Satan's Wrath

About four years ago, during my long drawn-out divorce, Satan was seeking sole custody of the children, I wanted joint, and the judge had signed an order allowing him to pick them up every Friday after work. I was fine with that.



Except for one Friday. After he moved out the kids started climbing in bed with me. Being a very light sleeper I became increasingly aware of my son's snoring. There were times during the night he would stop breathing altogether and gasp for air. It frightened me to no end. I did what any decent parent would do. We have two family friends who are ENTs and I planned on seeing both of them. I schedule an appointment and contact Satan via email to let him know what's going on.

He responds and insists on being present at the doctor's appointment. He had rarely, if ever, been to a doctor's appointment over the last five years. We were only communicating via email at that time because my attorney suggested I keep a record of our conversations and we couldn't be on the phone without screaming at each other. I told him which doctor I had chosen and told him I would make sure he was willing to accept a phone call so he could discuss the situation with him after the appointment. I proceeded with the appointment. The doctor did in fact take his call and we both agree (again via email) that our son requires surgery to remove his tonsils and adenoids. I respond to his email explaining that prior to having the surgery I wanted to meet with the second doctor. He agrees and the whole argument on who will be present at the doctor's appointment ensues yet again. Same result. Again, Satan speaks with the doctor and we agree our son requires surgery.

After that decision is reached I pick the physician, schedule the surgery, and send an email message letting him know when, where, and who. I, of course, would not keep a parent from being with their child during a surgery. I just choose to stay as far away as possible from him at the hospital. The physician I chose did surgery on Fridays. In the message I tell Satan this and explain that that particular weekend I would keep my son and care for him after surgery. He doesn't respond to my message so I assume he's in agreement.

Friday afternoon following surgery: The police show up at my door. I'm exhausted. I haven't been able to get my son to eat a popsicle or take a sip of water for that matter. I invite them in, but ask them to be quiet. My son is still heavily sedated and hadn't been out of bed all day. They come in to my house, I sit down in the front room, and they show me a copy of the court order giving Satan permission to pick the children up. I told them we had an agreement and offered to provide them the email transactions. They didn't care to see them. I told them my son is very active and bleeding out within the first 48-hours is a risk for active children, as I was instructed by the doctor. Satan was already publically hanging out with his new gal who had a child my daughter's age, and my active little son liked to be in the middle of all the action. I also explain to them that I'm not refusing to let my daughter go with her father, but am refusing to carry my son's dead weight body out the door and place him in his father's car. I'm also refusing to let him enter my home. Not that he would have at this point. I think he was scared of me. He knew he had pushed me too far. I ask them to leave.

Two weeks later I'm served with a Summons for Custodial Interference which states, "REPORT TO THE _____ COUNTY JAIL FOR AN IMMEDIATE BOOK AND RELEASE PRIOR TO YOUR HEARING." I call ahead to see how long the process would take and am told, "Fifteen minutes." I arrive at the jail in the heat of summer in shorts and a halter top for what I assume will be an office procedure, but fifteen minutes of hell nonetheless. Fifteen minutes my ass. I am at the jail for SEVEN hours because those morons can't lift my fingerprints on their state of the art equipment. Yes, I'm booked; they take my mug shot, and "attempt" to fingerprint me. During shift change I'm locked in a cell with someone I'm afraid to breathe the same air with, so the next round of morons can try their hand. My fingerprints have always been hard to lift. They had to run them two or three times when I worked for the police department and the same amount when I worked for the state, but I thought these bozos were supposed to be experts. It's a laser machine for crying out loud! What the hell? There's no thinking involved, just get my hand in the general vicinity. By the time they put me in lock up for shift change I ask for the lovely jail garb everyone else is wearing. I had already been mentally raped about fifteen times, by prisoners and guards alike.

By the time I got out of there that evening I was wiped. I wasn't angry or sad, just numb. I went home and poured myself a glass of wine … at least one.

Upon walking into the courtroom for the hearing I see my ex already in the room. Fucking voyeur with a little hard-on waiting to hear I was going to jail.



I had hired an attorney for the occasion. I was scared of going to jail. I paid him a $500 retainer. He walks in, talks with the prosecutors, and walks back to me with a smile on his face like he had earned a cookie. Fat bastard. He tells me they reached a deal and told me to plead no-contest to some charge. I can't remember if it was the initial charge or something else he copped to. I refused. After all, I didn't do anything wrong. I was looking out for the best interest of my child.

I fire my attorney and approach the stand when the court recorder calls my name. The judge reads the charges and asks how I plead. I respond with, "I don't know Your Honor. I just fired my attorney, would like to tell you my story, and if you think I was reckless and endangered my children, I think you should put me in jail." He's intrigued and tells the court recorder to turn off the tape. She does.

