Author Archives: The Bird

So, A Chef, His Wife, and His Girlfriend Walk Into A Rehab…

Posted on by Standard 16
everyone 2

Everything came to a head last night, and I’m sitting here both laughing and crying because I think that I can see an end of some sorts in sight now. A real end, this time.

Now we're gonna do it my way... :-)

Now we’re gonna do it my way… :-)

greenThis whole story began and has now ended, with a lie. A lie that is called meth. Meth promises its user an escape. And, like most of the promises from hell, it is seeded in the truth, but it is warped and twisted, deceptive, and evil. Meth makes you forget about your problems; it gives you some added strength to get things done (you think); it bestows a sense of happiness (ignorance), power (over absolutely nothing), and hope (in getting your next fix). And then, like only a true enemy can do, it seeps out of your body, taking with it all the gifts it had lent you, and leaving in its wake even more chaos, destruction, problems, and hopelessness than you had had before.

In October 2011, Chef had a friend die in a motorcycle accident. Chef had struggled with drug addiction as a younger man, and except for a brief skirmish with it when we first got together over 23 years ago, he had remained clean all these years. But coupled with some health issues, a midlife crisis, and a general dissatisfaction with his career choices, he succumbed to the temptation to just use a little pick-me-up to get him home from a very hard funeral. Unlike the first time, the drug took a firm hold on him almost immediately, and he was simply unable to stop.

All prayers are appreciated; so will the rehab.

All prayers are appreciated; so will the rehab.

Throughout the time since then, I’ve been completely dumbstruck by just how different the man seemed. While he had flaws all along, it was terrifying to see those same flaws turn so completely confuse themexaggerated. I’ve always thought that he was a bit selfish, but meth would take that flaw and magnify it out of all proportion, and some of the things that I watched this man do and some of the words that have come out of his mouth have left me struggling to comprehend how someone could ever justify it to themselves, no matter how strung out they were. I was even more dismayed when he completely stopped even bothering to justify himself to anyone at all anymore. Bernice was what Chef called meth, and the affair that Chef & Bernice had was tantamount to a very warped Gone With the Wind, with Chef announcing that as God as his witness, he’d never be sober again, and Bernice announcing that “Frankly, my dear Bird, I don’t give a damn”. Bernice ruled his every word, thought, and action, and over the year and half I watched them, I learned a great deal about the verse : Out of the heart, the mouth speaks. Every slimy, crappy, evil thing that can be laid up in a person’s heart came pouring out of Chef’s mouth, and after months of allowing it to hurt me, I was finally able to look Bernice in the eye and let her know, I’m on to you, beeotch. I see you. More importantly, God does too. It ain’t over till it”s over, babe.

The Bible tells us that God works all things to His good, and this story is no exception. Since the split up, T and I have come to understand, forgive, and then to work together, to try to help Chef. Where I came so close to hating this girl for the pain her part in all of this had inflicted on me and my family, I’ve now come to rely on her as a partner who cares about Chef too, and she’s been invaluable as another soldier in this war against this horrible drug called meth. It would seem that our efforts have finally paid off, and today I can happily and hopefully announce, Chef is in rehab!!!

shadow of deathAfter a particularly nasty week involving Chef, I had pretty much withdrawn from wanting to see, hear, or even think about, him at all. I had heard all the same rhetoric from him about getting the help he would need to stop a million times, and yet he’d never followed through. I’d already lived through his affair with T, and the roller coaster ride of him saying all the right things to people, including me, that we so wanted to hear, but yet were in direct conflict with what he told someone else. He would tell T she was the love of his life, then come to my apartment and call her names and say he was stuck but was trying to find a way to come home again to me, the only love of his life. But my hope in him had eventually withered away, and it had become much easier to accept that he was truly gone. The more I pulled away, the more he would fight to keep me. And he was doing the same to T. It would seem that once we were both gone, that would have left him truly alone and desperate enough to finally get the help he needed. Ah, but no. Instead, he started a relationship with Sassy (not her real name) the Drug Dealer, instead, and when I found out he was getting the crap for free from this winner, my head about exploded. At least T was clean, if naive. But a drug dealer for a girlfriend, though?

Over.My.Dead.Body.

If you read my last post, you know what my opinion of this person is, so I won’t bore you with all the details. Let’s just say that it took me about 4.2 minutes to trash that happy little budding romance, and I don’t feel a tad guilty about it. I know there are now a few human beings on earth that say my name with contempt, but frankly, I couldn’t care less. You mess with the bull, you get the horns, my friend.

