Domestic meteor shower

All I wanted to do was to see the meteor shower.

The following story is sad but true. For the love of humanity, if you are anything like the woman in this story, please, I am begging you, get OUT of whatever pathetic excuse you call a relationship, file a police report and move on.

And I don’t even care what gender you are. If you are in an abusive relationship GET OUT. Don’t even give me the lame, wussy excuses of “But he/she luuuuvs me” or “But I luuuuuv him/her” because if love was actually a part of the equation, the fists would NEVER fly. Act your age, toughen up, pull yourself up and get to running. Never look back.

Hypothetically, I could have posted this the day after the meteor shower, but my gut told me to wait a few days and see what happens. I’m very sad to say it was right.

So a number of days ago was the meteor shower. I had fog in my area but it was clearing up, so I left my window open. Normally I don’t do this, especially at night, but how often can you say you saw a meteor from your comfort zone? So I turned down the lights and waited.

Oh, I got a show alright, just not one that NASA would approve of.

Now across from my house is a little blue cottage. For all the 7 years I’ve lived in this Podunk area, my redneck neighbor lady has been for the most part quiet. The last time I mentioned her was probably in 2009 when on MySpace I referred to her as “drunk lady”. Why? Because on the occasion I do see her, she’s swilling wine, in a white tank top, daisy duke jean shorts and sometimes with car keys in her hand. For all 7 years also, there has been a redneck man coming by her house almost every day in a pick-up truck. I don’t know their names, but I do know that anytime he comes around, she stops drinking, bows her head and goes inside the house.

I’m kicking myself now for not seeing the big picture.

So on Saturday night as I’m waiting for the meteor shower, I hear screaming from the little blue cottage.

I turn to see the pick-up truck man grab the woman’s face, and throw her four steps to the ground off of her porch. He then races down and starts beating her.

I grab the phone and dial 911, trying to stay calm while the seemingly bored operator lazily makes the call to the police. I swear I wanted to hit something at that moment. This 911 woman couldn’t even try to act like she cared. As soon as she had my address, she hung up. Oh real nice.

I wait, watching this man beat the woman. Nobody shows up.

He walks into the cottage. My stomach drops. I don’t know this woman too well, but I know she has a little daughter and an elderly mom with really bad arthritis, both of which stay with her a good chunk of the time. I’m scared he’s going to target them next.

Instead he comes back out, and the two start looking for jewelry. I wouldn’t know that except they are screaming at each other. Apparently in the melee she dropped some Wal*Mart women’s jewelry that HE wants for himself. I’m not even kidding.

She has a flashlight and a cell phone that she’s using for light. He’s spitting and screaming at her, she’s trying to find a ring.

Suddenly, he puts her in a headlock takedown, and begins beating her again. As I turn to dial 911 a second time, he pulls out a BiC lighter and sets her face and hair ablaze.

Mama is now on her phone and we are both screaming “SHE IS ON FIRE!!” I watch the woman run down the street as he is screaming at her.

He goes inside the house, comes back, then from the truck produces a large dog.

Now, I’m no expert on dogs, so I have no idea what breed this is. All I can tell is that he’s big enough to eat Scooby-Doo. This thing looks like a shaved golden retriever but with monstrously HUGE front legs. It’s got an abnormally large neck for a dog and it’s muscles are pulsating. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was on steroids as I’ve never seen a dog like this before.

The dog starts sniffing around. He’s screaming at the dog to go after her, but when he lets go of the leash, the dog just starts sniffing around in a circle. While the dog does this, the man is turning his truck lights off and on, threatening to mow her down.

Finally, after 15 of the longest minutes you can imagine, the cops arrive. He gets a police escort in his truck while the woman is sobbing. Her lip is messed up, but she will make a full recovery.

The next day I find out that the man was already on the local police radar. Just three weeks ago, he slammed into a pole with his truck, hit another car and nearly missed hitting a kid.

Then another person steps forward, claiming he used to work with him. He’s a locksmith.

Every day he would come to work super drunk, and proclaim that the woman (who is in reality his EX wife) somehow ruined his life, and because of that, he wants her dead, and he firmly believes everything she owns or has ever owned (even prior to meeting him) HE earned, HE deserves, and he wants it all. Her jewelry, her clothes, all of it. This is not the first time he’s beaten her.

Now with a head case like that, you would expect the story to just stop right there.

It doesn’t.

I opened my window today to see his truck in front of her house again. She kisses him, and then screams “OH YEAH?? WELL FUCK YOOOUUUUUU!!!!” and the argument over who deserves the $5 Wal*Mart ring begins again.

I’m hoping at least her daughter and mom are somewhere else today, the last thing I’d want to see is the two most helpless people getting caught in the crosshairs.

