*
If I go crazy then will you still
Call me Superman?
If I’m alive and well, will you be there
Holding my hand?
I’ll keep you by my side
With my superhuman might:
Kryptonite, yeah!!
("Kryponite", 3 Doors Down)
*
It all happened a few years ago. Blaine and I were still married and lived here, in the same duplex we live in now.
I was working as a Road Nurse at the time and my territory was huge. I saw patients on both sides of the State Line--- the Missouri side and the Kansas side. Although I went to far, rural areas to see patients on corn plantations or other produce farms and ranches, I also saw patients in the "inner city" of Kansas & Missouri---which was (and still is) extremely dangerous "gang territory".
It was not uncommon for me to go to a house to see an elderly patient where criminal activity was going on. I would ignore it and go about my tasks quickly and quietly. Usually the criminal family members held great respect for nurses who would come to that dangerous area to help their mother or grandmother---because most Road Nurses refused to go to that area. In fact, in my Road Nurse company, there were only two of us who would go into gang territory--me and my buddy Janet.
The rules for gang territory were easy---you don't go any earlier than 10:00 or 11:00 am in the morning....and then you need to make sure you're out of there by around 2:00 pm. The reason for the peculiar timing was because those hours are when the gang members and criminals sleep, having been up all night doing their criminal activity.
Gang territory was so dangerous that the police told us Road Nurses that if we ever got into a vehicle accident in that part of town to NOT get out and wait for the cops. They told us that instead of getting out of the car to assess the damage or exchange insurance information with the other driver, we were to simply drive to the nearest police station to report the accident--- and they would not cite us for leaving the scene of the accident.
It was dangerous to be a Road Nurse in gang territory. The gangs knew that we carried a lot of medical supplies in our vehicles---things like sterile syringes they could use for shooting up drugs....
As I mentioned above, there were only two of us at my Road Nurse company who would go to gang territory. My buddy, Janet and me. Both of us went into the inner city on a daily basis---and it was usually for wound care, managing bedsores on elderly bedbound patients. Or we went to perform wound care on diabetic ulcerations on patients' legs or feet. Sometimes we had to establish an IV to deliver medication to a patient. And we always had to teach the whole family about things which would promote better health, enable them to heal their wounds, prevent infection, how to prevent bedsores, and about diabetic diets, etc.
The patients we saw were usually heartbreakingly poverty stricken. And many of them were so helpless, they couldn't do housework--and so they lived in filth. It was not uncommon for a Road Nurse to be kneeling down on the ground to take care of a wound on a patient's foot and cockroaches would get onto her and start climbing up her legs---and if we were doing a sterile dressing change there wasn't anything we could do about the roaches until we finished the dressing---and only then could we brush the offending cockroaches off our legs. And because of the cockroaches, we Road Nurses fought to make our bandages so secure that the cockroaches couldn't get into them.
Sometimes our patients were the mother or grandmother of drug dealers. And so we Road Nurses, keeping our eyes low, went to the patient's room to perform the wound care while the drug dealers in the front room conducted their business--- either haggling with drug buyers over the price of the drugs, or else assessing the worth (in drugs) of whatever item a drug buyer had brought to exchange for the drugs.
And let me tell you, there all kinds of people who would come to the inner city to buy drugs. I saw doctors and lawyers in expensive suits coming to buy drugs alongside of gang thugs with no cash and were instead bringing things to barter for drugs; i.e. TV's, stereo systems, microwave ovens, or common household blenders to trade for drugs--- items which were usually stolen.
In the really dangerous areas of the inner city, the patient's family members would escort Janet or me from our vehicle to the inside of the home--- and they would guard our vehicle while we performed the visit. And then they'd escort us back to our vehicle to make sure we were safe. (And we appreciated that very much.)
There was nothing glamorous about being a Road Nurse in gang territory. Janet and me wore jeans with one or two cell phones clipped to our belts. And neither of us carried any sort of weapon. The police advised us to carry pepper spray but Janet and I never did.
I don't know what Janet did, but when I left the house in the morning to go on my rounds, I simply asked the Lord for a Guardian Angel to ride along with me. And, curiously, I think the Lord actually provided me one on a certain occasion.
It was a day when I had gotten out of my car to go into a tenement building to see an elderly woman patient. This tenement was deep in in a slum which was home to a certain gang known for its violence. When I got out of my vehicle I noticed a group of obvious gang thugs standing on a corner. I didn't pay them any mind. I just lugged my nursing bag up up the slightly hilly street towards the tenement.