Last night, I got a panicked message from Chef saying he was dying. I didn’t freak out or anything. He’s always telling me that. But this time, I felt like something was actuallyother white drug wrong, and I headed over to his house. After meth-induced psychosis drama, I was able to get his schizo butt to the hospital, and because of his suicide threats, I was able to get him committed involuntarily to treatment, for a whopping 3 days. Both T and I prayed, and held our breath to see what the psychiatrist would determine. If the psychiatrist recommended he stay longer, he would have to. Sure enough, he was told today that he’s in for the long-haul.

T and I are working frantically getting his home packed up and his affairs in order so that once clean, he can walk out of the doors to a well-managed, well-organized life that won’t overwhelm him. After speaking to him today, I feel even a little more hopeful since he sounded somewhat more like himself, and while sad and ashamed, he was able to crack a weak joke here and there. I feel a lot of sadness for him right now, knowing myself how hard it can be to laugh again. But he will.

In the meantime, Sassy has been broken up with via text message from Chef’s phone, kindly but firmly. I doubt ole Chef is going to thank me or T any time soon, but he did let Sassy down gently and kindly, yet firmly, thanks to T. :-) Today, another dealer and I came to an understanding about how things will be going down next time someone offers him a free date with Bernice. I figure by the time he gets out, T and I will have cleansed the leeches and junkies out of his life permanently. Man, I love technology…Thank you, Mr. Alexander Graham Bell!!

I want to ask everyone who prays if they would keep Chef in their prayers, and thank you all for hanging with me. Hopefully, we’ve finally arrived at how this story ends.

Sincerely,

Bird

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You Can Take the Girl Out of the Ghetto…..

Posted on by Standard 29
Not if you lose my truck, I don't!!

Not if you lose my truck, I don’t!!

There are days that I am just in the mood to write, and I’ll sit staring at my laptop, perusing different memories, looking for something that might be interesting. Sometimes I find one, sometimes I don’t.

Today is definitely not one of those days. Today, I know exactly what I want to write about, and yet, I’m over-run with a plethora of different angles that I can steer this story-ship towards. In a warped way, I’ve hit the jackpot, and I don’t know where to spend my first dollar. This day was the gift that just keeps on giving. :-)

My mom used to tell me it wasn’t polite to laugh at the misfortune that befalls others, and I agree with her 100%. But I do have to ask,  what if it’s funny?  I mean, what if you are genuinely sorrowful for the complication that has landed on someone’s life, and yet your warped gene pool gave you this dark sense of humor, and you just can not help giggling at the absurdity of the situation? I am trying to see this through the stern, adult eyes of a grown woman, but the writer in me is just going insane!

I pondered this little ethical dilemma all day long. Should I write about it, or not. Back and forth, back and forth….

Hey. What can I say. The story is awesome... and I’m only a mere human. Let it be noted that I did wrestle with the decision.

By the time I left work, though, I had stumbled upon a technical way to tell you the story without actually telling you  the story….Below is my letter to the Story Wrecking Company, who handles all towing of vehicles for the City of Tulsa. This isn’t even a fraction of the whole story, which, let’s face it, is going to be magnificent when its been played out. Seriously. Maybe I should wait for it all to play out, but I just can’t.

It’s making my brain bleed not getting to tell you all the whole thing yet!

Let’s think of this as a little appetizer.  :-) Enjoy!!

Why, yes. I did send it. I was grumpy from lack of sleep and the fact that Chef's newest squeeze LOST his truck.

Why, yes. I did send it. I was grumpy from lack of sleep and the fact that Chef’s newest squeeze LOST his truck.

Looking For A Dear John Template? Try Google!

Posted on by Standard 5

Each day has been bringing to my attention, new, tiny victories over the anguish of  losing my marriage, and today I actually had to laugh at this latest one.

iloveafoolI know you’ll all find this just mind-reeling, but I’ve always written to Chef when I felt it was super important that he hear what I was saying. We have always had a battle of dear johnthe wills when it has come to our own point of views, and any emotionally charged conversations tend to get lost down side-roads of nonsense. A letter, I had found out early on, helped us stay on track for the most part. Plus, it usually gave me the needed amount of time to truly think before I spoke. And poor Chef, who doesn’t enjoy reading, and who is completely convinced that print is dead, has read his fair share of words over the last couple of decades. I can say without exaggeration, I’ve written him at least one set of encyclopedia’s worth of letters. And about half of those were just this last year alone. But, as people are prone to do when they’ve just messed up in a really big way, he completely refused to read any of them. Finally, the urge in my soul to reach him died down to embers of what they once were, and I saved the heart-wrenching prose for the super, really big stuff. It’s been months since I’ve written him anything more than a text message, and today, another “big” event landed, and I knew it should be addressed.

