NOT WITHOUT MY CORGI: THE TOBY JONES STORY

PART III

So where was I?

It has just been discovered that Toby was placed on Petfinder.com by Karin (after being given a new name and backstory) and adopted by a family in Maine.  This happened on a Saturday night, the day before I was set to move out of Susan’s house.  The next morning I moved out – without running into Susan, who didn’t know that I found out about Toby – and my detective contacted the family in Maine.

The family in Maine was stunned when my detective told them the truth of Colby Cheddar’s past; in fact, they didn’t believe him.  They were under the impression that Toby was a neglected dog.  That his owner had cancer and he was placed into foster care with Susan.  They thought they “rescued” him.  So, when a detective called saying it’s all a ruse and Colby is in fact TOBY, and stolen, they called BS on my detective.

This was a minor set-back.

My detective contacted the local police in Maine and gave them all the evidence proving that Toby belongs to me.  The family in Maine also contacted the police, informing them that a “detective” is after their rescued dog.  The police share the evidence with the Maine family and they begin to believe.

In the meantime, it’s Monday and I’m back at work, on a high after discovering that Toby is 1) alive and 2) chilling in Maine.  I enter triumphant into the office, greeting my co-workers with:

Guess who’s dog isn’t dead!?  Guess who found out that those crazy bitches stole him!?  I told you I wasn’t crazy!  WHO’S CRAZY NOW, PEOPLE??  WHO’S. CRAZY. NOW!?

Hey, I think I deserved to gloat a little bit.

My co-workers were shocked, to say the least.  I mean, you can attest to this after reading so far – who would have ever thought a pair of old white women would steal someone’s dog?

Not our lunch lady, that’s for sure.  As she explained,

Shit, only crazy white people would steal someone’s dog.

She’s black and apparently this is not something that happens in the african american community.  No one would dare to steal someone’s dog because they think it’s being neglected.  Apparently they have bigger problems to deal with than a middle-class girl and her purebred corgi.  I mean, really? #whitegirlproblems

About that time, I started getting phone calls from Karin.  Turns out that the Maine family contacted her, in panic and confusion, after hearing from my detective.  From what I learned later, she told the Maine family not to worry.  That the whole thing was going to be worked out and they would get to keep Colby Cheddar.  In fact, she told them that they didn’t have to give him up because this was just like the Hurricane Katrina situation.

Come again, crazy putty?

Yes.   Just like how abandoned dogs were adopted after the destruction from Hurricane Katrina, that’s how they came to have Toby.  Because I am now a natural disaster (hmm, there are some that might agree with this comparison).  I guess Karin thought that ruling would translate in this situation?   I had “abandoned” my dog in Susan’s care (HE WAS STOLEN) and the Maine family now had claim to him?   Yup, that’s what she told them.

So Karin kept calling me at work and I ignored her calls.  Well, mostly.  I answered a couple of times.  She took the position that she had no idea that I didn’t willingly give up Toby for adoption.  Yeah, you read that correctly.  That bitch tried to convince me that Susan came to her and said that I was moving to DC and couldn’t take Toby with me.  Sure, that makes sense.  That completely exlains why she 1) changed his name 2) said I died from cancer and neglected him 3) took him to a new vet for shots and tried to change his microchip information and 4) DIDN’T INVOLVE ME AT ALL.

I tried to say as little as possible to her because I was certain we’d be going to court and I didn’t want anything held against me in a court of law (I watched a lot of “Law and Order” back in the day).  So when she started spouting these lies to me, to try and cover her ass, I calmly told her that her story didn’t add up.  Even if I were to accept the idea that she gave Toby a new name and backstory “so he could make a fresh start,” why in the hell didn’t she tell me what was going on when I called him the night he went missing??

Oh, well by then it just too late!  Toby had already left for Maine and I just didn’t know what to do.  Everything had been done!

Yeah…so instead of telling me that you just LIED AND SAID YOU HAD NO IDEA WHERE HE WAS?!

Sorry, this is the point of the story where I start getting really angry.  Isn’t anger one of the stages of grief?  Since I was no longer grieving over his loss, I was free to focus on the anger stage.  Permanently.

SIDENOTE:  I had forgotten to mention this in Part I or II, but Karin has done this before.  Stolen someone’s dog from right out of their yard.  When I was looking for Toby I ran into the director of one of the rescue leagues in DC.  He knew Karin personally.  And he told me that she had brought dogs, more than me, into their facility that she claimed she “found.”  That they were abandoned animals.  Turns out that the scanned these dogs microchips and they weren’t lost dogs at all; they all had owners who were looking for them.  And she kept that defense, that she had “found them.”

I ran into Susan that night when I went back to the house to pick up the last of my stuff.  I wasn’t sure if she knew by now, so I took David with me as my witness in case I saw her.  It wasn’t until I was about to leave that she called me, asking where I was.  When I told her I was at the house she said “me too!” and came into my room.  She said that she knew that I had found out about Toby.  I quickly found my boyfriend outside and asked him to come in.  I didn’t say ONE WORD to Susan the entire time.  She told me that I needed to “think long and hard” about what I was going to do.  That Toby was “in a good place, a real good place” and I should leave him there.  That he was “badly neglected in my care” and was better off with the family in Maine and   I was fuming inside,  fuming, but I said nothing.  It was David who spoke up with, “are you serious?  You stole her fucking dog!”  God bless him.  I’m lucky (she’s lucky) I didn’t bitch slap her, I was so close.  Instead, I took that last box and calmy left the house.

Susan started contacting me as well.  However, when I wouldn’t take her calls she resorted to faxing me.  You need to read that one, it’s a doozy.  She basically tells me that while I am a “sweetheart,” I am also a harlot who spends her nights on the town with various men and am a “terrible pet owner.”  The best line?

Please don’t cry when you read this.

No worries there, Susan.  In this fax she reveals some of the dellusional thinking that led her to kidnap Toby.  She accused me of not feeding Toby or the rabbits and abandoning them for days at a time.  She speaks of Toby as a dog who is “haunted by human touch.”

HAUNTED BY HUMAN TOUCH, PEOPLE.

Have you guys met this dog?  Has SHE met this dog?  He had a goofy smile planted permanently on his face.  He is happier than any human I know.  Sure, he would snap at her dogs from time to time, when there was food involved.  I’m not saying Toby isn’t an asshole, I’m just saying he’s not void of human attention.

