Yikes, I got a comment on the blog yesterday. It made me think-whoa, gotta be more careful about grammer and spelling/who knew anyone was out there getting past the first few sentences/crikeys, now what do I say?
So I looked at the gentleman's websites, and then stumbled on his profile, and it made me think some more-um, the surf one is great seeing as I used to body surf off of Laguna Beach and Dana Point but the kissing one is probably a little too grown-up for me/HEY, does that say Seal Beach? Because I used to run an art gallery/custom stained glass house just off Main Street back in the late '70's, and the best part of my day was driving down to the jetty, walking back to the pier, and then jogging back to the car. The sunsets were outstanding. Then.
And yes, I would be OK with you mentioning my blog to your friend.
I got a cell phone bill today. Now, if I ever get a job, I can (I think) register my car in the great state of Georgia. And get a driver's license.
I also got a call-back from Ms. "What does 'nurture mean?" I tested for a data entry job-ooops, too slow, but wow, no errors. Now I'm waiting to hear from her about a different job with the same company for $2 less an hour. OK. At this point, OK, because I broke down last night and used my last quarters to buy a bag of rice and two loaves of store brand bread. I also applied for a job at the grocery store. Haven't heard from them...
When Crusty (AKA The Ex) put the first gun to my head back in '81, I had a good job, and was getting myself together fairly well, thank-you. I had a credit card that got paid in full every month. I had a good joint custody agreement with my daughter's father-another ex, I used to call him the maggot with legs until I got to know Crusty-I had friends, and I had a future.
I met Crusty through a guy I was dating. He was OK, or so I thought, and I tried to set him up with a few of my friends, who would come back from the first and only date and say "All he wanted to do was talk about you. Oh, and he is really weird." So after a while I stopped trying to set him up with anyone I knew.
In December of '80, I went back to California for a few months, hoping to find my step-mother had pulled herself together, found out I was wrong; and while I was 'home' my father's third wife-the great one, the one I wish he married after he and my mother divorced, (she went back to Britain, and left me and my two older siblings with Pop) instead of The Wicked Witch of the West-killed herself when her epilepsy could not be controlled. My father was shattered. The WWotW was telling everyone in Seal Beach that my dad really killed her, my sister was flipping out because my dad had her cremated (Barb was Jewish) and I could not wait to get on the next Greyhound back to Lafayette Louisiana.
Which I did, and by March of 1981, I was tending bar at a place out by the where the college was breaking ground on the Cajun Dome. I made enough to live on, and get a few things done, and I was just about to start back to school when a friend of mine told me Crusty was telling people he was my boyfriend.
Long story shorter, I disabused him of the notion only to find him in my apartment one night with a gun in his mouth, only I knew that if I walked out the door, he would shoot me-not himself. I got him out of my apartment, into a club for a drink, and then made the monumental error of going to the ladies room to call a friend for rescue.
I say that because when I got back to the bar, a new drink awaited me, and I foolishly drank some of it, and the next thing I recall is waking up next to Crusty. I wanted to jump in the bayou and let the gators have me for a breakfast appetizer. Or jump off the Baton Rouge Bridge, but the bayou was closer.
I was raised RC-my father's way of spitting in Mum's eye, I think, since she is Anglican-and so was Crusty, it wasn't hard for him to convince me that we should 'do the right thing' and get married. I dragged my feet-been there, done that-but when Fox was nine months old, Crusty and I went to Rev. JJ the notary public on Wilshire Blvd in L.A. and got married.
By the time Fox was two, I was trying to leave Crusty. But it is hard to argue with a .41 magnum. Especially when it is pressed against the head of your child. Or yours.