And then....
I felt twinges of fear because I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that the men were looking at me, assessing me.... and I wondered what they were going to do. Whatever it was, I knew it would be bad. And so I said under my breath: "Lord? Didn't I ask you for a Guardian Angel? You know how dangerous this street is and if You don't do somthing I suspect I'll be pushing up daisies soon....."
And then it happened.
The group of thugs began walking towards me. Their facial expressions were such that I knew they were up to no good. Some of them leered at me with evil smiles on their faces. And I couldn't escape because they were between me and my vehicle. I knew I was toast. Desperate, I looked around to see if anybody was nearby so that I could shout for help. But the street was bare except for this group of men and me. Oh shit, I thought. There is nobody who will hear me scream.
And suddenly, a strange thing happened.
The group of men stopped short in their tracks .... and stared at me strangely. And then they began backing away.... slowly, hesitantly....and then they turned around and quickly walked out of the area completely. Relieved, but puzzled, I looked around to see who it was that caused the thugs to flee in fear. But there wasn't anybody around. Nobody that I could see.....
I've thought about it a lot since then, wondering what in the hell made that gang of thugs back off from me? I mean, they TOTALLY looked they were about to rob me....or worse---and they suddenly saw something which frightened them---but I couldn't see it.
Thus, to this day I suspect it was a Guardian Angel who stopped the punks from accosting me.
Anyway, I kept on seeing patients in the inner city. For some reason I was fearless. But poor Janet got "burnt out" with being a Road Nurse and resigned. I heard later that she was working as a veterinary assistant.
Where was I?
Oh yeah.....I was going to tell you about a certain kitten....
One day I was seeing two elderly patients, Mr. and Mrs. Townsend --- and they lived right smack in the heart of gang territory. They lived in a ramshackle house that had seen better days. But I loved these two patients. They were the kind of patients who'd always offer me gingersnaps and a cup of coffee. I frequently did chores for them when I visited---like take the trash outside to the curb for pickup on trash day.
Anyway, on this day I finished the visit, after having changed a wound dressing on Mr. Townsend's foot and I had also checked Mrs. Townsend's blood pressure. She was on a new medicine for hypertension and I was assessing her toleration of it.
When the visit was over, the Townsends did as they always do and walked out the front door with me. They would always stand on their front porch and wave goodbye when I drove away. But today Mrs. Townsend stopped me and pointed at a bush at the far end of their porch.
"A stray cat had a bunch of kittens in there," she told me, mournfully. "But I feel so sorry for them because they'll grow up strays... they'll become alley cats like their mother. It's sad because they're so cute and yet I don't think they'll last long in this neighborhood..."
I knew I shouldn't do it......I knew for dang sure I shouldn't do it....
But I did it.
I looked inside the bush...
And sure enough, there were 5 white kittens, some of them with black spots. It was very obvious that they were very young---probably no more than 3 weeks old. And they seemed so weak that they couldn't even mew.
And I didn't hesitate.
I snatched up the cutest one.
The Townsends looked jubilant. "Oh good!" Mrs. Townsend cried happily. "We were hoping that we could find people willing to take care of them. If they stay out in the wild, especially in this neighborhood, they'll never get fed well enough, or they might get run over by a car-- and some will probably die."
"Don't worry, " I assured them. "I'll take good care of this one."
"They sure are young, though," Mr. Townsend said. "I don't know how you're going to feed her. And she's probably covered with fleas."
Just then, the mailman came by. He was wearing a big smile as he came up the front walkway to hand some mail to the Townsends. He looked at the kitten in my arms and smiled. "Got yourself a kitty, did you?" he asked.
"I sure do!" I replied. And then I said to the Townsends: "Thank you for the kitty! Anyway, I've got to now. I'll see you next week. Bye everybody!" and I began walking down the pathway to the street.
And then I heard Mrs. Townsend's voice: "And if you know anybody else who'd like a kitten, let us know!"
I turned around and said: "Okay--I'll try!"
And then it happened.
Suddenly, gunfire shots rang out from a passing vehicle which, after making the shots, sped away.
The poor mailman hit the ground to avoid being in the pathway of the bullets, his mailbag opening and scattering enveloped mail all over the place. And the Townsends had fled into their house.