And the accusation that I abanoned them for days and didn’t feed them?  Complely and utterly false.  First of all,  I think I was out of town twice during the year I lived there – once for Christmas vacation and once in February.  The first Susan offered to take care of Toby and it was all planned out in advance.  The second, my friend was staying with me at that time and watched Toby.  Hell, you can check my work attendance records, I was there.  Every day.  You don’t just “skip” days while working at a charter school.  Please.  And the idea that I didn’t feed and water them??  Is she crazy?  Actually, she is.  Susan did give them food and water, don’t get me wrong.  She was there all day long (because she couldn’t get a job) and did take care of them.  Hell, I used to have to tell Susan not to give Toby human food because he was overweight.  WHO’S NEGLECTING THE DOG NOW?

Karin began to email me, along with Susan, after a couple of days.  Click on the link to the back and forth where I explain to Karin that her story doesn’t add up.  That she stole my dog, pure and simple, and covered the whole thing up.  Susan chimes in with some awesome crazy talk, that email is worth reading the whole thing.

So back to the people in Maine.  They contact me, after I send them approximately 500 pictures of Toby (one for each day of his life, I believe).  The wife calls me and tells me that they believe me.  That they know I didn’t neglect Toby and that they are going to give him back.   And she’s a wreck.   She is so so upset.  And I can understand why.   She had been looking for a corgi to adopt for several years – she drove all the way to Maryland because she wanted him so much.  In fact, she actually asked me at some point in the conversation if I would be willing to let them keep him.  It broke my heart, she was crying and just so upset.  So I just gently explained that I coudn’t, that I loved him so much I had hired a detective to find him.

CRAZY SIDE NOTE:  I found out, after speaking to the husband, that we had more in common than a corgi.  Turns out the husband went to my high school in Florida!  At the same time as me!  He’s only two years older than me and moved to my hometown for a couple of years.  He and I actually had a few friends in common.  How crazy is that?  Well, I mean, not as crazy as the rest of this story, but still.  What a small world!

So we arranged for Toby’s departure.  I would fly up to Boston that upcoming weekend and pick him up.  Actually, my ex-fiance was awesome and willing to drive to Maine (several hours from where he lived in Boston) and picked him up from them, so that I would only have to fly to Boston.

Susan and Karin continued to try to and convince me that I should let Toby stay in Maine.  Karin offered me money to let him stay there – thoughtful of her, no?  I’m guessing she was just freaked out that the family in Maine was going to sue her.  In fact, the only point at which I almost went off on her was when she was told me to really think about keeping in Maine, and that I needed to:

Let go and let God.

She told me this over the phone and if it had been possible to punch someone through the phone, I would have done it then.  I mean, let go and let God?!  Was she really using that proverb (I think that’s what that is) to convince me to give up my dog?!  I’m sorry, did GOD tell her to steal him?? Yeah, I don’t F’ING think so.

Another gem came after I accused her of “stealing” him.

That’s your problem, you think of him as your property.

Oh, you’ll have to EXCUSE ME, did I miss the part where Toby was an independent member of society!  Can he vote and pay taxes?!  He IS my property, bitch.

(Sorry, I normally wouldn’t refer to him as such, but the audacity of that woman, I can’t even begin to explain.  To use anything to justify stealing someone’s animal is just sick.)

And here’s the thing.  If Susan and Karin ACTUALLY thought I was neglecting Toby, if they ACTUALLY believed it, then they should have reported me to the authorities.  They should have had me investigated.  But they didn’t, they took matters into their own  hands.  Hmm, what is that similar to?  Oh, I know.  It’s like a Neighborhood Watch person believing they saw something “suspicious” and instead of letting the police handle it, trying to handle things on their own.  And we saw how well THAT turned out.  I know, it’s not the same thing, but you get my point.  They had legal options to persue and they didnt’t.

I went up to Boston that weekend and flew back with Toby.  And we went to our new home in DC.  With a sane roomate, thank god.  A few weeks after I arrived, we had a party.  Partly to welcome me to the house.  Here’s what Toby wore:

Toby in his Witness Protection Program t-shirt. what's the point of being kidnapped if you can't have a little fun with it afterwards??

My detective advised me to take Karin and Susan to small claims court so that I could re-coop the costs of finding Toby.  At first, I wanted to press criminal charges against them, and for good reason.  However, my detective pointed out that not much would happen to them.  That it would be deemed petty theft (like past charges that Karin had) and they would be slapped with probation.  Also, given the way in which I found out about Toby, he wasn’t sure we should pursue the criminal route.

I would have liked to have sued Karin and Susan for emotional damage in real court, and take every penny they had, but do you know how expensive a lawyer is?  RULL EXPENSIVE.  So, being a person of “limited means,” I resorted to small claims court, where you can only sue for the actual costs you incured.

I sued Karin and Susan; Susan then countersued me.  For what, you ask?  FOR A YEAR’S WORTH OF PETSITTING.   She was claiming I had abandoned Toby in her care.  For the year.  God, I can’t even begin to explain her crazyness.

In the end I settled with Karin (only) out of court.  She paid me for all my expenses.  It was done with, finally.  It took several months of going back and forth to settle between us.  To the very end, she continued to claim she had “no idea” I hadn’t given Toby up on my own.  Still makes me want to vomit.

The last bit of trivia involved with this story came a few months later.  I got a FedEx from daytime TV’s Judge Joe Mathis.  They had seen my small claims court paperwork and wanted Karin and I on the show.  Unfortunately, we have already settled by then (and I doubt Karin would have gone for it).  Otherwise, how awesome would that have been?!  Can you imagine the spectacle?  I would have loved to have brought Toby on there, show everyone the “haunted by human touch” “neglected” dog.   Also, it would have been in the running for most insane story every told on court tv.

And that’s it, that’s the story of how my dog was stolen by a posssible terrorist and her senior citizen animal rights activitist neighbor and adopted to a family in Maine.  Completely true and almost unbelievable.

Stay tuned for the Lifetime movie, you know it’s coming.

Toby "Haunted by Human Touch" Jones - post abduction.

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LIZ:  Oh, no no no, she is nuts when it comes to guys.  We had a name for her back in Chicago, it’s to rude to say outloud.

Liz writes something down on a “Variety” magazine.  Jack reads it.

JACK: Crazy putty?

NOT WITHOUT MY CORGI: THE TOBY JONES STORY

PART DEUX

Toby went missing on a Thursday (September 13).

