T-Bird (Part V)

Anyone who knows me well, knows I’m a rather introverted person. Well, I’m an extrovert/introvert mix. Socially, I’m an extrovert. I don’t have trouble starting conversations and given the right environment, I can be the life of the party. I’m not AS extroverted as I use to be in social situations but I can hold my own. Privately though, I am very, very introverted. I have to have my alone time. I don’t like people in my space. Actually, it depends on the person. If its someone who knows not to touch my shit, we’re okay and I will tolerate them, however, if its someone who doesn’t know that, its very difficult for me to be a gracious hostess. I’m particularly fussy about my desk and even more particular about my computer. Not that my desk is the paradigm of grace, elegance, and cleanliness, its not. I have books stacked on it, thread, beads, beer bottles, candles, scraps of paper, pictures, etc. But to me... its sacred. Hallowed fucking ground... m’kay?!? My computer... my gateway to the world, the memory of my writings, storage place of my thoughts. DON’T. TOUCH. My other stuff, I’m a lot, lot less picky about. Just don’t touch my swan collection. Okay, everything else you can touch. I didn’t really understand how much I was this way until T-Bird, Bob, and J3 moved in. Problem is, T-Bird is the same way, except she had no problems with touching and sharing MY stuff. Yeah, it was going to be a tough two weeks. Hey, we can all put up with something for two weeks, right? Still, she was not the same T-Bird that I had known. I found out she wasn’t on her medication either. Welcome to the roller coaster. The roller coaster of manic depression. Manic depression is marked by extreme highs and extreme lows in mood. Its also marked by substance abuse, promiscuous behavior, stealing, lying, and cheating. Oh, and irrationality and self-centeredness. Did I mention self-centeredness? (This is the way it manifested itself in T-Bird, everyone’s different.) Bob had interviewed for a job and was accepted for the position before they ever moved. Good deal right? Yes, unless that job turns out to be part-time instead of full-time. T-Bird made him quit the job. Uh oh, UH OH! Its really difficult to describe her behavior at this time. And Bob’s for that matter. Since it was Bob who withdrew some of the little money they had and went to a titty bar. Uh huh. He slept on the couch with one eye open for two weeks. As well he should have because not only was T-Bird fit to be tied, so was I. That money was part of what was going to get them out of MY house. If I was miserable, Nate was right behind me. I had to remind T-Bird more than once that, indeed, this was his house and he was only four years old. This was a big change for him. He was not used to having a 10 month old around, or two more adults, or those two adults family milling around. Yes, bad enough though it was that we, the five of us were cramped together, but T-Bird’s mom came by all the time. And she brought her boyfriend, and T-Bird’s sister, and T-Bird’s sister’s boyfriend. Five adults, two teenagers, two children, a ton of shit, all in less than a 1,000 sq. ft. It was hell. Did they call? No. Did they care that they would ‘stop by’ less than half an hour after I got home from work? No. Oh, and those two weeks Bob spent on the couch? That was the 2ND two weeks they were here. Those two weeks melted into another and another. T-Bird and I both were nearing meltdown, both with each other, our kids, and Bob. She was overprotective of J3 to the point it was just flat out ridiculous. She moved in, yet expected Nate and I to make all of the concessions. Like I said, it was difficult as hell to understand her at that time. It was her way or the highway, but it was my highway. She couldn’t seem to get that through her head. I also couldn’t get her to understand that Nate didn’t answer to her. Nate answered to me. I didn’t let Nate pilfer through her things, break toys or personal items, nor did I allow him to hurt J3 in any way... yet... nothing was good enough. By the end of 11 weeks (and after the first wave of bills came in) they finally had gotten the money together to move into an apartment at a complex where Bob was working. No, they didn’t give me a dime to stay with me. T-Bird had gotten food stamps from the State because of Bob’s unemployment and the fact they had a child so she bought the food. Problem is, they also ate the majority of it and didn’t leave it when they left. I asked her if she intended to help pay off her portion of the utilities and she said she would. No, I never got it. In October (they moved in July 4th weekend of 2000) they moved their shit outta my house. Nice friend now aren’t I? Adding insult to injury, they wanted to borrow my key so each of the people helping with the move could come and go at the house without having to wait on someone. I told her she could just leave the door unlocked. Its not like someone was going to come in and make off with their stuff. NO. Okay, FINE! Just get the fuck. Out. Of. My. House! I didn’t help with the move because I was in, ahahhhahahhaha, another wedding! As we got dressed, the gown which I had already tried on, split right up the back seam and the wedding coordinator sewed me into it. So, what happens when I get home? Worn out, I returned home to find no one there, the house locked up tight as a drum. I called all the cell phones, no answer. Not only that, I had to pee. So, I hitched my skirt up, took my shoes and hose off, built a little ladder out of what I had in the yard and put myself through the kitchen window, dress and all. Once I had went to the bathroom, I wiggled and pulled and cussed trying to get that dress off. Finally, I cut it off. Bleh! Stupid dress. Finally, finally they were gone. T-Bird really surprised me by getting misty-eyed when we parted. I felt pretty terrible for plotting her death so frequently. Still, I had no desire to see or talk to her for a while. When I did, I was informed that she was mad at me because I had gotten mad at Bob for taking the money intended to get them out of my house sooner and using it for the titty bar. She felt as though I had no right to be upset. Does the phrase, "fuck you bitch!" mean anything? Needless to say, we parted ways. (This is it for today, unless the Advil I'm getting ready to take gets rid of this fever and aches I've developed.)