But I was frozen in fear. I couldn't move. And as I stood there, mortified, I saw two rings of smoke----the smoke rings which typically emerge from the barrels of a shotgun which has just been fired. And the rings of smoke floated by my head, wafting no more than 5 inches away from my head.
When I came to my senses I realized that I had come very close to being a victim in the crossfire of a drive-by shooting. My head would have been blown to smithereens....
And I knew what the shooters were aiming at--- a house next door to the Townsends, a house which was a notorious drug house.
God they're crappy shots, I thought. "Hell, I could shoot better than any of those punks..."
But suddenly I just wanted to get back to my own neighborhood. I was trembling with fear at the thought that the gunshots had been so close to my head. So I stuffed the little kitten into my jacket pocket and ran for my vehicle.
And I sure as hell didn't want to be around when the drug dealers from the drug house next door emerged and start shooting in revenge for the drive-by shooting.
And so I jumped into my vehicle and sped the 12 miles to my own neighborhood.
(When I got home I almost kissed the ground.)
When I got home I held up the sweet kitten and thought I had better get her treated at a vererinarian. She was indeed full of fleas and she hadn't known what to do when I set her in front of a bowl of cream..
So I called a local vet and asked him if I could bring her in. He said yes and so I drove to his clinic. After he examined the kitten he shook his head slowly and told me that I'd have to de-flea her. And also that I would need to feed her with a syringe using specially made "mother's milk" for kittens, which he sold.
"You do realize that she was too young to be taken from her mother, don't you?" the vet warned. "And she's extremely weak. So don't get your hopes up that she will live, because there's a risk that she may die."
"Nope," I replied stubbornly. "I'm going to save her." And so I bought both the mother's milk and some de-fleaing medicing.
Dejectedly, I drove home. I had a syringe in my supply bags in the back of my vehicle and I hurriedly retrieved one to try feeding the little bitty thing. She was no bigger than our DVD player's clicker, which was only 5 inches long. But with the syringe I was able to get some food into her.
When Blaine came home and saw the kitten he wasn't too thrilled. "Dammit, Bo, she's covered in fleas. And you didn't even ask me what my opinion was about adopting a stray cat's kitten."
"But she was living in a BUSH in gang territory!" I retorted. "I couldn't just leave her! She's so weak from hunger that she probably would have died in a few days---or fell victim to a predator, like a night owl or something."
After Blain sighed heavily, he asked simply: "Okay, Bo. What's her name?"
After thinking for a minute or two I had it.
"I'm going to call her Little Baby," I replied.
*
*
Gang territory was so dangerous that the police told us Road Nurses that if we ever got into a vehicle accident in that part of town to NOT get out and wait for the cops. They told us that instead of getting out of the car to assess the damage or exchange insurance information with the other driver, we were to simply drive to the nearest police station to report the accident--- and they would not cite us for leaving the scene of the accident.
It was dangerous to be a Road Nurse in gang territory. The gangs knew that we carried a lot of medical supplies in our vehicles---things like sterile syringes they could use for shooting up drugs....
As I mentioned above, there were only two of us at my Road Nurse company who would go to gang territory. My buddy, Janet and me. Both of us went into the inner city on a daily basis---and it was usually for wound care, managing bedsores on elderly bedbound patients. Or we went to perform wound care on diabetic ulcerations on patients' legs or feet. Sometimes we had to establish an IV to deliver medication to a patient. And we always had to teach the whole family about things which would promote better health, enable them to heal their wounds, prevent infection, how to prevent bedsores, and about diabetic diets, etc.
The patients we saw were usually heartbreakingly poverty stricken. And many of them were so helpless, they couldn't do housework--and so they lived in filth. It was not uncommon for a Road Nurse to be kneeling down on the ground to take care of a wound on a patient's foot and cockroaches would get onto her and start climbing up her legs---and if we were doing a sterile dressing change there wasn't anything we could do about the roaches until we finished the dressing---and only then could we brush the offending cockroaches off our legs. And because of the cockroaches, we Road Nurses fought to make our bandages so secure that the cockroaches couldn't get into them.
Sometimes our patients were the mother or grandmother of drug dealers. And so we Road Nurses, keeping our eyes low, went to the patient's room to perform the wound care while the drug dealers in the front room conducted their business--- either haggling with drug buyers over the price of the drugs, or else assessing the worth (in drugs) of whatever item a drug buyer had brought to exchange for the drugs.