I tell my story. The judge responds with, "Well if I could tell you how to plead, which I can't, I would tell you to do a plea in abeyance, pay a small fine for the courts time, and this will never go on your record." He looks at the court recorder and tells her to start the tape again. She does. Again he says, "How do you plead?"

I say, "Well Your Honor, I think I'll do a plea in abeyance." He accepts my plea and renders his decision. Before I turn to go he gives me a smile and a wink. Satan looks disappointed and exits the courtroom.

What kind of sick bastard tries to have the mother of his children put in jail? If, in fact, all of this is supposed to be about the children's best interest, how exactly does that serve them? I've never done anything to hurt my babies. I'm not a perfect parent, and yes, I discipline them, and when they've needed it I've given them spankings, time outs, restrictions from TV and toys, but I've never abused them. I don't believe there's any doubt in their minds that I love them and live for them, and they respect me as a parent. I can be their friend, giggle with them, enjoy our time together, and be their protector, their leader, their rock. This isn't always easy to do when I'm afraid of their father.

I've tried to cut him out of my life, but he just finds a way to creep back in. He's always been controlling, but seems to be obsessed when he thinks I might be dating someone or involved in a relationship.

Yeah, this is the same guy who developed a relationship with another woman while I was sick and at home taking care of our two children. During the divorce when the children were with him, he'd go visit his whore, bring their pajamas along, have them go to sleep on the couch while he got serviced in the other room, and wake them to go home in the middle of the night to work his way around the court restriction from overnight visitation with the opposite sex while the children were present. Classy.

The last time I attempted a relationship, about a year-and-a-half ago, he background checked the guy. The guy was clean cut and didn't have any sort of record. He ran a credit history on him too. Why? I should have filed stalking charges. The guy I was dating even contacted the Guardian ad Litem four times to do the right thing and request an interview to make everyone comfortable. None of the calls were returned. Satan works for the court system and has far too many people in his pocket. I'm not going to put someone else through that. Life and relationships are difficult enough without a psychotic ex tracking your footsteps. Who needs that?



Although I've dated my ass off over the last few years, I think this is why I've found it difficult to let myself get close to anyone.

He's at it again, even though I'm not involved with anyone. When is enough enough? Leave me alone, leave my family alone, let me live my life and enjoy my children. That's really all I ask.

Where's The Love?

Friday was my son's Christmas Program at school, or "Winter Festival" rather. God forbid we call it what it is and risk offending someone, but that's not the point of this blog. As those of you who keep up with my ridiculous status lines already know, I had been dealing with Satan all week. My parents, have always tried to maintain a relationship with him for the good of the kids. That's awful big of them I guess, but it's just a little too warm and fuzzy for my taste, given everything this man has done to me. But seriously, I'm gagging on their good will. The man has tried to put me in jail twice and will try again. I've not been locked up because it's simply an insane hate and anger management issue he has, but eventually may end up doing something slightly outside the court order just to give him a reason and get it over with. Maybe he'll get the taste out of his mouth and be able to move on. I doubt it though. It would likely be addicting and he'd just want to do it again.

Anyway, I went to see my son in his classroom prior to the program to tell him to "Break a leg." He's so very happy to see me, rushes into my arms, and tells me he's missed me. He's definitely the less openly emotional of my two children, and anytime he does something as blatant as this it gives me hope he won't end up like his father. After chit-chatting with him for a moment a couple of his friends accumulate around the doorway. One of them, a boy no less, looks at me and says to my son, "Wow. You're lucky. Your mom is always styling." I smile even bigger. Children are often brutally honest, but in a much less complimentary way; like, "Why is that big green booger on your face?" Demitri gets a proud smile on his face, tells me to sit in the front of the auditorium for his program, I kiss him goodbye, and head out front to meet his grandparents. I find them immediately and we walk to the auditorium together to find a seat.

Upon arrival, the auditorium is filled with people. I spot three seats near the back and plop my purse and camera down. Satan is standing about three rows behind on the last row with his wife. My parents go over to say, "Hello" and sit down by them. I look at my mom and say out loud, "You can't be serious." She moves over to where I'm sitting. A rush of emotion comes over me, and not in a good way. I'm choking back tears. The children begin filing into the auditorium and head towards the stage. I try to make eye contact with my son so he knows where we are. He's gazing through the crowd of proud parents and grandparents looking for a familiar face. Finally, while they're still setting up, I grab my camera, leave my purse sitting by my mother, head to the front of the auditorium, and plop myself down on the floor in front. He sees me and smiles.