The very next day, I had suspicions that Susan and Karin were behind this.  Call it a hunch — or call it obvious, based on what I’ve already told you.  I tried a “sneak attack” that night and stopped by Karin’s house unannounced.  I brought my friend, Leif, as back-up in case we needed to take her down…or, in case we caught her and I needed a witness.  There were a lot of dogs at her house, but no Toby.  I told her I was coming by with some flyers for her to post – which she happily took.  She gave me some tips on where to search (checking with humane societies, for example) but didn’t seem that distraught or concerned.  She also didn’t offer to help herself.

And neither did Susan.  Over the next week, I posted 100 flyers around town.  You can see a crappy black & white version here.  Imagine it in color and 11 x 17 – beautiful really 🙂  I put a notice in The Washington Post, I posted several places online, and I checked-in daily with the humane societies in the three closest counties.  I visited them and checked out their DOA (Dead on Arrival) list; which is just awful thing to have to do.  But several people thought Toby had been struck and killed by a car – not that they really told me to my face, but I knew what everyone was thinking.  And it was possible.  However, unless the person took his body and disposed of it themselves, it would have been picked up with the county and recorded by the humane society.  Thankfully, it wasn’t.

Can I interject here with how heartbroken I was?  I was simply destroyed by his disappearance.  I was not a crier at that time, but I would break down all the time, thinking about it.  Toby was my child, essentially, and he was all I had in DC.  I didn’t have a husband or children, I was far away from my family.  He was it for me.  So for him to go missing and for me to have no idea what happened to him, it tortured me.  And what’s the most dangerous thing on earth?  An angry mother.  See, you just don’t mess with someone’s child.  It’s the one thing they will kill for.  So it’s understandable that I went slightly crazy in the weeks following  his dissapearnce.

Which it turns out was a good thing.  See, just like Sally Field in the hit TV movie, “Not Without My Daughter,” you don’t give up on your kids.  If there is a chance they are out there, you’re going to find them.  You are going to move heaven and earth to get to them.

I obviously had no help in making this - all me folks!

I started searching for clues around the house.  Looked through the living room, around the computer – checking out all the notepads that Susan writes on.  I looked for numbers, names, that stood out.  I was trying to locate other foster homes that Karin used for her “rescued” dogs.  Perhaps they took him to one of those?  I even looked up Susan and Karin on Maryland’s ciminal database.  It’s public.  Both had been charged with petty thefts (under $500).  Hmm, stealing something?  Sounds familiar to me.  Susan only had the one charge.  Karin had that plus: rogue and vagabond and disorderly conduct.   These charges were brought up by the arresting officer.  The found her not guilty of disorderly conduct, but the other two stuck and she was given probation.

After one week I was getting nowhere; I even offered up a $500 award, but only got a couple of useless phone calls (pranksters).  I just knew he hadn’t vanished into thin air, someone had to be hiding him.  I just needed to find them.   

So I decided to hire a pet detective.   Oh yes, they exist.  I looked up several and spoke to a few.  They are hella expensive though, thousands of dollars and that’s just to get them to travel to your home.  Mama might be sad, but she didn’t have that kind of money.  Instead, I ended up going with a local retired cop.  I created a timeline for him, recording what I knew so far.  Yeah, I was serious.  My co-workers thought I was losing my mind, I’m sure.  I know they did.  But they could see that I needed this hope to cling to.  So if I needed to believe that my landlord and her old neighbor stole my dog, so be it.  Little did they know…

The detective saw some plausibility to my story – or he saw that I would pay the retainer.  Either way, he agreed to take on the case.  We have hope!  The next two weeks went by and no evidence turned up.  The detective had all sorts of plans to investigate them, but he wasn’t turning anything up.  I was getting frustrated.  One Sunday afternoon, I was on the porch, making more reward signs.  Susan was reading the paper next to me.  Leisurely.  I casually brought up Toby, asking her what she thought about a reward.  She was all for it, she thought it was a good way to get leads.  I kept repeating to her that I just needed to know if he was ok, I just needed to know he was safe.  I was trying to coax anything out of her, get her to confess something.  Fat chance.  Here’s what she had to offer up instead.

 Susan:  You know, there have been a lot of construction workers across the street, working on a neighbor’s house.  And a lot of them are Mexicans.  Now, I don’t want to come off as racist (HERE COMES SOMETHING INCREDIBLE RACIST), but you know that they don’t have any respect for people’s things.

DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!

Yes, yes it did.  Susan just said that Mexicans have no respect for people’s things.  I mean, jesus, I could not make this stuff up.

Susan:  So if you get a call from someone, don’t ask any questions.  Just give them the money.

And I’m just sitting there, staring at her in disbelief.  Where does this woman get off??  And that’s when I decided to ask her what I had been thinking for awhile.  Why wasn’t she trying to help me find Toby?  Why didn’t she seem concerned that he was gone?

And she just went off.  Went off about  her upcoming trial, how she was so busy traveling back and forth to NYC to prepare for it, how she was worried about the house (they were trying to foreclose on it because she had no money for the mortgage).  So I just gave up on her, I didn’t think I was going to get her to break.  Especially after she offered up all the Mexicans in her place.

Did I mention that my detective’s name was Richard.  Which means, wait for it, that my Private Eye was a Dick!  Sorry, I had to say it.

So we’ve made it to the night of September 30.  The night before I move out of Susan’s house.  Yes, I was still moving.  While looking for my dog, I was also packing to move into DC.  There’s nothing stressful about this situation.  That last night I was at my boyfriend’s apartment; we had just got done watching the Gators lose to Auburn.  I was not in a good mood.

And then it happened.  Now, I can’t really say what IT is.  See, I’ve consulted with a few of my lawyer friends about how this all went down, how we discovered where Toby was.  And it’s a little…sticky.  And that’s why I didn’t want to tell this story online- I’m not able to tell the whole thing, plus it’s just a much better story to hear in person.  If you really need to know the whole story, just invite me out for a drink.

So…where was I?  The stickiness.  See, something happened that night, less than 8 hours before I was set to move.  And that something was this:  we discovered where Toby was.

He was in Maine.

Here’s what happened:

Mid-August:  I reveal to Susan that I am moving to DC and taking Toby with me.

End of August/Beginning of September:  Karin posts a listing on her PetFinder.com page.  She advertises that Toby is up for adoption.  But she changes his name to COLBY CHEDDAR and creates a new history for him!  He is now a neglected and abandoned dog.  His owner – that’s me! – got cancer shortly after she got him and died.  Oh yeah, I’m dead!  Did you know??  I’m sorry to tell you this way.  Believe me, I was shocked myself.

