Bringitthefuckon!

Hi, My name is Mendacious and I have a ticket problem. In my more angry moments tonight I might have tossed the cat abruptly onto the couch and earlier taken a shot of whiskey but in my more sober moments I'm sitting here, staring into the space and thinking WHAT THE FUCK?!
It all started back this last Summer when my friend Kerry said, Are you sure? And I said, Sure about what? Little did I know about the camera and how the cityfucksyouuptheass when you turn right on a redlight which is a mostly safe and very minor infraction but still costs $170+. Anyway I delayed my trial and just now got the decision back of, yah, you're guilty, fucking too bad. Whatever right? At least i fought it. But now let's see if I can get traffic school going. I've got time. I'm jobless. That'll be $40 at least.

So then you know, I hadn't been blogging and I was all, it's a beautiful winter day, let's go hiking. So I waited for Kerry and parked @ this high curb near the trail entrance, nevermind that I told kerry to park there too- and not 4 minutes before returning the evil parking people- who I've never seen not once in all my years here- ticketed me for parking in a red zone. No signs anywhere and the paint at best was light pink and chipping. $70+. And as we were walking down, they were harassing an innocent looking cyclist. God knows what he got ticketed for. But he did. I know that much. Sure LA is broke but I just think it's wrong to take it out on us. I felt like an ass for Kerry getting ticketed too- but then I thought maybe she was some sort of curse... until
I had lunch with my friend and i was in an hour only zone, non-metered and from the ticket, it looks like they waited for me and not 4 minutes after this non-metered spot expired in time they ticketed my ass for $38. Thanks Pasadena. I thought at this point the devil was just trying to get me down. I mean that's a $100 bucks just kissed to the ether and the grinding beuracracy of an unstable civilization. But i laughed it off, and vowed to fight them both anyway, even if in the end I was found guilty. I mean in truth the law is the law and that's the problem. There's no grace. And I have never been a strict by the rule kind of girl... and it's like payback is a bitch apparently because,
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Tonight I just got this-- Not only did I blow through a stopsign in a poorly lit area of a park in the rain and in the dark, he saw that i had a cellphone in my hand even though it was on speaker and decided to cite me for that too. and oh guess what- yah, i forgot my wallet- which my new insurance card was in along with my ID... yes, please i'd like 2 more violations please. OH and can I have a side of permanent point on your record and an extra helping of raised insurance? And the guy was a dick and he was mad and shouting at me. Literally barking orders about rolling the window all the way down in the rain, turning the car off, signing here, incredulous at my lack of license as if i fucking did it on purpose. And what can you do in the face of anger. You just stare idly if you're me, wondering at what point the target was drawn on your back and satan went, go get her boys. Sure it's a weak point. this non-loving part of me in regards to the law. But come on seriously? I mean if you look at the accumulation of events is it just my time to pay up? Or what? I guess it is. It's not like I"m going to change. And I don't know if that's the particular lesson the universe is trying to teach me. Fuck the rules and all the rule followers of the world. Is it a price i'm willing to pay? Cuz you know it's going to be fucking expensive.

And sure just as a matter of principle I'm going to fight each one. Fill up the offices with my papertrails and try to think that if I lose each and everyone the money that could be paying off my debt or buying me a new pair of shoes is supporting the fine city of los angeles. I just got $367 back from the state. Sure they can't afford to pay me, but when i get it, i'll do my duty and give it right back. and some. Since moving violations are pricey.

So fuck you dark forces! God is on my side. And while yes, I could pay more attention to the "rules", these rules are irrelevant to the larger stake in my life. So it's not worth losing sleep over or developing a headache over. that's the point. But I suppose i do want to say enough is enough though right? i mean it's pretty ridiculous. 6 violations in the space of 3wks. it just seems excessive.

Tuesday Thoughts: regarding the rest of the week, by M

Apparently the week was not quite done with me.

