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The fun, the frustrating and the unbelievable-- Living in the Nation's Capitol |
| The story of relocation, transition and assorted moments of self deprecating reality... |
| One hundred-twenty-two days ago I mailed my sister a Christmas card. It was sent it to the half-way house in which she was recovering after court ordered sanctions. Today, April 20, 2022, the Christmas card was returned to sender. My addict sister was discharged for insubordination from the halfway house days before the card arrived for violating house rules. Four months later, my unopened message of health, hope and sobriety has come back, unread and unopened. In those 122 days, my sister was fired twice, stole and wrecked my sister’s car (without insurance and no driver’s license) and falsely claimed her son as a dependent when filing her taxes – resulting in a H&R Block’s flagging of her account as unethically UN-reputable . She has found solace on numerous couches, while sucking society’s teat. Where does it end? |
| March 7, 2022- On this date, I finished The Judge's List by John Grisham. This audio book, read at a normal speed was 696 torturous minutes in length. During the course of this audible book, I rode 204 miles, the equivalent of a road trip connecting the District of Columbia to New York City. Despite the fact that this was one of the worst Grisham novels I have every read, I thank you Mr. Grisham, for your contribution to my mental and physical health and well-being. I am not giving up on John Grisham, but I will be more cautious when making my next purchase. |
| My sister, the alcoholic and addict called this afternoon. Is there a difference or one in the same? Cheryl only calls me if she wants something. I get a knot in my stomach when the phone rings. If she is calling me, she is desperate because I am the bottom of the family totem pole. Everyone else had said no, and I am undoubtedly the last resort. My nickname in the family is Judge Judy, the one that calls it like it is. “Hi, it’s your sister Cheryl,” she began in a scratchy and desperate cracking voice. After superficial greetings, “I have a favor to ask. I am homeless tonight. Would you lend me money to cover two nights in a hotel? I went to see Guthry for a couple days and now I am stuck because there are no buses running and I cannot get back to mom’s place.” “Cheryl, did you quit your job last week,” I ask? “Yes,” she replied. “Why can’t you ask your boyfriend (and fiancé) for the money,” I asked? “Guthry is tapped out, he paid for the last three nights in the hotel, and he does not have it.” Have Guthry ask his parents for the money, or stay with your (50-year-old alcoholic) boyfriend’s parents.” “They won’t give up the money,” Cheryl replied, “and we’re fighting. I am going to dump him. I am not taking his calls. I am going to be homeless if you can’t help me.” We discussed her perpetual drama. Always asking, always in trouble, never planning for anything, no regard or concern for anyone except herself. Then, “I don’t want to lie. I did not quit, I got fired.” Predictable I thought. “There was an altercation with a transsexual – a transgender person. I called him a her, or her a him, or some shit like that… You’d never understand, but I am doing everything right, I’m not drinking,” said Cheryl. I often preach to my siblings discouraging aide that enables Cheryl’s actions. So today, I was not going to be the enabler. “Sorry Cheryl, I don’t have it. I cannot pay for two nights in a hotel,” I said. “I have a paycheck coming to mom’s place soon. I will pay you back, I promise,” said Cheryl. She has never paid anyone back, I thought. “No Cheryl, I am going to take a pass. I don’t have it,” I said, and disconnected the call. Now I wonder how long before the next level of drama. This will escalate, we are not done with this incident; act two forthcoming. |
| February 9, 2022- On this date, I finished The Best of Me, by David Sedaris. This audio book, read at a normal speed was 788 minutes in length. During the course of this audible book, I rode 247 miles, the equivalent of a road trip connecting the District of Columbia to Columbus OH. Thank you Mr. Sedaris, for your contribution to my mental and physical health and well-being; a great read. |
| I need a gift idea for my mother's birthday. Understand that she re-gifts everything. Most gifts are recycled the following year, but mom once re-gifted a niece's present to her son within 90 minutes of receipt; a record. Any ideas? |
| January 18, 2022- On this date, I finished Betrayal, by Jonathon Karl. This audio book, read at a normal speed was 632 minutes in length. During the course of this audible book, I rode 172 miles. Thank you Mr. Karl, for your contribution to my health and well-being; a great read. |
