goodness, gave the remainder of his bottle of codeine cough syrup to me. I had a very peaceful sleep.

All things in moderation. I’m not about to write the final ‘I Ran Away From Home’ note, or destroy myself a little at a time, because I will not have that family legacy passed on to the lovely young lady who is still asleep in her room at 11AM on a day when she really should be out looking for a summer job. Let her rest. I love her more than anything and will sell a kidney on eBay if I have to.

Nana is asleep and snoring in the big chair and one more day we’re allright.


I’m Still At Yahoo 360
According to “The Secret language of Birthdays” I pay inadequate concern to negative energy and I ignore resentment in others, all of which are quite capable of surfacing swiftly and blowing up in my face.

Is that ever true;)And because of my transcendant, Piscean nature I am more likely to try and adapt to a situation rather than flee for my life, for years at a time. I’m also guilty of the “Why-Should-I-Let These-People-Spoil-My-Good-Time” approach to problem solving. Oh but it gets worse. I can’t resist paying the occasional well-aimed, oddly-inverted compliment to people who annoy me. This is unlucky when it’s La Grande Patrón who has parked her whale of a dorsal hump as well as those of her friends en la mesa you were saving para su camaradas a beber y bailando, refusing to relinquish said seats upon their fashionably late arrival. I swear, some people get fat just so they can take up more room.

Her persistance did pay off later in the evening when I introduced her to a la amiga mío que posee que dos casas hermosas she would love to have in her piscina de la renta. Sus ojos encendidos arriba con avaricia. Don’t say I never gave you nada’;D

Both Bradley and I attempted to set an example of what we believe to be good manners mountain style: we fetched them their first drinks. My daughter just ignored them all till it came time for introductions and then flashed that disarming smile of hers. Resistance is futile. We illicitely added rum to her can of cola because she was such a good sport.

But nevermind all that, it was an awesome party. My compliments to the chef and whoever’s idea it was to invite the whole town for free food and booze. I vaguely remember my power lesbian friend trying to fix me up with her Italian contractor who allegedly has las calientes para mi, and then finding a quick ride home before I was forced to come face to face with this hombre de mistero. I was too borracho. No good would have come out of it. He is alto y moreno and looked pretty guapo after a bottle and a half of Oregon Pinot Gris.

The road home was swarming with la policia and it was a good thing I didn’t have my car because I would probably still be in jail. Bradley did get pulled over in his Country Squire, and charmed his way out of it. I can’t say enough good things about good manners.

OK now I hit publish?