Friday: The girl knew her check was coming late, so went out into the wide world for a respite. She hopped in her car and as she drove out of the garage, her breath was knocked from her by a large muscle on the left side of her back, and it's iron-fisted grip. She hunched forward, holyfuckingwhat, escaping her lips. She breathed out with wide eyes as her nerves now being stuck by pins spread across her back, her breath coming in deep sighs, felt tight and constricted as her back muscles fought the movement. Every breath uncomfortable. She pressed her back against the seat. FUCK, she thought, as she now could no longer turn her head to the left or tip it to the right. This was good times. But the girl did eventually go to the gym and jumped into the jacuzzi, then the pool, then the steam room, and shoveled some advil into her mouth, lathering herself in icy/hot and going to bed even as the headache spread and hovered at the base of her neck. Blissful sleep.

Saturday: The girl woke, not quite well but vowed to venture downtown to the fabric district. It was uncommon hot, and her friend had brought friends and they manically went from store to store to store until the girl grew dizzy from fabric options and wanted to just stand still and think. And as time tore from her at the 11th hour she found a different direction and spent $30 on 20yards. Gold. Mine. And although she fell further behind against the clock, things were going well, just ok, until the friend and the friend's friend started talking about religion. I suppose the girl had started it, fed it, when the friend said, this girl is all RELIGIOUS, despite the fact the girl sat there as a known church goer, she asked why? What do you mean? To which they said, we know you're not like that BUT, religion is brainwashing, religion is a republican fear-mongering tactic, religion is pathetic and pointless, and have it however you want as long as you don't PUSH IT ON ME. And the girl furrowed her brow and could not find the words, as she felt smashed against the pane of THEIR BELIEFS, and then she said, well religion is different than Jesus, to which her friend said, yah, but. And the girl said, so you don't believe in Jesus anymore? To which her friend went, eh.... And the girl turned her head to the window, and was very glad to have sunglasses on, as it seemed she'd just been told that her friend of 18 years didn't love HER anymore. And she found her heart just a little bit broken. And saw that her friend glanced over, but still could find nothing to say.

Sunday: She got a call from a friend who wanted to see her. So the girl saw her, and the girl stared with disdain at the Obama/Biden button, and wanted a McCain/Palin Button of her own to wear as they sat over their lunch salads and iced tea. But she didn't say anything but sat slumped and melancholy. They talked but the girl was not very good company. And then they went to leave, her beloved car lolly, went SCRUNCH against the pylon on the left. And the friend said, I saw that. THEN WHY THE FUCK DIDN"T YOU SAY SOMETHING. I thought, for sure you saw it. The girl said, PLEASE stop saying shit like that. When I ran the stoplight and you said, Are you sure? What the fuck was that suppose to mean. If you're not going to help, stop saying you could've helped but just refused to SAY SOMETHING. FUCK... Do you want to get out and look at it, asked the friend. NO I DO NOT, said the girl, who in all of her years of driving had NEVER done that particular maneuver, on any more or less important cars. She stared straight ahead and tried to make it home, and when her father suggested the friend stay for dinner she said NO, and when they suggested dinner next week, the girl said she'd have to check her schedule, because the girl no longer thought it right that the father could talk better to the friend than to her. And later, the girl read Dracula to her mother, and they watched Clue, and she had an allergic reaction to wheat cereal and felt, very, very sorry for herself.

Monday: The girl woke with a vow to not go to work, but found herself driving there anyway, and managed to vote (proud as she googled each proposition), and write a little something, and harass people about the prayer ministry meeting from last wednesday....and not do her french homework, but went to class anyway, only to feel her whole body humming and screeching and wanting to lay down. She thought, it could've been the cookie, brownie and ricekrispie treat I had earlier, but the girl thought it more likely was her back. And then as they sat talking about subjunctive clauses her left hand throbbed, and she turned it palm up and went to rub a sore spot on the pad of her palm, but it hurt more when she did it, and she could see a vien bulging up and turning purple with a swath of pink around it, but the girl didn't know why. She only hoped that, after spending 5 minutes resting her eyes in a bathroom stall that she would be able to make it home without further incident. She could only hope Tuesday would prove better. And the twinge in her eye indicated that she herself couldn't believe it.

Sorta Like When My Friend Tim Died and I didn't find out until 3 years later.

My friend "Ivy" is a heroin addict. Good times! (Eye Twitch). I think I could write 5 posts of long length and still not be quite done at purging myself of that statement.

There was recent debate this last Saturday if I've gotten better at letting go of friends and then I thought, no, I've just gotten better at accepting loss and disappointment. But honestly it's a call I never even imagined in a nightmare reality I would get. Hi, M this is W. We found her stash and we need to get her into rehab and we need a favor... Can you come watch her kid and make sure she doesn't try to go anywhere?