Anyways, people respond to this ad that Karin posted.   One of the responses is from a family from Maine – husband, wife, and son.  They live in the country, have plenty of land for dogs to roam, and they would love a corgi.  They arrange with Karin and Susan to adopt Toby- err, I mean COLBY CHEDDAR.  The wife drives all the way day from Maine to pick him up.

Now, the family in Maine ended up sending me all the correspondence between themselves and Susan/Karin.  Here’s where Susan writes them, describing how she is fostering Colby.   Yeah, she was kind enough to foster the Cheddster (I just made up that name right now) after my death.  By cancer.

September 13: The day that Toby went missing from the house was the day that the wife from Maine picked Toby/Colby up.  At Karin’s house.   Remember when I called up Karin that night to find out where Toby was??  Yeah, Susan was over there and Toby had already left for Maine.  Just fantastic human beings, these people are.

The Maine wife wrote to Karin when she and Toby/Colby made it back home.  She even sent pictures of T/C at his new home, wearing his Gators collar  – that I bought him (that would later be used to identify him)!  Oh, did you know that Karin was kind enough to offer up suggestions for Colby’s new name?  You know, since Colby wasn’t a new name.  Karin suggested Shiloh, because it means “place of peace.”

I barfed the first time I read that.

But never mind that, friends.  Just NEVER MIND THAT.  I had found my dog!!!  I was not crazy!!!  Well, I mean, I am definitely crazy, but not about this.

DON’T MESS WITH A MOTHER.

September 30/October 1: My Private Dick and I discuss our next move.  We agree that he will contact the family in Maine and arrange for the transfer of Colby  Toby back to DC.

That’s where we hit  our next roadblock.  Because the family in Maine, they weren’t giving him back.  In fact, when my detective called, they refused to believe him.  They said they they rescued Toby Colby from a neglect situation – and then they called their local police.

And THAT’S when the story gets rull interesting.

END OF PART DEUX.

Link to Part III

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Never follow a hippie to a second location. – Jackie D.

NOT WITHOUT MY CORGI – THE TOBY JONES STORY

PART I

What up, Sally Field!?

As many of my friends know, my dog Toby was once dognapped (which I’ll refer to as kidnapped going forward) by my would-be terrorist landlord and her crazy animal rights activist friend.  They took him while I was still living at my landlord’s house and then gave him away to a family in Maine.  I hired a private detective to find him and we were able to discover who took him and where they took him, and then got him back.

This is a 100% true story.

I’m going to need to spread this over a few posts, because it’s pretty involved and you need to know everything to get the real picture.

Let’s go back to June 2007.  I was living in Boston, preparing to move down to DC.  I got a job working for a charter school in the city, and didn’t have time to visit in person to find a place to live.  Because I had Toby, I needed to find somewhere that was pet-friendly, while being affordable.  So I headed to where we all go for things we need/don’t need – craigslist.  [Remind me to tell you another time about my dating (mis)adventures on that site; this was in the days before the “Craigslist Killer.”  Not that it makes it any better- I’m just trying to justify my actions a little.]

I started corresponding with a woman named Karin A.  She was advertising a room for rent in Takoma Park, and she only rented to people with animals.  Karin was taking care of her friend Susan L.’s house “while she was away,” and was very excited to have someone with a dog move in.  Takoma Park is located just north of DC – it’s a community full of environmentally conscious, co-op shopping folks, who love their hybrid cars and being outdoors.  A great place for a dog owner to live, really.  The house had a fenced-in yard and Karin was just a few streets away, should we need anything.  After looking at the photos and conversing a few times, I made plans to move.

I packed up a U-Haul with Toby, my bunny Molly, and all my stuff, and headed to DC.  When I arrived, there was basically a monsoon happening.  It was storming hard.  Karin wasn’t around when I was moving in my stuff, but the girl who had been living in my room was there; she was on her way out.  You’ll see throughout this story, many times where there were signs that I needed to get the hell out of this situation – this was the first.

GIRL:  So you know about Susan, right?

ME:  Yeah.  She’s away.  Karin’s watching the house for her.

GIRL:  Yeah, she’s away…IN JAIL.

ME:  Come again?

GIRL:  They say she accepted money illegally from Iraq, but I don’t think she did.  She’s a real nice lady.  Bye!

Umm, YEAH, Karin forgot to mention the fact that Susan was being held on The Patriot Act at a prison in Texas.  You know, MINOR DETAIL.  When you say that somone is “away,” it is assumed that you mean a long-vacation, someplace awesome like Europe.  NOT FEDERAL PRISON.

Susan has a Wikipedia page- oh yes she does.  I’m not going to tell you her last name, for my protection.  You’ll know why in a little bit.  However, this is from her page:

She was accused of conspiring to act as an unregistered lobbyist for the Iraqi Intelligence Service and engaging in prohibited financial transactions involving the government of Iraq under Saddam Hussein.  (She) was found mentally unfit to stand trial in two separate hearings-

Yes, this was my first sign to get the hell out of the dodge.  HOWEVER, I was starting work in 24 hours and had unloaded most of my stuff and really didn’t have any other options.  Plus, she was in jail, it’s not like she was living with us (yet).

So I finished moving in.   I asked Karin about Susan being incarcerated and she spouted some stuff about how illegal (to arrest Susan) and ridiculous the whole situation was, that Susan didn’t do anything they were claiming. Totally glazed right over the fact that she completely hid this situation from me; I guess it’s hard to rent out the house of a possible terrorist.  I mean, I see where she was coming from.

There were three other people living in the house.  In the room next to me was a nice, older Indian woman.  She was quiet and kept to herself.  Downstairs in the finished basement was a gentleman named Jay – late 40s computer nerd.  Upstairs in the finished attic was another woman named Karen (not neighbor Karin).  I spoke with her the first night I arrived.  She was in her early 40s, extremely overweight, and really, really strange.  Here, just let her tell you.

KAREN:  I’m a writer.  Yeah.  I like to write Vampire Literotica on the internet.

Yes, you read that correctly.  Online.  Vampire.  Literotica.   Sign #2!

She was also just out of the closet – she had been married, realized that she was gay, and separated from her husband.  She then started a long-distance relationship with an African-American woman who was living in South Carolina and was hiding the fact that she was a lesbian from her family.  Her very conservative Southern Baptist family who would not approve of her dating a woman, especially a White one.

Does anyone wanna guess where they met online!?

Anyhow, I impressed myself with the straight face I kept while she told me all of this.  I think I was still in shock over the face that I was living in a (possible) terrorist’s house.