| It was inevitable, Cheryl was tossed from the "transitional house" for violating the house rules. My sister doesn't like when I refer to the sobriety center as a halfway house. Halfway to what, I wonder? Cheryl is an addict, serving out terms of the state’s judicial court ordered probation. This was the court's solution to possession of a controlled substance with intent to transport and distribute. She previously dabbled with weed, coke, crack and meth, but most recently transitioned to the BIG H, heroine. She got intense probation and has a suspended sentence hanging over her head. The rules are simple, don't cross them and the state will provide you with a place to live for 60 days. After your first two months of proven dedication to counseling, AA and a drug-free life, one can continue to reside in the transitional house for up to six months, at $175 per week. But there are rules: no drinking, no visitors, go to counseling, get a job (or at least try...) and pass the occasional urine analysis (UA) test ON DEMAND; easy-peasy, right? "Keep your probation officer happy," Cheryl was told often. So you wonder, what did she do to get tossed? Violation number one amounted to acquiring minis, an assortment of miniature bottles of liquor from an elderly wheelchair bound gentleman living in my mother's senior complex. Yes, you heard right. My 50 year old sister dabbled in debauchery with my mother's eighty-eight year old wheel-chair confined neighbor. Mom says, "He was probably just looking for a friend." "And he picked Cheryl," I questioned? "How bad can this be," I thought? At least it was not crack, crank or meth. That's not so bad, strike one. Alcoholics stumble, a couple minis, a couple shooters brought into a drug free sobriety house cant be a deal breaker, not on a first occurrence, right? Roll the clock forward twelve hours. The family Christmas party just wrapped. However, Cheryl was prohibited from attending because the halfway house "mom" penalized Cheryl with house-arrest for violating sobriety house rules. Cheryl brought alcohol into the drug-free environment. Her children were pissed off, but not shocked. Cheryl's history predicts a bleak future. After fourteen attempts at sobriety though countless rehab centers in numerous states over the past 18 years, falling off the proverbial wagon is quite predictable. Her train derailment is expected. It's not if, but when. So back to the Christmas party. Her children wanted to see their mother and expected her to attend. Bringing the family together is a challenge. Cheryl's youngest daughter, Teresa lives in a car in north Baltimore. Teresa's son, (Cheryl's grandson) lives in the adjacent apartment with the father's mother. The parents rotate, alternating nightly between the car and couch of a tiny efficiency apartment. The second youngest daughter, Kathy now lives with the father of her second child (not counting the abortion). It is true that he faces a court ordered prohibition from being in proximity to Kathy, they seem to have worked things out. He may have beaten the crap out of her a few times in the past, well... enough to generate court ordered oversight. Nonetheless, they still live together, in defiance of a court mandate and ankle bracelet. He is trouble, his abused wife, Kathy (like her mother) is an alcoholic. Cheryl's third child, the youngest, a son, Jim was also at the Christmas party. He lives with his father, Cheryl's ex-husband Donnie. Jim is learning how to extort from the state's department of social services by way of false worker injury claims, unemployment benefits and frivolous lawsuits brought against the unsuspectingly innocent and naive. The children were anxious to see their mother, Cheryl. After all, they thought she was going to attend the party. They all traveled hours to attend. After the party, they visited Cheryl at the halfway house. They hoped to deliver and open Christmas gifts, hug, pray and reminisce, on the sidewalk, near the street, out of doors. Halfway house rules prohibit visitors. The next scene is sketchy. The story goes that one of Cheryl's daughters had to use the bathroom, so Cheryl let her enter the halfway house. According to Cheryl, the house mom had it in for her and never liked her. Letting Teresa use the restroom was a solid violation of halfway house rules, and enough to get Cheryl tossed; two broken rules in 3 days. So the Christmas party on the sidewalk at the halfway house led to a rule violation and Cheryl's eviction. Her homeless daughter had to urinate. How long before Cheryl blames the eviction on her daughter, I wondered. The next day, Cheryl moved in with her alcoholic boyfriend (of 3 weeks), Guthry. The gentlemen does not drive and resides in his parent's basement; he is 55 years old. He is currently "in between jobs." Yesterday, Guthry proposed to my sister, Cheryl. The announcement was made on Facebook. "What can go wrong," I wonder? |