The problem though, was I had almost nothing to say. I’ve written about every part of this soul-crushing experience many times now, and frankly, I just don’t know if I have another one in me.

I found myself this morning, looking at a blank screen, trying to coax something intelligent, emotionally moving, and balanced with love and care, yet equally stern, out of my rather oddly relaxed, seemingly unaffected  brain. Not a thing stirred in there, and finally, exasperated, I decided to give old Google a try. Going by the search terms I read on this site alone, I’m thinking Google knows all, and might even be more awesome than the Wizard of Oz.

So, I typed in, ” Template for a letter written to a cheating ex husband who won’t pull his head out of his a**.” And here are the glorious results!!!!!

As God as my witness, I'll never be silenced again!!

As God as my witness, I’ll never be silenced again!!

I’d like it noted for the record, that website amount up there is well over  29 million. 29 million cyber-places all connected by the pain, agony, guilt, and other numerous side effects of the broken bonds of love. Sad in a way, but also one of those accidental reassurances that you aren’t alone in the pathetic weakness that accompanies that mind-twisting pain.

coachSo, for those people out there that might have reached the end of that well of words, know this: there is literally a website for just about anything in the world you might need. And I’m going to venture out on a limb and say, by the time you have to google for a template to kick-start a heartfelt, meaningful dialogue with the one who broke your heart, you can rest assured there’s some healing that’s been happening while you weren’t looking.  :-) Win/Win.

– Bird

All Talking Donkeys Aren’t Messengers From God

Posted on by Standard 10

Occasionally, I’ll look at the dashboard of this site, and one or more of the search terms will catch my eye. Mostly, even after the hellacious year I’ve had, the search terms that are the most likely to drive traffic here are “three boobs”, “motorcycle gangs”, and my personal favorite, “nipple shirts”.

Let’s face it.

Three Boobs and Nipple Shirts are subjects that aren’t really good foundations for a serious conversation about life. It’s just appalling to me that men wear shirts that showshrek and donkey their nipples. Ugh. I’d like that to stop immediately.

“Motorcycle Gangs” is more interesting, but again, I doubt I have much to contribute to that subject anymore.

Ahhh, but today, I found one in my little collection that made me stop and say “hmmm”. The term was this;

meth spiritual enhancement

So, to the person who typed in this awesome search term, this post is dedicated to you.

In my quest to understand what Chef was going through, I studied everything I could find about this creepy drug. What I found out could fill up volumes, but for this discussion, I’ll boil down some things I understand about the drug that I believe should be considered directly in connection with spiritual enhancement, or any kind of enhancement, for that matter….physical, academic, cultural, etc.

Bird Fact #1: Enhancements when you are high are only Huge Brain Farts when you sober up again.

To my understanding, the drug affects the pleasure center of your brain. This magnificent computer we carry around inside of our skulls works like a file cabinet, storing stop dudeand categorizing things constantly. If a memory makes you happy, it tends to store that memory close by for future quick reference. If some memory makes you sad, it gathers that clutter up, and safely keeps moving it back into the recesses of your brain, out of reach of accidently being hurt by it. It’s the same for things that give us pleasure. Those things that give us pleasure are  stored safely within reach in our pleasure centers of our brains.

That being said, I do wonder if people actually stop and really examine what we each have stored there. Meth is an excellent way to find out, except who really needs to know that badly? The bad side of this drug greatly outweighs the good, so no, I’m not saying you should try it even once so you know what really makes you happy. Figure it out..You’re smarter than that!!

Bird Fact #2: Don’t be an idiot and try this drug because you want to know what really makes you flush with happiness. You might not like the answer, and you can’t unlearn what you already know. Frankly, neither can anyone else who finds out either.

If singing show-tunes on top of your roof in your birthday suit for the entire world to see is something that you derive real pleasure from, chances are this drug will enhance that desire in you, and your filter which considers consequences of such an action will be bypassed. You’ll dance, sing and traumatize the neighbors to your heart’s content, and you’ll feel good about it…

“I finally get to be me!”  you’ll be assuring yourself.

wrong if it feels good

Wanna Bet?

And then,  your filter comes slowly back to life again as you sober up, and you find yourself  in jail for public nudity, dressed in a discarded moomoo that smells like someone died in it, holding an eviction notice in your hand. To make matters worse, your best friend not only recorded your spectacular plummet from respectability, but then uploaded your shameful experience onto YouTube, and the creepy perv down the street that no one makes eye-contact with, has baked you a cake with a shank in it. Suddenly, the problems you were trying to escape from in the first place don’t seem as bad as the ones you’ve just created during your “mental vacation”.