So, although it was an un-conventional place to live, it seemed harmless enough at the time.  The roommates were ok, Susan was safely tucked away in prison, and Toby had a yard to play in.  And lots of doggie friends that came to visit – Karin had a caravan of small dogs.  She ran a rescue and was constantly picking up dogs.  She used to show dogs, but I think she gave that up when she went into rescuing.  She was known in Takoma Park as the Crazy Dog Lady.  There were stories that she had broken animals out of makeup testing facilities back in the 70s.  You know, your typical animal rights activist.  She was in her late 60s, but still going strong!

Toby and his Motley Crew

The summer went by pretty quickly.  I was up to my ears at work; those of you in the charter school world know exactly what I’m talking about 🙂 Karin came by several times a week with her doggies and they all had a good time hanging out.  In fact, I was feeling pretty good about the living situation – right up until September came.  We found out that Susan was being released from prison.  She had been found incompetent for trial and the courts couldn’t force her to take antipsychotic medication to make her competent to stand trial.  Apparently they also couldn’t hold her any longer – I would say legally, but that really doesn’t exist under The Patriot Act.  So Susan came home.

I remember seeing her for the first time.  She was in the front yard with her dogs.  She had two dachshunds – nice dogs, but they weren’t housetrained and peed and shat in the house ALL THE DAMN TIME.  She and I talked for a few minutes.  She was very friendly, quite apologetic about “the situation” she was in.  You could tell she was very intelligent, if a little spastic and crazed.  And it would make sense, if she really had been imprisoned for no good reason.  She asked if it would be alright if she slept in the living room; since all the rooms had been rented out, she had nowhere else to go.  Seeing that it was her house, and she had just been in jail, we all agreed it was fine.

At first, things were pretty normal.  Susan couldn’t really work – she was still being charged with something, at that point it wasn’t really clear to me exactly what they were charging her with – so she spent a lot of time at the house.  This was really great for me, because Toby hung out with her and her dogs all day.  She loved having Toby around, was always telling me that she could watch him if I needed to go on vacation or were away for the weekend.   This was really helpful to me at Christmas, when I visited Florida.  She was great with the animals…even if she wasn’t with people.

See, after a short time, Susan’s personality started to reveal itself.  And crazy, well, that doesn’t even begin to cover it.  She was paranoid for starters, which one could justify by the fact that she had been watched by the FBI (and was still being watched, I’m sure).   She was suspicious of, and hated, all psychologists/psychiatrists.  She referred to them as “mind rapists” and “mind fuckers.”  Charming.  I was sure not to mention my fascination with psychology 🙂

She use to “rehearse” what she was going to say at her future trial – to the lawyers, the judges.  She would pace back and forth in the living room, talking aloud.  She was full of emotion – shouting at times while “arguing” with the judge.  She got especially bent out of shape about the “mind rapists.”  From my bedroom door I would peek through the key hole (it was an antique door with a large keyhole) and watch Susan in front of her bathroom mirror.  She would be stammering under her breath, repeating the same things over and over again, quietly shouting and arguing.  It became a case study for me – for the longest time I tried to figure out her diagnosis.  She wasn’t schizophrenic, that I was pretty sure of.  It’s not like she thought there were other people in the room with her when she had these “practice” conversations.  And she never took on other personalities – it was always her, the crazy train of one.

This happened on a consistent basis – pretty much every night.    I would try to avoid going out of my room most nights, I really didn’t want to interact with her when she was in one of her moods.  When I did see her after these “incidents,” she would apologize for her behavior.   Sometimes she would tell me about her case and everything she was wrongly being accused of.  One time she randomly let slip that she had tea with Osama Bin Laden in the mid-90s.

Signs #3, 4, 5, 6, and 7.

Yeah, I know.  She was a loon.  Despite her strange behavior, she was fine with me and good to Toby.  So I overlooked the crazypants part for awhile.   She got into spats with the other roommates, though.  The Indian woman, who was much smarter than I, moved out not too long after Susan arrived.  Susan moved into her room.  Karen, lesbian vampire literotica writer, often got into it with Susan.  Susan wasn’t the best landlord.   She wasn’t really ontop of repairs and keeping the house in working order.  Luckily I didn’t have any issues that needed attending to.  So for me, as long as I kept out of the living room at night, things were pretty good!  And really, it was pretty damn entertaining to listen to her rants in the evening.  My friend, Dan, stayed with me for a few weeks that winter and he can confirm her insane behavior.

Winter Toby, hiding from crazy

One day I actually came across her psych evaluation.  It was lying on the coffee table, out in the open for anyone to see.  It basically confirmed what I thought – paranoia, delusion, and anxiety were the basic theme.  A mixed bag of crazy, if you will.

The longer I stayed, the more intense things became.  The rants were more frequent, and she was visibly agitated most of the time, even around me.  She would get annoyed with the dogs.  She just wasn’t in a good place.   So I knew it was time to leave.

Yeah, I know, about a year slower than the rest of you.   Don’t judge me!

It was August 2007 and I decided that I would move out at the end of September.  I was nervous about telling Susan that I was moving out – I thought she would freak, honestly.  Plus, I knew that it was be near impossible for her to find someone else to move in to her insane asylum.   However, I found time to talk with her about it one evening.  About six weeks before I was to move out.  I explained that it was much better for me to live in the city, closer to work.  The commute was really hard on me (45 minutes each way…and that was to go, oh, 8 miles to work) and this would give me more time to spend with Toby.  I was at work by 7:30am and didn’t leave until after 5, so I was away from most of the day.  I had a lot of guilt about not spending more time with Toby, so this was actually a really good move for me.

Susan was surprisingly supportive about the whole thing, thought it was a good idea for me.  She did, however, have a couple of suggestions.  One, she thought it would be a good idea for me to leave the bunnies with her.  I had two bunnies at the time – Molly and Sweet Baby Butter Bunny.  No, I did not name the second one.  She was given to me by my boss.  The bunnies had a sweet outdoor living habitat and they loved it.  I knew that I wouldn’t be able to provide that at my new place, so I agreed with Susan that it would be best for them to remain there.  And I thanked her for offering.

Escape from Watership Down

Then, she suggested that I let Toby stay with her as well.

Crazy psycho says what?

She felt that I worked too many hours and that Toby was “lonely” and “sad” when I wasn’t there.  I explained that one of the main reasons for moving to the city, was to be able to spend MORE time with Toby.   I also explained that while it was generous of her to offer, there was no way I wasn’t taking Toby with me.