In case you’re wondering, the sky cleared up right as the second cop car parked in front of my house. I didn’t see a meteor shower, but I got a shooting star. I’ll let you imagine what I may have wished for.

So my idiot father is dating a psycho woman.

I think I’ve blogged two things before. One that my parents are split and second that my father is dating a crazy woman, whom I have re-named “Maryse”. Why? Because I don’t want to be sued. That’s why.

For a short back story on Maryse, please read my last major post about her: http://codenamesailorearth.blogspot.com/2011/12/does-charles-nyan-or-meow.html Additional notes to today's story, Maryse is 39 years old, a Twilight fan, an ex-cheerleader, and a Public School French Teacher for SMALL children. Oh, and she talks like a nasally wing bar waitress. Leik a total Hooters waitress an' stuff. Leik Ohmaigawd!! Oh and I'm sorry to tell you, she has bred. Her son is a teenager, and she has more than one boyfriend, outside of my idiot father.

Oh, and one more thing, her teenaged son has a 1 and a half year old daughter. So she's a grandmother. Isn't this special??

Now my father the last three weeks has been more than a nightmare to handle. So far, he’s called me a lazy bitch loser for not cooking for him, and a deadbeat because I just “draw pictures” (that’s what he calls cartooning) and I never have a “real” job like the one he was fired from. (Working at a 7-11. No really, I can’t make this up.)

Now he’s blamed most of this on the gout attack from Hell, and just a bit ago, I got a reason “why” he’s been acting like a demon in a Baptist church.

So in a “civil” conversation with my single mother, he tells her the following story:

Maryse is angry with me, because I won’t babysit my father. Mind you, he’s over 50 years old, that’s old enough in my book to take care of himself. But because I won’t go to his apartment, and cook and clean for him, massage his feet and peel him a grape, I am somehow a horrible human being, and she thinks I need to go to her house, obey her commands, clean it and apologize to her for not being my father’s slave. I am not joking, I have yet to even speak to her face to face, and already she wants to destroy my freedom? Bitch, I’m 25.

Oh, and she keeps telling my dad that my life is a lie, that every show I ever went to, and every person I ever met is me lying to her through my dad, and I need to apologize to her, and all three of her other boyfriends, because she also thinks I’m somehow standing in the way of her marrying Billy Corgan. Mind you, she’s never been to Chicago, and God willing, it stays that way. I think Billy deserves better, don’t you??

So because she is so angry, Maryse has been taking my father all over the place at all these garage sales. She feels that by keeping my dad around (and I’m being honest when I type this) she is keeping “the devil” at bay. Yes, that’s right, she thinks that the devil has been living inside her back, and somehow my father and shopping garage sales makes the devil go away.

Oh wait, this is just the forward to the tale.

There’s one strip of land that she calls Garage Mahal. She claims she made up the word to describe this strip, that is chock full of nothing but people having garage sales, and that the new TV show with Bill Goldberg doesn’t exist… and neither does he.

Maryse is aggravated at my father’s gout, and his constant complaining that his doctor told him not to spend too much time on his feet. Doctor’s notes are just silly excuse post-it-notes that mean nothing, after all. Now he says he cooks and cleans for her, and tries to do right by her, because she is a hoarder. He says there is trash in her house from floor to ceiling, she says he needs to respect her pizza boxes. (Wow, what a charmer, right? Keep reading.)

So since he won’t “just stop” having gout, she put a hex and a spell on him.

… I will state this again. She put a hex and a spell on him, because she isn’t able to handle the fact that he’s got gout. That’s as batshit crazy as if you saw somebody putting a curse on a guy in a wheelchair, because that person is handicapped. And I’m fairly certain that witches tend to believe that what ever spell you put out, comes back to you 10 times over.

Now the hex and spell she placed on him? She did this to make the gout WORSE to teach him a “lesson” for his having gout.

By the way… she’s a school teacher. For small children. In a public school. Wait, there’s more.

So then she tells him that she wants to continue casting spells on him, so that they will both eventually die (dad first she says) and then their souls will become intertwined, and he will be reborn as a Black man, so he can properly pay for his sin of having gout in her presence.

… AND SHE’S A SCHOOL TEACHER?!?!?!?! AND A GRANDMA??!?!?!

Now the logical question here folks, is “Why don’t you break up with her????” which is exactly what I asked while looking in the phone book for the padded wagon.

He says “but I like her drama. It gives me something to talk about.”

For Christmas last year, one of my uncles sent me an apology, for smacking him face first with a baseball bat when they were children. Had he known the damage would be permanent, he would have just played with his erector set instead.