See how that works? If God, spirituality, religion, or some such thing is something you get pleasure from, you bet your booties, it’ll come up when you are high. I know, because when I used this drug, God was foremost in my thoughts and actions. And yet, even in my intoxicated state, while I felt like God appreciates all the publicity He can get, my conscience kicked in at the same time, imploring me to wait until I was sober before launching into whatever ridiculous thing I was poised to do for Him, like what I’d learned about Him while I was high. I’m pretty sure He’s grateful I didn’t try to “help” the cause during those moments.

It is my opinion that most people, especially men, tend to have sex in their pleasure centers, and women tend to have love in theirs. Meth is considered a sex enhancement drug, but it didn’t work that way for me at all. Because of my complicated relationship with sex, it didn’t actually take up residence in the pleasure center of my brain; but love did. As long as Chef made me feel like he loved me…high or not…I was on board with the sex thing. But if he didn’t, he was on his own. Meth is a very selfish drug. Right there, you can almost see why this crappy drug ruins marriages. One person wants to feel loved; the other wants pure, animal sex. And for most people, there is the ability to love someone without having sex with them, and to have sex with someone you don’t love.

Hence, breakdowns occur.

Bird Fact #3: I’d always be very careful about anything that you “learn” on meth, or any drug. Without that consequence filter, we are susceptible to accepting lies, and turning them into truths in our own minds, which invariably leads to being slapped on the side of the head with our “Oh-Crap!-What-Have-I-Done” brain-gag reflex instead.

Can you learn spiritual truths when you’re high? Sure. You can probably learn anything on dope if it’s important enough to you.

Once upon a time, God made a donkey talk but just because you see the Donkey from Shrek  jabbering at you while you’re high, it doesn’t mean you actually a) saw a donkey physically speaking to you or b) that you’re a character on the next Shrek, or that c) all donkeys secretly know how to talk and are laughing silently at us clueless humans, or even that d)  God had something special to tell you from this lively donkey. It just means you burned your brain a tad too much, and you’ve hallucinated a fake donkey singing a Tina Turner song  to you.

My advice: Render that little nugget of experience to the mental trash can it probably deserves to be in.

If it was so important that God get a message to you that He’d use a donkey  or even more unbelievable, a Tina Turner song, He’d have probably waited until you were sober and there could be no question it was a miracle of God instead a miracle of Dope.

We all look for reasons to excuse something we’re doing that we know we are wrong to do, by finding something positive enough to justify it to others, and mainly ourselves. I’ve found that the “I’m spiritually awakened” excuse is pretty common amongst those of us that tend to like to have a little chemical uplifting from time to time, and frankly, it’s a pathetic one.

Here’s life choices in a nutshell — you don’t owe anyone a reason or excuse for what you do or want to do; but by the same token, you’re the one stuck with the consequences, so don’t be surprised when you’re eating a bucket-full of guilt, shame, and general self-loathing. Own your crap, pay your dues, learn from it, and start a blog or something. Most importantly, forgive yourself and move on.  Don’t waste a whole lot of time on coming up with an acceptable reason or excuse that people will buy. Nobody really cares about that but you anyways.

I’ll leave you guys with one more observation that I’m pretty sure everyone can identify with.

learnBy a show of hands, how many of us know at least one old hippie-wanna-be who’s burned out his/her brain so much, we roll our eyes when they head down Enlightenment Lane?

Yeah. That’s what I thought… :-)

Don’t be that person. Find your enlightenment and spirituality with a full set of brain cells working. That way, you’ll be prepared to defend your opinions and views, and not have people rolling their eyes as you walk away, telling their little children to stay away from you because you think you’re Shrek or something. I’m just saying…

Hope all the mothers had a wonderful Mother’s Day! Especially you, Diane! I love you!

– Bird

PS: I want to wish DJ, my son, a Happy Birthday! You’re my favorite son, little man! I love you!

Are You Prepared For Being A Friend of Mine?

Posted on by Standard 4

Here’s something I’ll bet you didn’t know about me.

I’m extremely fearful, to the point it is an actual phobia, when it comes to going to the hospital. It has something to do with the way they smell and sound. One whiff of fear of spidersdisinfectant and the sweat of fear, coupled with some feminine, bored, muffled intercom voice communicating life and death in rainbow-colored codes, and I have been known to incapacitate myself with a full-blown panic attack.

A rumor that someone I know might be going in to the hospital for something is enough to make me hyperventilate and avoid Facebook, pigeons and voice mail for a week.