She then proceeded to asking me Twenty Questions about the new living situation.  How much yard space was there?  What other animals lived there?  What time would me and the roommate be leaving in the morning?  When would we get home?  Where could the dogs go to play?  After reassuring her that Toby would be well taken care of, that the new place had a yard and a dog and was near a park.  She laughed and said

“Haha!  Look at me!  I’m not worried about you at all, I’m just worried about the animals!”

Yeah….HA….PSYCHO.

But we left the conversation on a good note – while I appreciated her concern, I was moving in town and Toby would be coming with me.

Things were quiet over the next few weeks.  Until one day in September, when it all went down.

It was Thursday, September 13.  I got home from work at 8pm; there had been an Open House that night at the middle school.  I arrived at the house and went into my room – Toby wasn’t there.  I went out into the main house, not there either.  I went outside, searched around, no sign of him.  Now, Toby had been staying inside during the day.  Susan had found temp work, so she was working on and off.  Some days she was there, sometimes not.  But Toby was an inside dog, he was inside unless supervised outside.

I called Karin to find out if Susan had taken him over there; which would have been odd for her to do, especially since she didn’t take her dogs with her.  They were safe and sound, inside.  Karin let me know that Susan wasn’t there; she hadn’t seen Susan or Toby all day.  She did say that there were a lot of construction guys going in and out of my house.  This was odd for her to “notice,” since she lives a few blocks away, and not within view of our house.  She wouldn’t have known that unless she was there.  We were, however, having the kitchen remodeled, but the construction workers were not there that day.  I asked if she had Susan’s cell number – she said she didn’t, and that Susan didn’t even have a cell phone.  I asked her if she had Jay’s cell number; Susan and he (downstairs neighbor) were dating.   Karin said she didn’t know it off the tope of her head.  I let her know Toby was missing.

NOTE:  I forgot to mention that not long after I moved into the house, Toby disappeared one afternoon.  He slipped out of the front gate.  I noticed he was gone within a few minutes.  I called Karin at the time and she was over at the house, within 5 minutes, to help me search for him.  We found him, one street over, hanging out in the yard of a neighbor.  He walked right up to her front porch door and when the neighbor saw him he started begging for treats.  When she gave him one, he then proceeded to eat it and lay down in her yard.  We found him, contently waiting for us.  Not very adventurous, that one.

So it struck me as odd, right away, that Karin didn’t offer to come over and help.  But I was panicked at the time, and didn’t pay that much heed.  I continued to look for him, it was now dark, and drove around the neighborhood calling out for him.  I returned to the house about the time that Susan got home, 10pm.  She and Jay had been at dinner.  Susan got out of the car and immediately said that she heard about Toby.  That Karin had told her.  And she had no idea where Toby was, hadn’t seen him since she left in the morning for work at 7am.  Jay said he hadn’t seen Toby that day either (he doesn’t go through the main house to leave, though).  I asked her how she had found out about Toby, since she had no cell phone.  Without skipping a beat, she said that Karin had called Jay’s cell phone and told them.

Then she and Jay went inside.  Neither one offered to look for Toby with me.  Susan, who had offered to keep my dog less than a month ago, didn’t even seem worried that he had been missing for hours.

I knew something was up.  But I had no reason to believe they would have taken him.  I mean, my God, that would be crazy, right?  Who would take a dog for no reason?

However, I didn’t think it was a real possibility, stealing the dog.  So I focused on finding him.  I continued to search the neighborhood for several hours, with no luck.

The next morning I made a flyer and started posting it around the neighborhood.  No help from Karin or Susan; Susan didn’t say a word to me and Karin didn’t call to check-in.  I started contacting all the shelters in the area, letting them know I was looking for a missing corgi.

That night, my suspicion really started to kick in.  I mean, it just didn’t make any sense.  Susan told me that she thought that Toby must have snuck out of the house through the back doggy door.  And by doggy door, I mean cat door.  This pet door was so small; if you know Toby, you will understand that there’s no way he could have gotten through it.  It was too narrow.  However, Susan claimed she had seen him do it before.   Fine, let’s say he did that.  It would have led him to the back porch, and the only way off the porch was down the stairs.  The stairs that had a pile of concrete blocks in front of them, specifically put there so the dogs wouldn’t escape.   Yeah, if you know Toby you also know he had zero ability or desire to hop over a tall pile of blocks.  There’s no way, he’d be too afraid to even attempt. But let’s just say he did.  Once in the yard, someone would have to leave the gate open – could have been the mailman, Susan said.  So Toby gets out, let’s give him that.

Where’s he gonna go?

You’re talking about a corgi.  A short, fat, purebred dog, that doesn’t look homeless or wild in the least.  People notice him, they would have noticed him right away.  We live in a tight-knit neighborhood.  Plenty of families, pretty quiet overall, with not a lot of traffic.

He wouldn’t have gone far.  Toby is very lazy.  Toby doesn’t like to go on walks, he doesn’t really run, he just likes to lounge.  If anything, he would have repeated what he did last time.  Go a street over and hang out in someone’s yard until they fed him.  Add onto that the fact that Toby has a collar with tags on it.   Tags that have my name, my address, and my phone number.  And he was microchipped.  Plenty of ways to contact me, should anyone have found him.

But no one did.  No one had found him.  There wasn’t a single call for the next week.

END OF PART ONE.

Link to Part II

Link to Part III

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You know how pissed off I was when US Weekly said I was on crack?  That’s racist!  I’m straight up mentally ill!

– Tracy Jordan, Pilot Episode of 30 Rock

So it’s three weeks into my Plan B life – and I’m feeling a little lost.  Due to the 330% increase in tuition costs for out-of-state students, I’m not going back to school until August.  Which means I’m gonna have some time on my hands once I leave my current position.

I’m in the middle of hiring my replacement.  One of my co-workers asked me if that was weird, finding the new me, and I told them that it wasn’t at all.  It’s actually the easiest position to hire for, one that you’ve done.  You know exactly what to look for.  But maybe that’s not what he meant 🙂

I’ll be staying on to train my successor, for about 3 or 4 weeks – which means that I’m looking towards the end of April for my last day.  And then it’s three months of….well, I’m not really sure what.  I’ve been throwing around ideas of what to do for income 1) before I start school and 2) once I’m in school.

