Arrest Numero Dos

I'm trying to pull a Star Wars trick on you and post these out of order. Here is the first one.

Have you ever been to a rave?

The first thing you hear feel is the THUMP THUMP THUMP of the bass. It goes right through you. Then you see the colors all the beautiful colors dancing on the floor and the walls. Lasers making pictures. Then you see the people. All the happy people. Candy kids is what we were called. Kids dancing - but not grinding. Dancing with people but dancing alone. Dancing like the music had possessed them. The candy comes from the bracelets we all made, wore, and swapped. Just some pony beads on elastic, but we treasured them. I actually still have mine.

Then comes the drugs. If you were lucky smart, you bought them before you came in because in the rave they are fucking expensive. We'd easily drop $100 on four pills in the rave. We rarely thought ahead.

On this particular night, we obtained our ecstasy at the rave. I was rolling face. (I was a lucky one - one pill and I was good for about 24 hours.) I was standing around with a bunch of people and a friend of a friend got some special k (ketamine) and needed some moral support. She asked if I would go into the bathroom with her. Of course in my altered state I agreed.

We went into the packed bathroom and I stopped in front of the mirror to check out my hair and eyes. She insisted that I come into the handicap stall with her.

Okay!

Dumbass. She was just about to snort it when who but a DEA agent stood on the toilet in the stall next to us and said "Give that to me!"

Fuck.

We were escorted outside where there were some lovely police officers handing out court summons'. Apparently in the same 15 minutes that we were arrested, so were 14 others. It was a raid.

Anyways, I was so fucked up that I wasn't upset about anything except not being able to go back into the rave. We begged and pleaded, but alas, we spent the rest of the night in the car while our friends inside wondered where we had gone.

Part three is over here.

A More Meaningful Gift Than You Can Imagine

Mama Kat's prompt:

Describe a time or moment when a stranger helped you.

One year ago I was trying to get up from being knocked down and stepped on. I was getting a restraining order, a divorce, and working on a bankruptcy. It was a really rough time. Especially just before and during the holidays. I wasn't sure how I would buy anyone any gifts. I knit hats for everyone, but I really wanted to do something special for my one year old.

A counselor that I was talking to suggested a Santa charity. I was not interested, but she insisted so I wrote them a letter. A couple of weeks later there was a giant box in front of my apartment. I brought it in and almost couldn't open it. When I saw all of the toys I cried. I had pretty much given up on humanity and here was this most wonderful gift.

I am crying just remembering it.

Santa truly came to our house last year. I believe in Santa now. He comes to those who need him the most. He did more than give us a box of toys, he gave me hope.

Sticky Affirmations

That Guy

Sometimes you meet someone who makes you think "Wow. I am glad that I am not That Guy." For whatever reason. Maybe he got into a wreck, or maybe his wife is screaming at him for getting the wrong kind of bread, or maybe he is sleeping on the bench in the park. Or maybe he is just prejudiced.

I try to think about how everyone was raised differently, came from a different place, maybe even a different time. They had different experiences and met different people. All of this made this person who he or she is today.

I met a guy yesterday that obviously grew up differently than I did. We were both born in Boston and come from Boston families and are approximately the same age. He clearly had a different childhood than me though. To stick with some basics and not get into too much, but still give you an idea: he was an intelligent child in an experimental program. They tried to integrate English and Spanish students and tried to teach all of them everything. Long story short, he was one of two white kids in a class of Latinos.

So, he views immigrants and the like differently than I do. I grew up in a French-Canadian town with close to no minorities.

I am a bleeding heart liberal. I think instead of closing the borders, they should make it easier for people to come and go. I say "Give us your poor..." (Wait, that's not me, that's the Statue of Liberty...) We are all descendants of immigrants. My Irish ancestors certainly did not get a warm welcome when they got here, so should we be passing the torch or perhaps changing our ways?

