Rigteously Indignant, yup, that's me.

It's the only picture I could find besides a book I didn't want to promote.

Wikipedia defines Righteous Indignation as follows: Righteous indignation is typically a reactive emotion of anger over perceived mistreatment, insult, or malice.

Last night, I swear Rod Serling was writing the screenplay of my life.  I mean, let’s be honest here.  My life has had more than it’s fair share of the bizzaro. (please hover over that link so you can see what I’m talking about if you’re not going to click it and go read it.)

People, some of my best writing is in the notes when you hover over a link.  Please, to get the maximum enjoyment from my blog, hover over the links. (and if it doesn’t work.. let me know. I’ll cut a bitch.)

So, last night.

I was supposed to go to The Lake after dropping the girls off with their dad for the week.  Ok, I *did* go to The Lake after dropping the girls off for the week.

And when I got there, I stepped out of my car and smack dab in the middle of Bizzaro World.

I’m not going to throw anyone under the bus here.  There is a whole lot of stuff going on that I don’t even know. (Like basically everything).  In a sentence, due to everything going on, I was told I had to leave.  Whether it was or was not my fault hasn’t been determined to my satisfaction.  Ok. It’s not my FAULT, but the drama centered around me, and I don’t know why or how, or what started it, or what the hell is going on.  I just know, that everything I thought I knew going into the weekend came into question last night.

Ok.

This morning, I get up (after driving home at midnight last night) and I’m pissed.  Not at anyone specifically, just at the situation in general.  And at not having any clear cut answers.  Which is the very definition of irony coming from me.  So, I send a few text messages, trying to figure out what is going on, where things stand, blah blah blah.

And basically getting my panties in a wad.

Righteously indignant.

I set about writing a blog post screaming at the top of my lungs (ok, posting in a very loud voice) how effing fabulous I am, and how I am awesome with eleventy billion sides of awesome sauce (inflated ego much?  I know, I can barely walk into my own house.) I was all like, Look dude, I got plans, I got dreams, I got a life I want to live, and I ain’t got time to wait around for you to get your shit together and notice how fucking fabulous I am.  (ok, maybe it was a smidge nicer than that, but clearly not much.  Once I get all wadded panties and shit, I go way over the top.  Yes, really.  Have you met me?)

And just as I’m about to hit publish, and just after I sent him a text that said “Your reservation in my life expires at midnight, either confirm it or lose me forever.”

He texts.

And I feel like a total asshat.

 

Best. Picture. Ever.

So, I saved the blog post to my drafts folder.  I scrambled like eggs to look like less of an ass via text message.  In other words, his simple text took me down a few necessary notches.

Sure I’m fucking Fabulous, and all kinds of awesome, but you know what?  I’m not the end all be all of someone else’s life.  Everyone else is busy living their life, dealing with their drama, their issues, their problems.  It’s not all about me.  While I’m on my soapbox preaching “I’ve got dreams! I’ve got plans!  I’ve got a life and I don’t have time for you to figure out if you want to be in it!” he’s living his life, dealing with his drama, navigating the potholes in the road of his own damn fucking journey.

I had to sit down and think about that long and hard… not all about me.  Since fucking when?

I took a step back and looked at this whole thing and thought “Who the fuck do I think I am?” and if I had gotten that text message from him? I’d have said  ci vediamo più tardi  (Italian for see ya later)  or even baciare il mio culo (kiss my ass).

 

Let’s be honest, I suck at relationships.  I’m the perfect girlfriend… on paper.  It’s that real life face to face shit that gets me all jacked up.  On paper, behind a computer screen, I’m awesome.  I can also hide the crazy.  In real life?  not so much.

I have no real ending for this blog post.  Yes, I know, I suck at endings anyway.  Basically there is no ending because there are no answers yet.  It’s just “it’s up to you.  You know what’s going on there, I don’t.  I’ll wait to hear from you.” kind of thing.

 

No, really, this time it is you. Clearly.

Dear Best Buy,

I never thought I’d set down and put fingers to keyboard to write this letter.  It really hurts me to have to tell you that, you, my friend, have lost the Christmas spirit.   You and I (and Brian.  Especially Brian) have had a long and wonderful relationship these past few years.

It was tyou we turned to when Brian the kids were bored one Saturday night. A few clicks of a mouse, and a 30-minute road trip later, we were a newly formed band destined for greatness and world fame.

When it became frustrating to help our youngest daughters stay afloat financially while Slum Lord Brian kicked everyone’s ass in Monopoly, it was you who provided the easy to play Xbox 360 version.  Now Brian can take over the neighborhood in record time leaving us all in the poor house or on the streets.

When I went in search of my own laptop, I turned to you, my trusted friend because you offered the best warranty.  And since Murphy’s Law seems to start and end with me, I felt safe and protected. It’s turns out I was right to turn to you.  I had my laptop less than a year when the monitor when out.  You were there to fix it and keep my DT’s to a minimum.

Every time Brian has felt the need to increase the size of his HDTV (because, believe me, size does matter) he went to you.  When he added his surround sound stereo system to complete his in home theater bedroom, it was you who provided him the most bang for his buck.

We have given you thousands of dollars over the past several years, and you in return have given us endless hours of family entertainment.  So, this holiday season, when I went in search of laptops for my daughters, you were the first I turned to.  Sure I could have found what I was looking for a little cheaper, but I knew that should something happen to the laptops (and with Drama Tweens and laptops, you know something is going to happen) you would have my back.