I had thought of  bartending, but my good friend Patrick is pretty adamant that I shouldn’t do it.  He’s done it for 7 years now and says that the best (and most successful) women bartenders  have something in common – they are bitches.  They don’t take shit from anyone.  Apparently I’m too nice.  I’d say Patrick doesn’t know me that well to come to that conclusion, but the truth is that he knows me way too well.  I think he’s onto something.

My ideal job is something that doesn’t require a lot of brainpower on my part, I won’t have to take work home with me, and offers healthcare benefits.  I think I’ll do some temping for awhile – that will leave me with a flexible schedule and perhaps one of the clients will work out and I’ll remain with them.

It’s times like this that I wish I was motivated enough with my creative side to make some real money from it.  I mean, I love writing, so I am hoping one day to write one or more of the following:

a.  A book of my mother’s witticisms.  I shall call it “Tongue Thai’d.”  Someone please copyright that for me right now.

b. A serious book about my mom’s life.  She’s led such an amazing one, considering where she started out, and I’d love to take the time to delve into who she is and where she came from.  That’s going to be titled “Call me Anna.”  Why?  My mom often tells people to call her Anna, whenever they ask her name.  Her Thai name is hard to pronounce and instead of trying to tell that to people, she just says “Call me Anna.”  Where’d she get Anna from?  “General Hospital” of course!  Her favorite character from the 80s was Anna Devane; she was pretty badass on the show 😉

c. A short story/article on the dognapping of Toby.  Many of you know the story, but for those who do not: my dog was kidnapped while I was living in DC in 2007 by my (then) landlord – who was arrested on the Patriot Act and thrown in jail – and her neighbor, an elderly animal rights activist.  They stole Toby and adopted him out to a family in Maine.  I hired a private eye (Pet Detective!) to track Toby down and bring him home.  Then a legal battle began.  Yes, this is a 100% true story, and one of the best that you’ll ever hear.  It’s perhaps the only thing I can guarantee in life – best. story. ever.

d. To follow-up on the success of my Toby Terrorist Kidnapping story, I will write a series of children stories, told from Toby’s point of view.  The first will be his “vacation” to Maine 🙂

So yeah, I have dreams!  I’ve got a plan!  I’m not sure how much money I could actually get out of those ideas, but I know I’ll do at least one of them in my lifetime.

My other creative side is very Suzy Homemaker.  I like to sew.  And crochet.  And quilt.  Hmm, quilt is both a verb and a noun.  Very convenient.  Anyways, when I put effort into it, I’m good at these things:

I made this dress for my friends’ daughter, Hailey.  I was taking a sewing class at the time, and this was my project.  I’ve been sewing since I was a teenager, but I never had any formal training until then.

I actually finished the dress, unlike this lovely project:

I’ve made about 20 of these squares…I think I only need 36 of them.  My problem with this, and so many projects, is that I lose steam/interest after awhile and stop.

I can’t tell you how many blankets I’ve started…

Oh blanket, you deserved so much better.

Oh!  I did finish something!  This quilt was made for a family friend.  It was finished because 1) I had to, it was a present and 2) I took a class to help me make it, so again, I had no other choice 😉

Perhaps I need to turn everything into a class project?

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Let me guess: New York third-wave feminist, college-educated, single-and-pretending-to-be-happy-about-it, overscheduled, undersexed, you buy any magazine that says ‘healthy body image’ on the cover and every two years you take up knitting for…a week.

-Jack, Season 1, Episode 1.

Things were a little tense last week.  And no, not because I told my parents about leaving my job (I haven’t).  I think seven months of living together has started to wear me down.  I’m starting to…revolt.  I use that word in particular because I’m in the middle of reading The Hunger Games trilogy, which only serves to make me more annoyed with the “authority figures” in my life.

It started a couple of Tuesdays ago, Dad and I were watching “The Biggest Loser.”  We don’t see it every week, but tune in when we happen to catch it channel surfing.  And I admit, there’s a lot of crying involved in this show (more than “The Bachelor”, less than “Extreme Home Makeover”), but that’s par for the course in reality shows; emotions bring in viewers!  Anyway, Dad doesn’t do well with emotions, in person or on the television.  And it annoyed him to to extreme, when everyone started tearing up at the end of the episode.  In a shocking turn of events, a certain teenage boy is being eliminated from the show.  His father, who is also on the show, starts freaking out.  He pleads to take his son’s place, insisting that he’s much better off, physically, than his son and therefore his son should stay.  Everyone’s a mess – no one saw it coming.  And the son’s going on about how he couldn’t live with himself if his father took his place.  Yeah, it’s dramatic and cheesy.  But it was moving because you know that his son needs this more.  The son is in much worse shape than the father – looks like he could have a heart attack at any point.

My Dad, however, could not be more disgusted with the situation.  His voice reflecting real hate, seeing these people cry.

God, do they pay these people to cry??  Look at him, grown man.  It’s disgusting.

And my god, it just pissed me off when he said that.  Something triggered – Dad’s always been pessimistic, sarcastic, negative, but I was just fed up with it.  Because he’s an adult – just like that man who was crying on the TV – and I shouldn’t excuse him from his reactions, like I had done most of my life.  Also, because I thought he should understand what the father was going through better than anyone else.  If it had been me or my brother on that show with him, you can bet your life he would have cried like a baby and tried to take our place, knowing that we need it, far more than he did.

So I called him an asshole.  Now, I don’t know if you know a lot about my relationship with my parents, but we don’t swear around each other – not jokingly, not in any way.  And we certainly don’t express ourselves like this – we don’t tell each other to shut up or anything harsh.  I can clearly recall telling my mother to shut up, just once, when I was 13, and boy did the shit hit the fan (not that I ever said “shit.”).

But there’s a freedom that comes with age and distance.  Being away from him, from them, for nine years had let me lead a relatively normal life.  To be around adults and families that didn’t have all this pent-up negativity, it was very refreshing and good for me.  So being tossed back in this “situation,” well, I was bound to react at some point.

Why do you have to be an asshole?  No really, why do you have to be an ass about it?

He laughed it off at first – a sort of nervous fake laugh, indicating that he was trying to make light of how shitty he was acting. “What?  It’s true!”  Because the thing about my father is, he knows he has these problems.  He knows how bad he can get.  And he feels bad  about it afterwards (which is more than I can say for my mom and me, but I’ll get to that in a minute).  I ended up watching the last few minutes of the show in silence, and then headed off to bed.  Not another word was said about it.  Which is strange – when I do come close to swearing, or god forbid say something like “damn” around him, my dad always reacts the same way:

Don’t talk like that, it’s not nice.