| January 16, 2022- Gainesville, VA. Today I realized that cardinals tend to travel in small groups and have no problem with snow. As we receive our 4-6 inches of white stuff in 20 degree weather, I sit in my cozy leather chair in front of our warm fireplace, watching cardinals come and go. My blood pressure remains low; I am at peace. |
| Queen Anne MD. November 27, 2021 We were preparing Thanksgiving dinner, and my sister's cat decided that she would not be excluded from the feast. Sweet little Felix proudly displayed his catch, a large field mouse. The plump mouse twitched and let out mouse shrieks as Felix shook the life out of the little guy. He'd shake and slam the critter to the ground. It the mouse moved, rest and repeat. One minute, prancing across the field minding his own business. The next, being eaten alive. Felix ripped the mouse open, exposing the innards. We watched in horror through the patio doors. Felix seemed to have a process, picking one bloody organ over another, meticulously ripping the mouse to shreds, chewing and swallowing one mouse piece after another until all that was left was a small pool of mice debris. It was a bloodbath. My appetite was gone, along with all thoughts of ever acquiring a cat. Here kitty... kitty. |
| December 24, 2021- Heritage Hunt VA I was nine miles into a fifteen-mile ride when the trouble began. An overdressed, fully made-up senior, Betty, started making the rounds in the Heritage Hunt gym. With no appreciation for social distancing and covid abatement, she approached my stationary bike. “Can you hear me,” she bellowed? She was put off by the buds in my ears. While sweating profusely, and huffing I politely pointed at my ears as if to say, I cannot hear you- please go away. She was relentless, shouting louder “I’m sorry, can you hear me?” I removed the ear buds and gave her that look you use when someone runs over your heel with a shopping cart. “Do you own a white Subaru?, she asked” “No, why," with disdain.? “There’s a white Subaru in the parking lot with the door open,” she said. Who gives a shit, I think? She moved on to the next person, this time she interrupted someone on the rowing machine. “Do you own a white Subaru?” Unfazed by the non-verbal condemnation and glares, she pressed on. One by one, Betty questioned the three stationary joggers. Because of covid precautions, only every other treadmill was operational. This pandemic safeguard enabled Betty to stand on the non-running treadmill platform looking each jogger in the eyes. “Do you own a white Subaru?” After interrupting every single person in the gym, Betty left to take the matter up with the Association. She did eventually return to the gym, satisfied that the matter of the white Subaru was resolved. Betty began her walk on the treadmill. With my ride complete, I had a few questions for Betty. I stood on the treadmill adjacent to her and said, “I’m sorry, can you hear me?” Betty continued walking while staring at me. “I’m wondering, do you think it is hot in here? It feels hot to me. Do you feel it? Are you hot? Do you want me to open a couple windows? What do you think? Is there someone we can call," I pressed? Finally relenting, Betty paused her workout to give me the undivided attention I sarcastically sought. She explained that it is often hot in here and she’d take it up with Association management during the next community meeting. Betty was not even phased by my futile attempt to annoy and mock her, because it is was seniors do. |
| December 31, 2021. Married 30+ years. Shared first joint with my wife this New Year's Evening. Should be a fun night. |
| Jun 26, 2018 - MGM National Harbor, MD Peter Frampton opened for Steve Miller. If you ask me, they got it backwards. Frampton’s performance was far superior. He blew away the Steve Miller Band and should have been the headline act. Towards the end of Peter Frampton’s performance, two well-dressed gentlemen arrived late and caused a considerable fuss making their way to their very expensive front row seats, near center stage. The MGM venue is relatively small and only seats 3,000. The two spoke loudly without regard to the fact that Frampton was wrapping up a live performance. They were obviously there to see Steve Miller. Frampton glared down, standing over them and asked, “Is everything alright?” The tension was unmistakable. The audience hushed. They made a song request. “You want to hear, Show Me the Way,” Peter confirmed. The two appeared pleased, until Peter replied, “Well, if you had arrived on time, you would have heard Show Me the Way, because it was the second song of the evening. Please sit down.” The audience chuckled with approval. Thank you and good night, I thought. Mic drop... |
