I had a few very simple goals for the first week of August. Eat lots of veggies, drink no alcohol, spend no unnecessary cash, apply for three jobs… but, my main goal for the week was to be completely DRAMA FREE, except for watching Big Brother fuckwad Rachel cry about how much Daniel hates her and wants to come between her and Brendan. All that was ruined today when a chick called 911 because she thought I was threatening suicide.
Her text to me, “hey, wanted to check on you and see how you are doing” Me, “im okay, playing zombie killing video games– better shooting imaginary freaks than shooting myself in the head.”
and she thought I was serious…..
She doesn’t know me, clearly doesn’t “get” my sense of humor, and it didn’t occur to her to just ask me what exactly I meant by that. I did not mean I wanted to shoot myself in the head–I meant, wow, I’m great, having fun killing imaginary shit to keep from thinking about my problems.
So, the cops drive up and the dog goes nuts and I am immediately worried because I may, or may not have a warrant out for a ticket I forgot to pay that is now going to cost $750 bucks (I said may or may not–don’t judge) . Also, you never know with my big kids what the cops could be showing up for (I’m only slightly joking) Cop comes to the door, and another cop pulls up and I go out on the porch looking like my best white trash–barefoot, braless, tank top with bacon grease on it, scrunchy (yeah, i own a scrunchy, I said don’t fucking judge me), and pajama shorts that are wet cause I had to grab them out of the dryer because I haven’t done laundry in a week. It’s nearly noon, I haven’t brushed my teeth and any casual observer, or a cop with 1.5 hours of mental health training, would agree i obviously should be contemplating suicide if I haven’t already.
Copper boy in his jack boots wants to discuss my mental health he says, let’s go inside and talk. Really, this means he is being nosy and hoping to spot a mirror on the table with remnants of white powder, just to give him something exciting to do so he can tell all his buddies what a bad ass he is. It is small town Texas you know.
Meanwhile, lady cop comes up and asks if there are any children in the house. So, they come in, but I refuse to talk to them or answer any questions in front of SLIK, seriously, we are not going to talk about me shooting myself in the head in front of my 9 year old daughter. Lady cop tries to entertain SLIK, while male cop and I go outside and stand in the 114 degree heat.
So, i explain to the guy my joke and show him the text. Tell him the chick overreacted, but promised to talk to my counselor if I had any feelings of suicide. Show him both her office and cell phone numbers are on speed dial.
He says,”the caller let us know you have recently lost your job and have other reasons to be upset.”
So, I tell the dude the truth, I’ve had my share of suck ass days lately, but a job means jack shit in the grand scheme of things–I can live on child support, unemployment and my 401K for awhile and could start working at the outlet mall tomorrow if I needed to; I am the mother of three of the greatest kids in the world–the funniest son, the most independent daughter and the sweetest little girl; I’m making shrimp diablo with artichokes and asparagus for dinner; I have 18 words with friends games going and I’m nearly winning 2 of them; I’m getting highlights in my hair tomorrow; I got butt fucked by a mosquito this morning; the chances of getting laid by a man are looking up for 2011; the Cowboys could possibly have a winning season; I’m going to see Sunny Sweeney in 22 days, and I am about to clear this fucking village of zombies if you would get the fuck out of my house!
Well, okay, I didn’t tell him all of that. But, after just a few minutes of talking, and assuring him that since I am legally insane I don’t own a gun (muahhaha, yes I do) they decided to go.
The thing that really pisses me off is that lady cop asks SLIK if her mommy has been sad lately. She’s fucking 9 years old and yeah, I cry– I cried when I lost my job, I cried cause I got hurt by a friend, I cried when my mom yelled at me yesterday, I cried when I stepped on the scales this morning after eating Kale and broccoli all week; and I cried the other night reading the part in Little House on the Prairie when they thought Jack drowned in the river… FUCK, I’m a fuckwad–and fuckwads cry!
But, I am not and never will be a big enough fuckwad to shoot myself in the head over a job or anything else, while my daughter is playing video games in the next room.
I don’t know what to say to my “friend” now. Did she call the cops because she really believed I was suicidal? She hasn’t texted again to see if I am ok, or, did she call because she felt like I needed just a touch of drama in my life…should I give her the benefit of the doubt?
Summary: This day and this week are not drama free; i might as well give up on eating veggies, buy myself a quart of rum, spend the rest of my last paycheck on video games and throw my resume in the trash… I’ll start over again on Monday!!
Today I’m thankful for zombies, because killing them and imagining my former boss, ex-husband, or any other fuckwad in my life behind their jacked up, flesh eating ugliness makes everything better. (oh shit, nobody call the cops, I am not homicidal either)
Today I’m pissed because I had to lie to SLIK and tell her the neighbors called the cops cause Abby was barking, and she is old enough to know I am lying, but not old enough to talk about shooting anything in the head except Zombies.