And let me tell you, there all kinds of people who would come to the inner city to buy drugs. I saw doctors and lawyers in expensive suits coming to buy drugs alongside of gang thugs with no cash and were instead bringing things to barter for drugs; i.e. TV's, stereo systems, microwave ovens, or common household blenders to trade for drugs--- items which were usually stolen.
In the really dangerous areas of the inner city, the patient's family members would escort Janet or me from our vehicle to the inside of the home--- and they would guard our vehicle while we performed the visit. And then they'd escort us back to our vehicle to make sure we were safe. (And we appreciated that very much.)
There was nothing glamorous about being a Road Nurse in gang territory. Janet and me wore jeans with one or two cell phones clipped to our belts. And neither of us carried any sort of weapon. The police advised us to carry pepper spray but Janet and I never did.
I don't know what Janet did, but when I left the house in the morning to go on my rounds, I simply asked the Lord for a Guardian Angel to ride along with me. And, curiously, I think the Lord actually provided me one on a certain occasion.
It was a day when I had gotten out of my car to go into a tenement building to see an elderly woman patient. This tenement was deep in in a slum which was home to a certain gang known for its violence. When I got out of my vehicle I noticed a group of obvious gang thugs standing on a corner. I didn't pay them any mind. I just lugged my nursing bag up up the slightly hilly street towards the tenement.
And then....
I felt twinges of fear because I could see, out of the corner of my eye, that the men were looking at me, assessing me.... and I wondered what they were going to do. Whatever it was, I knew it would be bad. And so I said under my breath: "Lord? Didn't I ask you for a Guardian Angel? You know how dangerous this street is and if You don't do somthing I suspect I'll be pushing up daisies soon....."
And then it happened.
The group of thugs began walking towards me. Their facial expressions were such that I knew they were up to no good. Some of them leered at me with evil smiles on their faces. And I couldn't escape because they were between me and my vehicle. I knew I was toast. Desperate, I looked around to see if anybody was nearby so that I could shout for help. But the street was bare except for this group of men and me. Oh shit, I thought. There is nobody who will hear me scream.
And suddenly, a strange thing happened.
The group of men stopped short in their tracks .... and stared at me strangely. And then they began backing away.... slowly, hesitantly....and then they turned around and quickly walked out of the area completely. Relieved, but puzzled, I looked around to see who it was that caused the thugs to flee in fear. But there wasn't anybody around. Nobody that I could see.....
I've thought about it a lot since then, wondering what in the hell made that gang of thugs back off from me? I mean, they TOTALLY looked they were about to rob me....or worse---and they suddenly saw something which frightened them---but I couldn't see it.
Thus, to this day I suspect it was a Guardian Angel who stopped the punks from accosting me.
Anyway, I kept on seeing patients in the inner city. For some reason I was fearless. But poor Janet got "burnt out" with being a Road Nurse and resigned. I heard later that she was working as a veterinary assistant.
Where was I?
Oh yeah.....I was going to tell you about a certain kitten....
One day I was seeing two elderly patients, Mr. and Mrs. Townsend --- and they lived right smack in the heart of gang territory. They lived in a ramshackle house that had seen better days. But I loved these two patients. They were the kind of patients who'd always offer me gingersnaps and a cup of coffee. I frequently did chores for them when I visited---like take the trash outside to the curb for pickup on trash day.
Anyway, on this day I finished the visit, after having changed a wound dressing on Mr. Townsend's foot and I had also checked Mrs. Townsend's blood pressure. She was on a new medicine for hypertension and I was assessing her toleration of it.
When the visit was over, the Townsends did as they always do and walked out the front door with me. They would always stand on their front porch and wave goodbye when I drove away. But today Mrs. Townsend stopped me and pointed at a bush at the far end of their porch.
"A stray cat had a bunch of kittens in there," she told me, mournfully. "But I feel so sorry for them because they'll grow up strays... they'll become alley cats like their mother. It's sad because they're so cute and yet I don't think they'll last long in this neighborhood..."
I knew I shouldn't do it......I knew for dang sure I shouldn't do it....
But I did it.
I looked inside the bush...
And sure enough, there were 5 white kittens, some of them with black spots. It was very obvious that they were very young---probably no more than 3 weeks old. And they seemed so weak that they couldn't even mew.
And I didn't hesitate.
I snatched up the cutest one.