As I begin taking pictures of him singing and dancing about I continue to feel overwhelmed with emotion. I'm proud. I'm sad that I'm not always around for him. I'm worried about where his life will go from here with such fucked up parents. More than anything else, I guess I feel love; love in my heart for him and the love that escapes me for my parents. I'm furious, and happy, and sad. Tears roll down my cheek. I continue to smile, wipe them away, and try to pass them off as tears of joy and pride for my son. He doesn't think anything of it. His mom is the toughest, yet the sappiest person he knows.



The program ends and the children begin exiting the auditorium. I remove myself from the floor, walk to the back, and cross the room in front of where my ex, his wife, and my father are standing. I don't make eye contact and don't really care that my eye make-up is smeared and it's apparent I've been crying. For a moment I entertain the idea of approaching Satan's Whore to ask, "Doesn't it bother you that your husband spends so much of his emotional time and energy obsessing about his ex? Maybe it should." I visualize the conversation taking place and lose myself in thought for a moment. I don't act on it. I grab my purse, put my camera down, and head to the bathroom to fix my face before my son see's me close up.

By the time I go back everyone is gone, including my camera. I worry for a moment and then head to my son's classroom. I bump into my parents in the hallway, Mom hands me my camera, and tells me my son is waiting to see me. I mumble something and walk past them with my heart aching and not wanting to cry again.

Following school we go to Girl Scouts, gymnastics, stop quickly to grab a sandwich for dinner, and then head to the Red Rock Review (U of U gymnastics team pre-season exhibition crowd pleaser). After the program they gave out free posters and set the girls up at tables for autographs. We stayed. My parents knew we planned to go.



Once my daughter gets her autographs we hop in the car and head for home. There was a little snow on the ground from the last couple of days … very little. My mom calls my mobile to see if the kids and I are okay. Concern or guilt? I'm not sure. One thing my parents never do is admit fault. If/when they do the "I'm sorry" is conveyed with so much emotion as to make you feel guilty and usually a sarcastic tag line, "I guess I screwed up again." I haven't said anything to them and likely won't unless they bring it up. I feel like saying, "Maybe when Satan is finally successful in putting me in jail you can both go have a celebratory drink with him." I'm hurt. I'm lonely. I feel abandoned in my time of need … again. I decided a long time ago I can either chose to have a relationship with them and accept them as they are or cut off all ties. I can't seem to do that. I love them.

Dating Experiment 9,999,999 - Part II

What the hell? I have been on far too many dates, to not be able to recognize a good one from the mix of bad apples.



How far off can one person possibly be? I listen, watch, try to read what's going on during a date to ascertain first of all 'if' I want to see the person again, and secondly 'if' I think I'll hear from them. There's got to be mutual interest or it's just not worth pursuing. That would be stalking. Right?



As you may recall, during date number one he told me he wanted to ask for my number, but was nervous. He also said that over the last few months since we met, he would make up excuses to come into work just to see if I was there. I'm glad I slipped him my number, and certainly glad he used it. But, at what point should a guy just take the reins and move things along?

So, I speak with Mr. Dating Experiment 9,999,999 on the phone. This is the first time since the day before Thanksgiving when I called him. I call him back and during the conversation he says, 'Well you said you wouldn't call me and you've called twice now.' I respond with, 'Smack! I could just delete your number out of my phone.' He laughs. Why do guys tease? Why are women drawn to it?

He tells me he had stopped into work to see if I was there. Why? He has my number. Why go through the trouble of stopping in? I do not understand this at all. I ask him if there's something wrong with his fingers that he couldn't have just called and offer him a lesson on the lost art of dialing. We both laugh.

He wants to get together. Of course, I do as well. During date two he razzes me about the phone call, I repeat that I'll NEVER call him again and after the unrelenting teasing I'm firm on this point. He can just call me until I'm able to answer the phone or find me at work. Jerk … he's cute about it though … damn it.

We laughed … We laughed a lot. I had tears rolling out of my eyes, the conversation never stopped, except for a few kisses which were lovely, and the time flew by as quickly as it did during date number one.

I walk him out … which is a bit ironic given what happened (or didn't happen) during date number one. He wants me to see his car which we had talked about at length during the evening. It looked kind of like this one:



I asked if I can take it for a spin and he hands me the keys. Why do guys do that? Is it some sort of she can drive my car, shift my stick, handle my ride sexual parallel? I believe it is. I've been handed the keys to far too many very nice vehicles I had absolutely no business driving after a couple of drinks. Of course I had no intention of getting behind the wheel … or walking him all the way to his car for that matter. LOL!

So he promises to cruise out of the neighborhood quietly. He he he … ya! So not going to happen! I felt like I was at Indy and could feel the stairs vibrating under my feet inside the house. It was kind of a turn on … Thank God my neighbors like me. He didn't rev the engine or try to be noisy, but it was thumping.

I'm going to go write one-hundred times, 'I will not call boys.' I think it's better that way.