Really, Just Kill Me Now

Ohhhh, Ratzelfratzel, Farfignewgen, and just plain $#@%$$!!

When is summer vacation REALLY going to start? Arrrgghhh!

Big Kid's lease was up, and since there was a substantial increase in rent, he and Kitty decided that he was going to move in to her house. The one that she shares with her 86-year-old mother-in-law (Kitty is a widow).

Shares is a relative term, because Kitty essentially moved in with Big Kid at the apartment. She was there more often than she was at her own house.

The situation seems to be a good one, because MIL is becoming increasingly infirm, and it would be good to have someone there in case she fell or something (which has happened), it's close to Kitty's work, and the management won't call me up about complaints regarding Big Kid's music, because MIL is almost deaf as a post. He can rock on to his heart's content.

I haven't written a lot about him or them in this 8 months, because I still have mixed feelings about the whole relationship, and I didn't want to invade their privacy that much, because Big Kid knows I blog.

Frankly, I just don't give a rat's ass now. Seriously.

A month ago, Big Kid and I went to the leasing office to fill out the "intent to vacate" form, since I am the co-leasee with him. Big Kid and Kitty have had 30 days to pack up their crap and move it. We'd get a truck and move the big stuff.

Hubby and I weren't unreasonable. We knew that Kitty's house is full of furniture, and there wasn't a whole heck of a lot that they needed, ie; Big Kid's kitchen table and chairs, futon bed/couch (which dissassembles), assorted end tables etc could come back here and be stored in the basement.
What we DIDN'T know is that some other renter BSed them into taking HIS big-ass nasty greasy spoogy couch and easy chair so that HE didn't have to move it. They thought, "hey free furniture!", and not "oh shucks, if we leave this crap here, or can't move it, the complex will charge us 100.00 per item for disposal!" gah

Last Thursday, 5 days before the walkthrough, THD, Little Guy and I showed up as planned to start cleaning. Everything was supposed to be boxed---what needed to go to Kitty's in one part of the apartment, what needed to be stored at our place (like dishes and stuff) in another.

Practically nothing had been done. Of course, they'd taken the stuff that was immediately "important" to them---the TV, game system, stereo system, a few clothes....the place was knee-deep in crap. Literally.

So for 3 hours, we helped them pack...just shoveled sh*t into boxes and garbage bags. Of course, Kitty's car was so full of other crap that she couldn't actually MOVE anything back to her house.

Nothing like planning ahead, eh?

Left them with boxes, bags, etc to pack the rest of the stuff up in. Said we'd be back Sunday Morning (in 3 whole days) with the truck and trailer to move the big stuff and anything they wanted to store at our house.

Of course they didn't show up, and had done NOTHING to pack the rest of their crap up, so Hubby and the boys loaded everything they could. Including the fug couch and chair.

Their excuse?

Kitty: I had to work! (24 hours a day for 3 days, apparently).

Big Kid: I'm feeling too overwhelmed to lift a finger! And you got me into this apartment, it wasn't my idea, so it's your job to get me out of it! (ah yes, the old "clean up my mess, because nothing is my fault" argument again)

I am NOT sh*tting you.

They've had 30 days to do this. It wasn't a surprise. They aren't the victims they think they are. Really, the whine fest between the two of them could have used at least 3 pounds of cheese and crackers. And an orchestra of tiny violins.

The last two days, the boys and I have been cleaning and disinfecting the freaking apartment. Scrubbing walls, especially the petrified puke chunks splashed a foot and a half high around the toilet. Different basic colors, obviously from different times.

Big Kid, Kitty and friends had dyed their hair a few times over the months, but didn't bother to clean up after themselves. There was permanent hair dye stains in the carpet, in the heating vents, on the walls, and all over the brand-new linoleum floor that was installed in the walk-in closet just off the bathroom. Which now has to be paid for.

We've loaded the car up to move stuff up to our house in the mountains to be gone through later, multiple times.

THD has been suitably traumatized (since Little Guy assisted in moving Big Guy out of our house, he was inured). While cleaning out a cabinet, he found a half-gallon jug of milk with a loose lid and about 4 inches of curdled crap. And he found and packed Kitty's vibrator collection. Oh joy.

