One Turd At A Time.

Oh, the bullshit just keeps rolling in...one turd at a time! 

I'm sure if you know anything at all about the Owens bunch, you're familiar with "The Saga of Tesla Nicole". For two weeks, I've been fighting a raging internal battle over her: pessimistic & realistic vs. optimistic & supportive. Last week I kept hearing that I should be supportive and proud and text her and tell her that I love her and all that jazz because she was going through such a hard time...and I really had trouble doing that. For one, her hard times are self inflicted and could've easily been avoided had she the ability to make a good decision every now and then. Two, she's been steadily treating our grandmother like shit for a very long time, and I'm not exactly over that yet. Three, her plight to better herself wasn't because she had pulled her head out of her ass an decided that she needed to...it was because one of her bad decisions finally jumped up and bit her right in the same ass where her head resides, and she was court ordered to do something about herself. None-the-less, even though I doubted that she would even stick around long enough to make her grand appearance in rehab, she surprised me and went last Thursday. Once I knew she was indeed there, I had hope that maybe she would do what she had to do and come home as the Tesla I know and love. At that point, I was okay with supporting her and putting myself out there for her. I was even proud of her, not for ending up in rehab of course, but for being woman enough to not duck and run this time.

So, you can only imagine how big of a slap in the face it was for me to get the news on Saturday that she had cowered and skipped out of rehab after 2 days. It actually spun me into a level of pissed off that I've never seen before. I knew that I should follow my gut and not get my hopes up, but I did anyway and that's nobody's fault but mine. But to make it all better, she conjured herself up a story that might've actually made sense, you know...had it made sense. But in her defense, "someone stole her money and when she confronted them about it, they threw her out". Cough, bullshit.

And then yesterday, the next turd rolled my way. After I'd found the kindness in my heart to allow two women and SIX rescued poodles move into my house and struggled while allowing them to jerk me around on rent money for three months, I get the last part of June's rent in the mail. Fashionably late, $50 short, and accompanied by a letter that said they would be moving out of my house by July 13th, and would only pay me half the rent for July. That struck me as inconvenient, but gave me enough time to work on getting someone else in there. Wasn't that big of a deal until she text me and told me the REAL story: they're moving out on SATURDAY, and won't be paying me ANYTHING for July. You really just can't fuckin' beat a 4 day notice, can ya?! I just hope that when I get there to get the keys back, those SIX ankle biters I so graciously allowed in my house haven't done much damage...I may not be able to resist pushing one of those ladies off the porch if they have. I'm not feeling exactly stable these days. 

And this morning, guess what? THIRD TURD! I get a message from my beloved cousin, informing me that three little snot nose punks walked up on my Papaw Gus' deck, pushed him down, and stole his wallet on Friday. The poor man does good to walk, no way he could've even put up a fight...and honestly, the fact that they knocked him down hurts my feelings more than they fact that they fuckin' stole from him. I sure hope that there is special place in hell for people like these little rotten fuck-wads. I also hope that one day before they make it to hell, when they're still old men that can barely get around, that karma comes along and knocks them the fuck down somewhere, and then I hope that some little snot nose punk walks up and takes a big shit in their face.

I feel like the world is testing me this month, and the amount of shit coming at me is starting to weigh me down. I know that the simple answer is to just flush it away and not worry about it, but I'm starting think what I need to do is start throwing shit back at the world. With that being said, if y'all happen to see me in a monkey suit any time soon, you may wanna stay the hell back...I feel like if I don't start firing back this life will be the death of me.