Anyways, my point is this. I am very grateful for my parents teaching me that hatred is wrong. That all men are created equal. (Wait that wasn't them... that was the Declaration of Independence...) I am not entirely sure where they learned all of this, growing up in Roman-Catholic Boston families. Catholics (if you don't know) are notorious for hating everyone. My parent's families are terribly prejudiced. It is quite embarrassing really. But my parents are not. Sure, they did grow up in a different time, so things like homosexuals and piercings they need time to adjust to, but in the end they are very accepting and loving.

I wonder if Ryder will be a bleeding heart liberal. Will he want to minimize his carbon footprint and vote and treat others how he'd like to be treated? I hope so. I will do all that I can to expose him to different cultures so that he understands that not everyone is like us - and that is okay. Not only okay, but great. We can learn so much from different people and different cultures. I will also instill in him that it is okay for him to be whoever he is. Buddist? Okay. Gay? Okay. Republican? Err.. Okay.

I hope he doesn't end up like That Guy.

Why it Sucks to be a Single Mom: Reason 78

Picture this, if you will: a large-ish room full of parents and children. There are tables along each wall with crafts, play-doh, etc. Enter Santa. The density in the room is not unlike that of a mosh pit. With Santa in the middle. But Santa is not moshing. That would be ridiculous.

Santa makes his way to the other end of the room where they will do pictures, candy canes and other Santa stuffs. The line is the entire length of the room. And nearly the width as well, because of the craft tables.

Got all of that?

Well, Ryder and I played with the play-doh because there was no way in hell I was going to stand in that line. I figured that we would wait til it died down. We waited and waited and waited. Then I felt as though I was going to have an anxiety melt-down if we didn't leave soon, so in the line we went.

Obviously Ryder is not going to just stand in line. But that was mostly okay because the line went by all the craft tables. So, I figured that he could craft and I would stand in line behind him.

Problem number 1: apparently if the child is not in line, neither are you, or so some parents thought. They were just pushing by me when my attention was turned.

Problem number 2: the second that Ryder moves out of arms reach and I have to go get him, I lose my spot in line. Back to the end for us.

This is Santa people. Apparently this is serious business. There are pictures and promises of toys to be had. I just wanted to leave. Ryder did not. I really wanted him to get a chance to see Santa, but couldn't figure out how to.

We ended up waiting until the very last second. Ryder was literally the last child. We got a great picture and Ryder was really excited.

I guess what really bothered me most was this particular family that was in line. One of the children was playing at the table with us and stayed until one of his parents came and got him because it was their turn. We couldn't do that. That is what sucked.

One Year

December 2008 was filled with courts, and lawyers, and courts, and woman's advocates, and courts, and judges, and crying. For my birthday I was trying to get a restraining order. I got a temp one and had to come back ten days later. Later in the month my divorce was finalized. (I haven't told that story yet? Humf.) Yesterday was my birthday and I just cried all day. Cried at work, cried when my parents surprised me with cake, cried when I opened my gift, cried in bed. I'm crying now.

Birthdays have always kinda sucked for me. I lay it right out, what I want to do and that is not what happens. So this is why I thought that I was dreading my bday. Then I remembered last year. My 28th birthday was spent in a court room with a woman's advocate scared as shit that he was going to show up.

So my 29th brought back all of those emotions. In addition, it reminds me that in 10 days I have to go back to court to renew the restraining order. Fuck, I do. not. want. to go. A friend offered to come with me, so hopefully that helps.

Everyone was super sweet - those who knew (thanks facebook). People called, but I didn't answer my phone. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I listened to all the voicemails, but didn't call anyone back. My friend told me that I shouldn't let something that happened a year ago ruin this year's birthday. The only way that I can describe these feelings are when someone dies. Then for every year after that, on that day, you think of that person and mourn him or her. I feel as though I am mourning the death of my husband and my marriage.

This past year has been good. Not super swell, but good. But I cannot focus on that at all. No matter how hard I try. Everyone tried to make me smile on my bday, but I just want to be like Brian Wilson and stay in bed. Forever.

I honestly do not know how I am going to make it through this whole month. Fuck, again.

And then there is all of this holiday bullshit. It is too much.

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