The Townsends looked jubilant. "Oh good!" Mrs. Townsend cried happily. "We were hoping that we could find people willing to take care of them. If they stay out in the wild, especially in this neighborhood, they'll never get fed well enough, or they might get run over by a car-- and some will probably die."
"Don't worry, " I assured them. "I'll take good care of this one."
"They sure are young, though," Mr. Townsend said. "I don't know how you're going to feed her. And she's probably covered with fleas."
Just then, the mailman came by. He was wearing a big smile as he came up the front walkway to hand some mail to the Townsends. He looked at the kitten in my arms and smiled. "Got yourself a kitty, did you?" he asked.
"I sure do!" I replied. And then I said to the Townsends: "Thank you for the kitty! Anyway, I've got to now. I'll see you next week. Bye everybody!" and I began walking down the pathway to the street.
And then I heard Mrs. Townsend's voice: "And if you know anybody else who'd like a kitten, let us know!"
I turned around and said: "Okay--I'll try!"
And then it happened.
Suddenly, gunfire shots rang out from a passing vehicle which, after making the shots, sped away.
The poor mailman hit the ground to avoid being in the pathway of the bullets, his mailbag opening and scattering enveloped mail all over the place. And the Townsends had fled into their house.
But I was frozen in fear. I couldn't move. And as I stood there, mortified, I saw two rings of smoke----the smoke rings which typically emerge from the barrels of a shotgun which has just been fired. And the rings of smoke floated by my head, wafting no more than 5 inches away from my head.
When I came to my senses I realized that I had come very close to being a victim in the crossfire of a drive-by shooting. My head would have been blown to smithereens....
And I knew what the shooters were aiming at--- a house next door to the Townsends, a house which was a notorious drug house.
God they're crappy shots, I thought. "Hell, I could shoot better than any of those punks..."
But suddenly I just wanted to get back to my own neighborhood. I was trembling with fear at the thought that the gunshots had been so close to my head. So I stuffed the little kitten into my jacket pocket and ran for my vehicle.
And I sure as hell didn't want to be around when the drug dealers from the drug house next door emerged and start shooting in revenge for the drive-by shooting.
And so I jumped into my vehicle and sped the 12 miles to my own neighborhood.
(When I got home I almost kissed the ground.)
When I got home I held up the sweet kitten and thought I had better get her treated at a vererinarian. She was indeed full of fleas and she hadn't known what to do when I set her in front of a bowl of cream..
So I called a local vet and asked him if I could bring her in. He said yes and so I drove to his clinic. After he examined the kitten he shook his head slowly and told me that I'd have to de-flea her. And also that I would need to feed her with a syringe using specially made "mother's milk" for kittens, which he sold.
"You do realize that she was too young to be taken from her mother, don't you?" the vet warned. "And she's extremely weak. So don't get your hopes up that she will live, because there's a risk that she may die."
"Nope," I replied stubbornly. "I'm going to save her." And so I bought both the mother's milk and some de-fleaing medicing.
Dejectedly, I drove home. I had a syringe in my supply bags in the back of my vehicle and I hurriedly retrieved one to try feeding the little bitty thing. She was no bigger than our DVD player's clicker, which was only 5 inches long. But with the syringe I was able to get some food into her.
When Blaine came home and saw the kitten he wasn't too thrilled. "Dammit, Bo, she's covered in fleas. And you didn't even ask me what my opinion was about adopting a stray cat's kitten."
"But she was living in a BUSH in gang territory!" I retorted. "I couldn't just leave her! She's so weak from hunger that she probably would have died in a few days---or fell victim to a predator, like a night owl or something."
After Blain sighed heavily, he asked simply: "Okay, Bo. What's her name?"
After thinking for a minute or two I had it.
"I'm going to call her Little Baby," I replied.
*
*
43 comments:
You are so full of shit
Yawn....
**coughBULLSHITcough**
Post Fred's phone # .... I think someone needs to let him in on your latest lies & delusions.....Lord knows you're certainly not telling him anything of substance & value.
Although something tells me nothing about you is real....I keep having this vision of you in some backwoods trailer, surrounded by cats & beer cans, thinking of ways to entertain Bloggerland & Twitter. Seriously, you need to take your shit on the road ...I bet you're a helluva an actress.
LOL! LOL! Stop it, Anonymous above! You're killing me and Blaine!!!! LOL! I can just see you calling Fred up and giving him the lowdown on me! Oh Lord, I almost peed my pants reading your comment! And Blaine is still chuckling in the kitchen!