| August 13, 2021- I received the following chat message from my niece, Kaitlin, on Facebook: Uncle, HI… sugar honey ice tea, (as in S.H.I.T). Uncle s * * *, Uhhh, do you know what happened with your sister at court? Care to share with her daughter? THANKS! If not continue to f*** off as if I don’t exist 🙂 It seems that my sister's daughter was reaching out to ascertain how her mother fared in court. My sister is an addict, and her luck had run out. She has used for more than thirty years. She's been in and out of rehab more times that anyone can count, never once completing a program. This time, she was facing possession charges with intent to distribute a controlled dangerous substance. She was caught with heroin. It was the latest in a long string of legal drama. She's recently divorced. After selling the jointly owned residence, Cheryl walked away with eighty thousand dollars. Her siblings begged her to save some money for the future, find a place to live, get a job. Sadly, Cheryl could not relax until the money was gone. She bought each of her three children used cars. She sofa-surfed alternating between mother, sisters, and daughters. After buying three cars, she went on a world-class bender-- drinking, drugging, and gambling until she was again, penniless. She was a regular in casinos and dumpy motels. She'd get a rental, only to be evicted a short time later. She is now in court ordered rehab, on probation with a suspended sentence hanging over her head. It is only a matter of time before Cheryl violates probation and ends up in jail. That is the best case scenario because it might finally mean she hit bottom. As for her witty daughter’s inquiry, Uncle S H I T responded as follows: Funny Until Children Kick You Out Unequivocally 😷 |
| Washington DC- November 17, 2021: UBER vehicle. Normally I take the train, but today, I am loaded down with electronics, heading home to Arlington; an UBER is in order. I walk out to Black Lives Matter Plaza and wait. Eventually Henry arrived in a 2019 Toyota Corolla. His rating was a respectable 4.8. I wonder about my rating. I climb in, "How's it going?" Henry greeted me warmly. After confirming the destination address in Arlington, Henry dived into traffic. I notice that he is staring at me intently during the drive in the rear view mirror. He finally breaks the ice. "You know, I have been driving for UBER seven years now. I have over eleven thousand fares, most are rated five star -- and you are my first celebrity. You are the first famous person that I have driven," Henry stated with genuine excitement. Who does he think I am, I wondered. Play it cool. "Well, it is very nice to meet you and I appreciate your discretion. I'm just trying to keep a low profile. You understand that, right?" I asked. "Sure, it's cool. I get it bro. You deserve your peace," said Henry. Several miles later, he turned right on Clarendon boulevard and drifted to the left lane coming to a stop at the destination. "You have arrived," announced the mobile app. "I can't wait to tell my girlfriend about this ride," said Henry. "I plan to tell my wife about the ride as well. You take care Henry." I tipped generously, not wanting to ruin the illusion. |
| Gainesville, Virginia - Its the first day of winter. How may leaves are left? I am in the home office trying to work, and it begins. The droning scream of the high powered leaf blower. Not just one, but several. I head outdoors to right this wrong or at least give the stare that says, "Give me a fucking break." I am greeted by the neighbor's team of leaf blower operators. A group of four lawn care enthusiasts shepherding a handful of leaves. I approach the leader of the pack. He is observing leaf operations from the company truck at the curb. I approach and he rolls down the window, "Does it really take four leaf blowers to round up the handful of remaining winter leaves?" "What you say meester?" For lawn care he is well-dressed, wearing the same coveralls as the others. His name is Carlos, proven by the name tag sewn over his left pocket. These guys started the day looking pristine, like they could be caddies in the U.S. Open. Fucking corporate lawn care, I think. Recognizing a language barrier I extend four fingers. "Four? Cuatro? Really, four leaf blowers? The noise," I complain, "Please," giving the squinted-eye look one uses when boring into their temple with an electric drill. Finally I am getting somewhere. Carlos climbs out of the truck, walks to the rear and plops open the tailgate with a bang. He pulls out a nearly new leaf blower with machine gun rated ear muffs. With ear protection in place, Carlos pulls the cord on the leaf blower engine twice before the tool roars to life. Carlos closes the tailgate and joins the others. Leaf blowers should be outlawed. "Hey, asshole," I shout. |