Pigs. The two of them live like pigs. It's as simple as that.

Had the walk-through today. Had planned to shampoo the carpets, but after we got the initial crap cleaned up off of them, we knew it was a lost cause.

The geniuses had tried to lift off some of the stains with bleach. Yes bleach. On a tan carpet.

But not that it mattered. There were over 50 carpet burns throughout the apartment from where they put their cigarettes out. Along with the hair dye stains. And several gunky spots that may have been milk-shakes. Or puke. It seems they puked a lot. The place certainly smelled like it.

So the damage is estimated around 800 dollars for the carpet and linoleum replacement. The complex didn't ding us on the cleaning because Little Guy, THD and I scrubbed the living crap out of every surface in and out. But of course, I'm going to have to pay it, because my name is on the lease and I don't want to mess up my credit.

Did Big Kid and Kitty call today to find out how it went? How much work we did? What the ultimate damages were?

No, they called to find out what time they could come tomorrow to pick up our monthly support check to pay for Big Kid's basic living expenses.

Anyone wanna take bets on how far my foot is going to implant itself up a couple of asses?

But hey, there is nothing in my name any longer associated with the kid. If he tries to rent again, there will be a positive reference for him. I will never, evah, sign my name to anything else.

He and Kitty can live like pigs in their own hollar, and deal with it on their own.

I'm really really tired and being a bad fellow blogger.

I simply can't keep up.

Be back to check up on you guys in a week or so. I'm sorry.

ATM

Nuns With Guns

I know I've been a woefully bad blogger as of late, and I hope to catch up with you all this weekend.

Let's just say that in the last week I found the birth family of one of our personal friends after he was able to walk into the courthouse where his adoption was finalized and walk out with a copy of his records, due to this new law change in Colorado I mentioned a couple of posts ago.

For those of you who weren't adopted, I can only say...this is huge. A truly life-altering event. There's some happy and sad in it----his birth parents have passed, but I found his siblings. He's digesting all the info and deciding whether to contact them or not.

I've also helped my Mom with some de-crapifying of her basement. When my step-dad passed a few years ago, he left behind several enormous collections. One of them was a collection of about 700 78rpm records that he collected as a young man.

Mom had a dealer give the collection an eyeball, and he offered her 10 cents a piece. With the economy being what it is, and with the requests (ahem, no comment, not me, I'd rather sell blowjobs for a 100 bucks a pop, and yes I'm that good, not that you were asking) some of her children and grandchildren are currently making on her in regards to funditude, I demanded that she let me go over them.

Heh. I've only waded through half the collection and have found about 40 records that have recently gone for amounts between $30 and $220 each on eBay. Feh. So yes, I've been knee-deep in dusty crap that hasn't seen the light of day in about 25 years too.

Which brings me to the current observation.

The other day, I took Big Kid to see his neuropsychiatrist. Since the office recently moved, I left extra time to find it, but it turned out to be a piece of cake. So we had to wait an additional 30 minutes or so because we were early.

The Doc's practice (there's about 6 docs and therapists there) specializes in patients who have somewhat severe neuropsychiatric issues, such as schizophrenia, MPD, rapid-cycling bi-polar, recovery from head injuries, etc. There have been a few times where while we were waiting, we've heard people screaming or having absolute fits behind closed doors.

While we were waiting, Big Kid and I watched the program "Galapagos" from cable on an absolutely incredible hi-def TV system. After a few minutes, Big Kid leaned over.

"Mom, take a look at the magazines in the rack on the wall. Isn't that weird?"

I hadn't noticed them at all, because normally, I bring a book if I have to wait.

There wasn't your uh "normal" waiting room fare there. You know, like People, Good Housekeeping, Time, etc.

There was Guns and Ammo, Weekend Sport Shooting (something like that), and some other magazine like Hunting for Fun amongst the National Geographic and Forbes.

Are we the only people who find that incredibly freaking nucking futso? I mean seriously?

It's like nuns with guns.

The Days Have Been Flying By...