Although your "impressions" about me are incorrect, you are right about one thing---we do have cats. But... um....I hate to tell you this but Overland Park is a horribly tony community which wouldn NEVER allow a trailer in here! Roughing it around here is only having a double-car garage.
But LOL!!! You're funny! Oh yeah, once again, here's Fred's phone number in case you want to chat (but I warn you, he only takes select patients):(555)555-5555.
I find it absolutely astonishing that there is someone so nasty, depraved, lonely and pathetic as to continually post vile comments on YOUR blog. It is YOUR blog for cyin out loud, you can say whatever you want.
I keep telling my husband about this and he is amazed as well. He cant believe I degrade myself enough to be interested in Ms (that stands for miserable)Anonymous's diatribe. Seriously Anonymous you really need to get a life. Really.
Get a life.. you might want to find a therapist yourself too. Do you understand how very sad it is to continually poke at someone on their OWN blog? YOU are getting this arent you? HER OWN BLOG??
Why are all of your stories so full of how brave and wonderful you are when we all know that you are hicken shit? Delusional much. Or maybe this blog is just stories about the person you WISH you were. And as far as your tweet about handling it between two people: you opened that can or worms yourself honey.
And Blaine is probably a figment of your imagination too. Who in their right mind would take up with the likes of your crazy ass?
Um...Anonymous above....I don't mean to be rude, but is that the best you can do in the way of insults? Really, they're quite infantile. No panache--and you're not witty. In other words....you bore me.
I admire you for doing the visiting nursing. I don't have the stomach for it...give me hospital bed-side nursing any day!
Terri
You must be bored to make up all th shit about your life that you do. You are one fucked up cookie.
Now you can pull your ever witty saying out of your ass: "I know you are but what am I?"
Your comment that I "make stuff up in my life" reeks of jealousy. Big time jealousy. Go on...admit it! You're jealous as a cat!
And thank you, Terri!
Jealous of your make believe life???
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Not hadly.
You're on parole, aren't you? That's why you can't work in nursing, and why you have two psychiatrists--Fred is actually your parole officer. Can't think why I didn't realize this before.
Hmmm....let me count my blessings:
Even though I am an RN (with an intact license) Blaine doesn't make me work.
We live in beautiful Overland Park.
Blaine buys me yarn or whatever else I might need. (Like my new laptop--- and my outrageously expensive Wittnaur watch for Christmas.)
(The watch was bought from Bailey, Banks & Biddle but I doubt you ever heard of that shop---much less was able to shop in it):
You can see it at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/33279511@N05
(where it says "Christmas Watch")
And my therapists are just that---private therapists (not parole officers) who I CHOSE to begin seeing a year and a half ago. You have to know someone to see my therapists, and that's why I get to see them. And they started me with another one, see below.
I now have a new therapist (which will make 3--count them, three) who is going to help me with my dreadful shyness, especially of being out of the house in town. I'm going to meet him at one of my favorite shops tomorrow at ll:30 am.
Yep.....I have a pretty blessed life.
And you're so jealous you can't see straight!
And you think by making those "insults" that I'll get mad. But I'm really not mad. I know that it's your jealousy making you act this way. Because that's what jealous people do---because they wish THEY HAD what the object of their hatred has. (Hmmm, maybe YOU should see a therapist.)
Oh yes, and I forgot to add:
The reason I see three therapists is that one shrink deals with the medicines, and Fred actually does the Freudian therapy. (His visits are an hour long and I always get a headache...) Fred was concerned that I'm so shy and fearful of crowds that it's hard for me to do things like go to a mall, go to movies, etc. Blaine has to practically drag me. So this new therapist is "road therapist" who is going to begin "socialization" therapy on me tomorrow, when we meet at a shop I like.
So now I'll have three therapists. Believe it or not, the type of therapy that they do is difficult. It isn't fun and games.
munoz?
Yawn....
(What are you doing? Going through the Yellow Pages to see if you can guess who I see? You're an idiot. And he is unlisted.)
But like I said, Fred's phone number is: (555)555-5555.
Oh, I forgot, he'd never take a call from you.
(Like I said before, he's very exclusive in his clientele.)
Bo, maybe you should talk to Fred about your anonymous person. That they are looking for your therapist is a little scary. I'm gald Blaine is aware of this. She sounds really angry and sick. There is difference between someone sho sees a therapist and knows she has issues and someone sho is so angry and malevolent and seems to not know she has issues, i.e. your anonymous stalker.