| Heritage Hunt/ Gainesville VA. December 18, 2021: After a twenty-four mile bike ride, my fingers were numb. I decided to pop into the Heritage Hunt club house. The association has reported subpar coffee and breakfast beverage sales month after month, but how bad can it be? As a resident, I benefit from the club's success so I stop in. I grab a seat at the bar, and I am quickly told, "We don't open until 11am." "Its 10:58," I said. "I will wait the two minutes. Give me a latte with an extra shot please." When a business does not even start selling coffee until 11am, you are sending a distinct message to potential customers. No surprise, it was the worst latte I have ever purchased. Senior citizens, or "active seniors" don't have an appreciation for the cost and value of decent coffee. It was the last latte I will purchase in Heritage Hunt. While waiting for my drink, I notice the overstuffed suggestion box sitting on the bar, undoubtedly brimming with criticisms and snarky recommendations. |
| Standing at Connecticut and K Street waiting to cross the street, I flipped off President 45 as his motorcade passed by this morning. Many others joined the one-finger salute; it felt good. |
| I checked into the Marriott Civic Center in Denver and was presented with a Sleep Well gift, a set of bright orange National Rifle Association ear plugs safe to 30db. The attached note assured me that the complimentary earplugs would help me achieve restful slumber in this high energy downtown area. |
| Today’s roundtrip commute between St. Louis and Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri proved to be interesting. During this roundtrip drive, I passed more than this man’s fair share of Walmart’s, Waffle Houses, and Cracker Barrels. Is it any wonder that there is an obesity crisis in America? If exercise is your thing, several billboards propositioned you with axe throwing lessons in Cuba, MO. There were also numerous miniature golf putt-putt courses and 2-zip lines in these U.S. plains. I assume that the cables are made of reinforced steel. After golfing, you can catch some shut-eye at one of several Super 8 motels. If prayer is your preference, you will be exposed to countless Houses of Worship of all manner and style. Historians will be enticed with advertisements to visit the Jesse James hide-out cave where the notorious gangster eluded the local lawmen 140 years ago. Those seeking a more civilized historical adaptation can visit the Jesse James Wax Museum. If firepower is your thing, you will be inundated with fireworks stores, gun shops and gun ranges of both the in-and-outdoor variety. The most entertaining sign of the trip combined the joys of eating with marksmanship by promoting a visit to the Uranus Fudge Factory noting that gun rentals are also available. Visit Uranus, Missouri to satisfy your gun and fudge needs. This author's ridicule of the Midwest lifestyle did go unnoticed, my rental car broke down on the return trip 30 miles from St. Louis. The spiritual cause and effect of karma put me in my place; thank God it is not on the Missouri plains. |
| Ferguson MO - Today, I continue my road adventures selling the health plan to my federal compadres. I am presently staged in a mid-western war zone between Ferguson and Cool Valley, MO. My Uber driver picked me up and after learning of my requested destination, he was compelled to comment on my whiteness and the degree to which I will be out of place when I arrive at my destination. “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked unapologetically. “Sure”, I said. “I’m headed to the Department of Agriculture in the Goodfellow Complex. It’s a secure federal property. How bad can it be?” I asked. “Yeah, that’s where you’re going, but do you know where that puts you?” he smirked. He assured me that I would probably be safe behind the gates of the complex, but was taking my life into my own hands should I chose to walk the surrounding streets. “I don’t even except jobs when I’m in this area. No fare is worth my life. I turn the Uber app off in this part of town,” cautioned my driver. Later that evening after successfully retreating to the safety of my airport hotel, I received a call from the assistant manager of our local office. Nancy advised me that she may be late to work tomorrow because she had to pick-up the office manager, Steve, from the police station because the cops took possession of his car, cell phone, and gun. “What…Why?” I asked. “Steve busted a cap in a mother fucker trying to steal his car, said Nancy. “They were pistol-whipping his ass trying to jack his car. He got to his gun and pop…pop. Mother fucker died at the hospital.” It seems that the police readily believed Steve's claim of self-defense and let him go within hours of declaring the perp dead. How does one bounce-back from that type of morning? Hi honey, I’m home… Did anything interesting happen today at work? Yeah, I shot a would-be carjacker. It took a couple hours to explain the incident to the cops, but they eventually got it. Once he died, there was no one to dispute what happened. How was your day? |
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