Brian and I went Monday night to get the laptops.  We found the one we wanted right away. Sure it was a bit more than I wanted to spend, but it was something I could live with.  There were two left, so we picked them up and headed to check out when one of your helpful sales associates stopped us to ask if we had found everything ok.

It was at this point that he pointed out the orange sticker on the boxes, “Do you know what those stickers mean? They mean that these laptops are Geek Squad Certified.”  He went on to explain that they anti-virus protection installed good for 2 years, and that all the trials of the any programs installed by default had been removed, blah, blah blah.  And all of this wonderful certification was going to increase the price of these laptops by $200.  Each.

When I looked at the display model and the pricing card by it, there was no mention of Geek Squad Certification, or any additional expense.  When I looked at the orange sticker on the laptop, there was no mention of the increase in price for having software removed before I even had the opportunity to try it out.  In fact, if your salesman hadn’t stopped us and explained that to us, we would have had no way of knowing that until we got to the register to check out.

I think it is pretty underhanded to load an additional $200 expense onto a laptop and make no mention of it anywhere on or around the display or the laptop itself.  Also? It’s kind of presumptuous of you to just assume people don’t want the trial version of the software that comes on the laptops by default.

We walked out of there that night empty handed and with a very bad taste in our mouths.  I went out and found my daughters their laptops at another store, for a significant savings, and without any hidden costs or assumptions on their part.

I’m sorry it has come to this Best Buy.  Up until this past week, I would sing your praises, but after this little stunt of yours?  I’m not sure I’ll be giving you the attention and support I have in the past.

Jail Chronicles, Chapter 3

Deputy Sourpuss walks me downstairs. At least he didn’t cuff me. The whole time I’m telling him it’s their mistake and I’m being punished for their incompetence. Yes, I realize I was winning brownie points with him hand over fist with this argument. I’m sure he’d heard every excuse in the book. It’s never the ‘criminal’s’ fault. They are always innocent. I was nobody special to him. And from his demeanor, that fact was loud and clear. I could have been tap dancing naked in front of him and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have noticed.

He walks me into booking at the Warren Co. Jail. I’m pissed and shocked. I’m ready to scream, and I’m calling everyone around me a fucking liar. For the first time in my entire life I feel betrayed by “the Man”. As far as I’m concerned, it is all *their* fault I’m in booking. If only I had remembered to bring the paperwork I had at home showing my court date to be May 6^th 2008, none of this would be happening to me. I was very calm and polite when I explained the confusion and mix-up to Brandon as they booked me in.

I had learned in the past, that if you’re polite and calm and talk to the officers, making them see you as a person and not a ‘criminal’ then they are more likely to relax some of the regulations. I needed them to do just that, relax the regulations. I knew I needed my cell phone as a life line out of that place and sucking up to all the officers on duty in booking that morning would get that for me. Also, in sucking up to them, it made them see me as a person, and it helped to calm the anxiety I was feeling and hold off the panic attack. It was a win win win situation for me.

As they booked me in, taking mug shots, finger prints I asked them about their family? Kids? Wife? Husband? Pet? Anything to make them more human to me, and me more human with feelings to the. It worked. I was never handcuffed. I was never searched. I was never patted down. Aside from fingerprinting I was never touched. They even shared their Pepsi with me. I was allowed to keep my clothes and my shoes and my cell phone with me the entire time. I was free to walk around the booking area and we all talked and joked around while we waited for the money to arrive to cover my bail.

It was a court day (just not *MY* court date) so all day long there were groups of inmates coming though booking to be taken to court. That meant being brought down from the pods, and shackled for transportation. Shackled for them meant wrist cuffs, chained to their waists, and ankle cuffs. Not pretty. When they would bring a group of inmates down for court, I was put into a visitation room or a holding cell for safety. Sometimes I was allowed to stay in booking and talk with the inmates on their way to court.

It fascinated me to listen to their stories. How they ended up in jail, for how long. They are so matter-of-fact about their life, their jail time, their prison sentence, it’s like they are going to school. Some of these people grew up in the court system. It’s the only life they have ever known. They’re mom and dad are in jail or prison. It’s like they can see no other option. Jail is just a fact of life for them. In all honesty, they know the jail and prison system better than any lawyer out there. They know what they can expect, how long they will be there. And they just patiently do their time, knowing it’s the price they have to pay for the life they live on the outside.

Around noon my bail shows up. I’ll end up missing a whole day of work over this, but at least I’ll be out and at home tonight and the girls won’t know anything more than Mom took off work early. The CO’s do the out-processing paperwork. Sign here, and they call for a ’29’ which checks for any other outstanding warrants anywhere.

All of a sudden I can sense the wall of ice going up between me and the Co’s who, just an hour before, had shared their soda and their pizza. The smiles fade, the laugher dies, and all of a sudden I’m no longer one of them, or even a ‘just waiting for bail’. I’m Them. The pseudo friendship I had struck up with the 3 CO’s on duty that day was no longer valid. Four warrants out of Lincoln County appear out of nowhere. I am blindsided by them. Freedom, which was just a signature away is suddenly out of my reach. My fate is sealed.

The charges? Minor. The Bail? UInreasonable. All unchangeable. I’m not going home any time soon.