Pretty sure she needs a therapist or parole officer far more than you do.
I am married to a parole office of 25 years, he is the one who thinks her nasty comments are so bizarre.
again anonymous, get a life.
Anyone who goes around talking about how much money people spend on them, how exclusive her shrink is, while talking how awesome she is; never is. Especially when she talks about her "outrageously" expensive watch and can't even spell it right. It's Wittnauer. And Bailey Banks and Biddle isn't that great of a shop. Especially when you consider that many of them are going out of business. But then again you won't publish this.
Thank you, Anonymous above (with the parole officer husband). I'm going to take your advice and notify the authorities, my neighbors, and my therapist. Heck, I thought I was crazy---but this person is purely nuts
To the commenter who seems to be enraged with me and is actively trying to find out details of my life:
I don't mind when people who dislike me send "hate mail". It's their right not to like me. But you have crossed the line from "not liking" to "enraged" at me. And you are desperately trying to find out details of my life---even going so far as to research my stupid watch.
I think it is best if you do not comment on my blog anymore and seek professional help. Your behavior is disturbing and you need to address why you feel so enraged with somebody you don't even know.
So now you know how YH feels. Will this change your behavior?
You know that Wittnauer is really just a ramped up Seiko, right? And that they sell them in Sears, right? And of course you know that Bailey, Banks & Biddle is bankrupt, right? I suppose you thought you'd impress people with your watch and "tony" neighborhood (AKA all white Protestant vanilla neighborhood)but you really don't impress anyone. You just send the message again & again that your life is really very very sad and you need to create drama & controversy just to feel good about yourself. I'm so sad for you...I really am. I think I'll pray for you tonight because I think you, more than most, need them. You're a really sick little girl and need all the help those 3 therapists can give you.
Oh and PS ...no one is enraged at you - everyone is LAUGHING at you. What you don't get is that people are doing this very entertaining thing called "poking teh crazy" ...it's funny to see how you fall for it every single time.
Pot, please meet Kettle.
Isn't your diatribe about YH (which you have so conveniently deleted) much the same?
Despite what you believe, I never "stalked" YH. I simply told her I didn't appreciate her mocking of America and, since then, I have criticized her. But i NEVER, for one minute, "stalked" her or threatened her. You people who think I did are nuts. You didn't check your facts. And, like I've said, "disliking" somebody is way different than being so enraged at somebody that you try to find out details of their personal life in the way that stalkers do.
Next time, check your facts. I never theatened YH or demanded to know facts of her daily life.
And to the Anonymous who went to the trouble of researching my watch:
YOU are the one who needs prayers and therapy. You are an absolute LUNATIC. How many hours did you spend looking up Wittnaur watches? God in Heaven, your mind is totally DISTURBED.
Why are you so obsessed with me? Why are you so jealous of my life? I'm sorry you're so jealous of my life that you spend hours upon hours researching mine.
I just happen to have a very exciting life---and so I talk about it on my blog (which is what blogs are for.) If you want to have an exciting life, why don't you concentrate on THAT instead of criticizing mine.
And I know you are one of YH's groupies. So why don't you go haunt her instead of me? You're a sick person and you belong in the looney bin.
And to the Anonymous who said "everyone is laughing at me". No, that is not true. You are just saying that in an attempt to make me feel embarassed. But you're wrong--I'm not embarassed or disturbed by what people like you think of me. I couldn't care less.
Actually, whenever you write a comment, I read it out loud to Blaine and we laugh our asses off. We laugh because we can't believe that there's people like you who are so jealous of us that you spend hours upon hours reading my blog and trying to come up with witty insults.
But I'm afraid you've missed the mark. Your insults aren't "witty" at all. You sound like you're mentally ill. You should find a good therapist in your town. (And that's another thing you're jealous of---my Fred and the other 2 therapists.)
Hey, I get to go meet my new therapist today at one of my favorite shops!! I'm looking forward to it!
And to the Anonymous who said "Pot, meet kettle":
Yawn....you're beginning to bore me. Jealousy is an ugly emotion and you should think seriously about trying to find out the reasons why you are so filled with anger towards me. This goes waaaaay beyond being upset because I don't like your idol, YH.
You are totally obsessed with me, jealous of me, and focused on me. I have a fun life and you are envious in every way. What you don't realize is that you can have your own fun life---IF you stop your obsessive jealousy of my life.