Sometimes it just seems like there aren't enough hours in a day, doesn't it?

This week we've been running back and forth down to the city to have THD totally evaluated mentally and physically. It just happened that we set the appointments up when he got here at the end of March, and this is the soonest any specialist could see him as a new patient.

Unfreakingbelievably, we STILL don't have his new state-issued Medicaid card, although he has been assigned a number. Our local pharmacy and family doc took the number with no problems, but I had to do a lot of sweet-talking to the others to accept it. grr.

Like a used car, we're having the kid completely overhauled. It's been years since he's seen a dentist. Next up is an eye exam.

When he got here, THD's medical records were sketchy. Apparently, with all the moving around he's done, whoever was in charge of his care at whatever time didn't get records forwarded from all the previous carers. So he had a lot of diagnoses without any original evaluations. In fact, he doesn't remember even HAVING any primary evaluations. Except for an MRI in 2004 which isn't included anywhere.

So he came to us with a boatload of diagnoses hung around his neck without any data to back it up. Complete with prescriptions. It's been absolutely puzzling to us, simply because the kid REALLY DOESN'T SEEM TO HAVE ANY PROBLEMS (other than being a teenager)! We needed to do more than kick his tires, and in the last 7 days or so, we've had a complete diagnostic.

These are the results so far: ADHD? No. Whatever mild attention deficits he might have had could be explained as a result of anxiety and depression due to his life circumstances. He completed this final quarter at school with straight A's while holding down an after school job, and enjoying a budding social life without the benefit of ADHD meds.

Tourette's Syndrome? No. This diagnoses was actually grandfathered in when THD's older sister looked up "eye twitching" on the internet. She found Tourette's Syndrome, and the family started telling everyone he had it. He doesn't. He has eye twitching due to a brain injury he had as an infant in his biological home. It's called nystagmus.

Anxiety disorder? No. Duh. He was in multiple foster homes and even a shelter over an 18-month period. If you were worried that somebody was going to steal the only pair of shoes you had while you were sleeping, you might be anxious too.

OCD? Hah. The kid pees on the toilet seat sometimes and has to be reminded to wash his hands. Monk he is not. On a more serious note, he doesn't have any obsessive or compulsive thoughts or habits. This diagnoses just got attached like a bad smell that you can't find the origin of (so you blame the dog for poofting).

ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder)? Another dog fart. This is one of those issues that is self-controlled. You choose to argue or you don't. We happen to be a family that enjoys a lively debate as long as it doesn't include dish throwing or spurting stumps caused by machetes. Tomato, Tamahto.

RAD? While this is a very real and serious condition, THD's treating doctors feel like sometimes it is automatically attached to children who have been in the system whether they have it or not. If THD has it, it's manifesting itself in a mild way. He exhibits a strong capability to bond, but is impatient with silly girls who want a commitment. Doesn't sound like much of a problem to me. He's a teenage boy, for pete's sakes. LOL

Lowgrade depression? Maybe. He's on a low dose of an anti-depressant and that may be keeping things smooth for him. So he's going to stay on it for the time being. Everything else is gone.

How is he doing? Really great. Along with good grades, a job and friends, he is volunteering at the local animal shelter in his spare time. He's a guy who likes to keep busy. The honeymoon period is definitely over--hehehe--he's had to be on phone restriction a couple of times (oh a fate worse than death!), but all in all, it's a cakewalk compared to 99% of the rest of life.

The other day we were in the car and he said, "How come our dogs are soooo stupid?"

My eyes filled with tears. He said "our"! He really feels like he's a member of the family!

He noticed instantly and said, "Are you crying? Did I say something wrong?"

I didn't want to get all gushy and embarass him.

"You're not allowed to call my dog stupid! It's not HER fault her brain is the size of a walnut!"

LOL

Pooped...

Sorry I fell off the grid there. LOL

There has been a quiet change in Colorado case law regarding open records for adoptees and I volunteered to contact as many as I could find to make them aware of it.

The past few days have been exhausting but exhilarating as I've sent over a hundred emails and called more than 25 to speak personally.

Just too dang tired to blog.

Catch up in a few.

ATM