Sure, I found myself saying. What did you just say?! I think I just said, Sure, ok.

Part of me can't really find the words past: stunned. Partly not surprised now that I've read this Narcotics Anonymous letter about the self-obsessed person that this happened to her. Because the letter as pat as it is, is all things I've always preceived about her. Of course my friend Matt sees it clinically as he manages a half-way house: She is grappling with a very serious disease, that is going to need a lifetime of help fighting. (yes.) Her moms view: I never wanted this for you. You are a shell of my daughter and I want YOU back. (yes.) Mine: She's dead. A demon has set up shop in her soul and though she looks, sounds and vaguely resembles the girl I knew at 14, very little of her is left. Less fatalistically I find myself thinking, there's an 80% failure rate at rehab. Then I think maybe, she'll be part of the 20%, if she goes. And even then. It's going to be a long hard fight.

But the whole weekend I spent with her caring for her daughter, whose only mimic is a heroin addict I kept thinking: She's dead, and I'm talking to a ghost, a distant apparition that a demon inhabits. And she's not ever coming back. It's one thing to have a friend who is in an abusive relationship, because then you think maybe they'll snap out of it or that you'll be able to pull them from the situation... It always seems like she wanted to and then there was that switch where all she wanted was oblivion and since she moved to Tulsa I have a notion she's been trying to kill herself in various reckless ways for the past 7 years... And I can trace it back a long ways to when I knew her in the beginning.

It's not that I do not wish for her to return. I just know that she will never be able to. As none of us can from annilation. And it's not that I don't have compassion because I want her to be healed, but when and if she surfaces it will be to a battle worn fighter. And that's ok. She'll have my love and respect and I'll speak to her as someone who has known her for a very long time. But for now, those demons remain unexercised and what I encountered is the reality of someone who speaks and acts and is a drug-addict.

Whose body is hunched, worn-thin and wasted to wane skin, and sinewy arms. And her once beautiful face reduced to pock marks and the poison that runs through her is erupting all over her face in sores as she abstractly itches and picks at it. Who strains to eat, who cannot finish a glass of water, who spasms and stoops on the ground as she shudders through the strains of detox with a popsicle in her hand. Who says, M, tell me about your aunt and uncle's fairytale because she knows there's a lesson in it. About how they had a house and a pool and two lovely children, and then they lost the house and the pool and all the money and how their children grew up shorn with pain. And how it didn't matter bcs they stole everything in sight to feed the monster, collecting cans on the street- It's a monster Ivy that only you know how to talk to. Yes, she says, I see the elephant in the room. No, I say, the monster in the room that only you think you can control. And you can't and I see you desperately fighting for a semblance of control and some part of you came out here to try and get control and only you who thinks its as easy as a formula of dates and expectations. But can't get past being angry at your mother and resentful at your brother and afraid that they're going to take your daughter away. But I know how this story ends, can end, and it ends with violence and sorrow no matter how great the hope, if you think this thing doesn't hold you in a death grip.

She, who told me- calm, because of the meds, that at least she didn't have to hook for a fix, who took up dealing and litmus'ing product to be sure it was cut clean. Cut. Clean. Who with caged eyes asked what I knew, why I was there. Who could only greet me as one greets a friend turned jailor. Whose daughter at 3.3 isn't nearly potty trained and first words were curses bcs of her drug addict father. Who knows mommy needs medicine for her tummy and how my friend thinks her daughter, a care-giver, is ok. And that in getting clean surrounded by squares and stiffs she's going to give birth to an alien filled with all the backwatered emotion she's been holding in all these years. And I say, all the toxic evil shit. The bad, the dark, the unspoken. And she says, It's ok to have secrets and the mentality of an addict is one who is claustraphobic and can't ever find distance from all the things coming at them. And I say, it's not ok to have secrets, not ok to constantly duck the slings and arrows of your life. I think, I thought... you were stronger than that, more becoming of triumphant movies and not ones like reqium for a dream, basquiat, and trainspotting. More willing to weather the storm and find a toe-hold...

And yet, you my friend were swept away and living wholly in a world I disdain.