And your idiocy doesn't in the lesat bother me. I'm happy today because I get to go meet my new therapist---I hope we can go to a coffee bar and get lattes!
And guess what? You DON'T get to go! LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL!!! So so long, SUCKER!!! LOL LOL LOL LOL!
OMG! I just read through all 29 comments and I'm floored! I like yarn harlot alright. I have all her books. They are good. But I love reading Bo's stories and I have been reading them for as long as she's been posting. (Red Tea Kettle) yeah!!
People get a life. This kind of drama is what Myspace or Facebook is for. Not blogs. For goodness sake. Bo doll, stop responding to these jerks and just post what your heart feels the need to post. These kind of comments on such a touching story about your cat take away from your intentions to blog about Little Baby. "Knit on, with confidence and hope, through all crises"--Elizabeth Zimmerman
OMG! I just read through all 29 comments and I'm floored! I like yarn harlot alright. I have all her books. They are good. But I love reading Bo's stories and I have been reading them for as long as she's been posting. (Red Tea Kettle) yeah!!
People get a life. This kind of drama is what Myspace or Facebook is for. Not blogs. For goodness sake. Bo doll, stop responding to these jerks and just post what your heart feels the need to post. These kind of comments on such a touching story about your cat take away from your intentions to blog about Little Baby. "Knit on, with confidence and hope, through all crises"--Elizabeth Zimmerman
Thank you, LesleyD!!! You have definitely lifted my spirits!
Bo, I guess you are so unique that anonymous can't leave well enough alone. I have to admit I was really laughing until somebody suggested that annoy. was over the edge and I believe they are right.
So take care of yourself and ignore this person. It will drive them nuts.
Thank you, Sue. I plan on taking your advice.
"You must be bored to make up all th shit about your life that you do" And what kind of fun filled exciting life does someone have that can post so very many mean spirited Comments? And BTW, some very very nice upscale stores have declared bankruptcy over the last few years....closing down doesnt mean that they weren't nice stores.
Thank you, Danielle!
omg, i was just catchin up and reading back a bit and all i can say is- OH MY LORD- i wood just like everyone who reads this in the future to send out a tone of loving thoughts to all the people who were rude to Bo. they obviously have something seriously missing in their lives and need help, and right now the only way they can cope is to be mean to a truly good person.
Bo, these crazies are using you as their own personal therapy, maybe you should start charging them?
what do you think? $50 per rant? less or more depending on word count?
lots of happiness to ya, karma'll bite them in the ass x
Thank you, Knitrageous!
Bo, I've been lurking for a while and have to come out and tell you that I love reading your stories. You've had (and still have) and interesting life! Also, most non-Southerners will never understand just how colorful life below the Mason-Dixon line can be... even if you no longer live there, the adventure seems to follow (as I well know myself, being a Southerner living in MD). It's your blog, and Anonymous is just being ugly. Why is she so torqued up, anyway? It's not her life. Just ignore her, and don't feel ilke you have to defend yourself. Carry on, some of us love what you write!
Thank you, Miranda!
I don't comment on many blogs, I just read, enjoy (or not), agree (or not)and move on.
I have to comment here though...
I don't agree with or enjoy everything you have to say Bo, but respect your right to put whatever you like on your blog. If I don't like it, I don't have to read on.
I don't understand all you nasty anonymouses. Post and argue if you like, but why get so personal and petty? Even if you think that Bo "started it" (and how old are we anyway?)... so what?
Obviously your intent is to demean her, but you demean yourselves even more.
...and Bo? Stop responding... it just encourages them. You seem to be suffering from last-word-itus (as are they), but just let it go. Just repeat to yourself
"this isn't real, they don't know me, and they don't matter"
Good job with the cat BTW. I wish we could help all of them.
Lora, not so anonymous.
Hey, Crazy.
I'm just catching up on your blog and whatnot, and had no idea of all the drama you've been through! Although, I can say you've handled it with your usual flair. Huzzah.
And for the record? I will willingly admit I am immensely jealous of you. Seriously. Even with the 3 therapists and the crazy meds, I would willingly trade lives any day. You can even keep the fahncee watch -- but you have to let me have Blaine. He really is a keeper!!
Keep strong, mah creative, brilliant, talented sistah.
You are so sweet, Monkeygirrrrrl! Thank you for your kind words---you always make my day!!
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