Because of this crippling effect on me, there is a kind of process I go through mentally before I’m going to step one foot into these sinister, stinky hubs of health. I’ve established an Is-It-Worth-It Checklist that I complete in my mind before I commit to visiting someone at the hospital.

Well, there are actually 2 lists – one for whether I should go for my own health, and the other for being a supportive, good friend.

The one for me is really just the one line of questioning – how bad does it hurt and will they give me excellent drugs to make it stop hurting?

The other, though, is kind of more complex, and until they start giving out the excellent drugs to the visitors, I’m probably always going to use it. It goes something like this:

Bird’s Is-It-Worth-It Checklist

1. How serious is the condition my friend is in the hospital for?

a.Could they possibly die? (Here I calculate the odds of survival, and adjust accordingly.)

Floating Petri Dish of Disease

Floating Petri Dish of Disease

b. Not life-threatening? Like plastic surgery or a mild heart-attack? (See you when you get out, dude!)

c. Odds are, this could be the end of the line for them. (What are the chances I’ll be seeing them in heaven? Just kidding! This one is unflinchingly rigid.)

2. Just how angry or hurt will they be if I just call them on the phone instead of physically going to the hospital?

a. Really, really angry? (Are they prone to kicking butt when displeased, and if so, can I take them down? Also, how bad will it hurt?)

b.Indifferent – (They’re super popular; they actually begin their recovery after they return home. The hospital visitors actually sign a guestbook walking into the patient’s room. $5 and a broke friend, my name can be there, too.)

c. Hard to tell – (They might act like they don’t care, but last time you did find a stuffed animal of yours boiling in the kitchen…It seemed like it was some kind of warning.)

d. They get the really cool drugs and won’t be lucid for weeks after they get out. (I’ll photoshop a picture of myself in front of the hospital, and presto! I’m a good friend!)

e.They hate visitors – I’d being doing them a favor! (I’ve never met someone I could use this one on.)

3. If I buy them a really cool get-well gift, can I get off the hook?awesome me

a. No. They’re flush with stuff, and a gift isn’t going to go very far with them unless I had to take out a loan to buy it. (Not likely these days.)

b. They practically live in a cardboard box. A gift certificate to Taco Bell will buy me a pass for the next three hospitalizations. (God bless Taco Bell’s Dollar Menu!)

c. Depends on the kind of gift. Am I willing to go to the mall (another phobia of mine, though to a much lesser degree) and spend the ridiculous amount of money they charge for something from Hot Topic or Victoria’s Secret? (I’ve never answered yes to this one. It’s included because eventually one of my friends will get a boob job, and this one will finally come into play.)

d. No. This friend isn’t superficial or materialistic. Next time, be pickier about the kinds of friends you want. :-)

4. Is it in any way possible to pretend I didn’t know they were in the hospital until they get out?

a. Yes, if I pretend I’ve just been super busy. Once upon a time, I could actually get away with this one. I’m notorious for being hard to get ahold of most of the time. These days, though, my friends all know me pretty well, (or I’ve already done this the first couple of times they were hospitalized), and this doesn’t fly anymore.

b. No. They ran ads on every television and radio station in Tulsa, left text messages and voice messages on every telephone I have, sent a telegram, two pigeon carriers,hilarious a note on my windshield, sent a note from my mother to my boss, and paid to have their name and room number written in the sky over my apartment. My presence is requested, and my absence will be noted and unhappily addressed when they are released.

5. How important is this friendship to me in the long run?

a. I can make new friends; giving me one of your kidneys doesn’t make us sisters under the skin, right? Actually, I find it pretty nerve-wracking to try to even talk to someone I don’t know, so this is a stupid thing to even be on my checklist. Still, it does cross my mind…

b. Will they quietly be hurt, or will I find a dead fish wrapped in newspaper on my doorstep? Quietly hurt, in my opinion, can actually be worse than a threat from the mafia that I’ll be sleeping with the fishes, especially since I live in Tulsa, Oklahoma. 

c. Friendships are pretty important, and I really love this person a lot. Oh, fine!! I’ll go to the stupid hospital, but I’m not promising I won’t pee myself on your floor when I smell alcohol swabs, spray you with snot when I can’t breathe because I can mentally see the needle in your IV stabbing through the walls of your vein,  or puke in your trash can when that horrible intercom voice blares through my head. Hey! It’s what you wanted!! Still want me to be your friend??

I wanted to take a minute to thank the fellow bloggers that nominated me for some awards. I promise, I’ll try to get to those some time this weekend. Thank you so much!!fear of trust

– Bird