He didn’t say anything that night, I think he knew how mad I was.

Then, a few days later, I made my Mom angry.  It isn’t hard to tell when she’s mad at you – she’s incapable of hiding it.  I was sitting on the couch, watching TV, and she was rocking in the recliner.  She was complaining about something, I’m not sure what because I tend to drown her out after awhile.  My Mom is one of those people that needs to talk it out.  When something annoys her, she cannot let it go – she has to keep bringing it up, over and over and over again.

Yeah, that’s not annoying or anything.

She calls my name, trying to get me to weigh in on whatever petty little thing she’s fixated on.  And I tell her, in a mainly joking voice:

Mom!  Why do you have to talk ALL THE TIME?  Really!  You go on and on, yapping like a little dog!

And that did it.  That right there, comparing her to a dog.  I might as well have spit on her grave.

There are certain things you don’t do in the Thai culture, things that are “customs.”  I’ve heard them all my life.  For example, you are never to sit on a pillow, especially one that your elder has used.  In fact, touching an elder’s head is strictly off limits.  It indicates disrespect, a level of informality you shouldn’t use with your elders.

Adding to this list – never compare a person to an animal.   She tells me this, looking hurt and angry.  I mean, really, how dare I?  But I definitely know how – because she’s done it to me my whole life!

I can’t tell you the number of times she’s compared me (and my friends) to animals.  Pigs, cows, water buffalos (very common in Thailand) – we eat, look, walk like them.  We’re too loud, too big, too rough around the edges – we are animals!

So I told her as much, comparing what I said to what she’s said.  But she was having none of it, saying that in those instances she had said them as little “pet names,” if you will.  Well, I never.  All these years of telling me I was chubby and overweight and ate like a pig – all with love!!

Yeah, I’m not feeling the sympathy there.  So I walk off, not willing to be apart of this nonsense.

And for several day it’s very tense around the house.  Not a lot of talking, people keeping to themselves.   Which was actually quite nice at first 🙂

With my Dad, I really expected him to apologize that first night.  Because that’s what he does.  He always apologizes when he thinks he’s hurt my feeling – which I indicate by giving him the silent treatment.  Growing up, this only happened a few times.  But each time, he would stop by my room a little later and apologize for whatever part he had in upsetting me.  Dad’s like that.  Overly apologetic, even when things aren’t his fault really.

Mom, on the other hand, I can’t think of one single time she’s apologized to me.  For anything hurtful she’s said.  And let’s be honest, she has a tendency to say the craziest shit – call it the foreign factor.  At first, you chalked it up to living in a different culture.  In Thailand, people are pretty direct and blunt (at least that’s been my experience with my Mom).  If it look and quacks like a duck…call it a duck.  So if you smell, she’ll tell you.  If  you are fat, she’ll tell you.  In front of company, strangers, the world.  We’ve told her repeatedly, through the years, that Americans don’t work that way.  That telling people such “truths” it’s against our “custom,” and is seen as pretty rude.  And she’s learned to tone it done – mostly just out of range of strangers.  It’s progress.

Dad didn’t end up apologizing.  We went through a good week where I didn’t talk much, but I didn’t shut him off completely.  I don’t know, maybe he thought I wasn’t that mad?  Maybe he felt he didn’t need to state an apology, that I should someone know he felt bad for what he did?  Or perhaps he didn’t feel bad about it at all.  Beth seems to think that he acted that way as a defense mechanism, because the situation hit a little too close to home for him.  A parent watching their child struggle with obesity, the same obesity they struggle with and perhaps feel responsible for.  She is probably right.

I didn’t apologize to Mom.  At first, I didn’t think she was that mad.  However, a couple of days later when I started chatting with her like everything was normal, she made it real apparent, real quick, that it wasn’t.  She said that I hadn’t apologized for hurting her feelings, for being mean to her.  To which I responded, “are you seriously still on that?  You have GOT to be kidding me,” and walked away.

It might have looked like me being prideful (or an asshole), but that certainly wasn’t the bulk of it.  It was the idea that a grown woman, who has never apologized for her actions, felt that I should apologize for mine.  And I thought long and hard – she’s never apologized to me or to Dad (that I know of, and I could bet a million on that one).  She once got angry at me while she was washing dishes and threw a plate at my foot.  I moved my foot in time – but the plate shattered all around me.  Apologies?  Not from her,  you can bet that much.  And that’s somewhat our fault, because we excused her out of so much of her behavior.  She not from here, she’s a little different in her thinking (and she is), she doesn’t understand the effect her words have – all excuses that allowed her to believe she could act this way.

But I’m done with giving her permission.  Because at some point, we are all responsible and accountable for our own actions.  And everyone has to apologize at some point in their lives – to their parents, children, spouses, friends.  No one gets excused from this custom.  At least, not all the time.

I will add this – growing up, my Mom probably had no idea when she said things that hurt me.  No, really.  My defense mechanism was to look un-phased, to show no change in emotion.  I would have rather cut my foot off than admit she hurt me.  So maybe that’s the difference between us.  She’s more than willing to tell you when she’s hurt.

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LIZ:  Jenna stop.  I just want to get past this.  What do you need me to do?

JENNA:  Well you can start by saying you’re sorry.

LIZ:  Fine.  I am sorry that I assumed other people would hate the movie just because I hate it.  That was wrong.

JENNA:  That’s it?  That’s your apology?

LIZ:  Yeah.  Are we good?

JENNA:  We’re good.

“The Rural Juror” – Season 1, Episode 10

So, slight snag in the plan.

I submitted my application for Summer Classes at UCF, beginning in May.  I found two evening classes that are part of the Masters Program I want.  I paid the application fee.  All set, right?

Then I remembered that I needed to find out costs of the classes.  Since I won’t have my FL residency until August (one year wait), these Summer classes would come at the out-of-state price.  I don’t know what number I had in my head, but it certainly wasn’t the one the Registrar spoke.

In-State Tuition: $1056.00/class

Out-of-State Tuition: $3435.00/class

HMPH.  That is not cool.  That is so not cool.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do – I certainly won’t pay three times as much to take one class, let alone two, when I’m only a few months away from being a resident again.  But it just sucks, because I was really looking forward to starting soon.  Now it looks like I’ll be twiddling my thumbs until August.

My co-worker suggested I look at financial aid options, so I’m going to check that out next.

College is expensive.  I mean, I know this – still paying for Stetson 10 years later – which is why I’m very hesitant to take on any additional debt I don’t have to.  I mean, I will get this degree, but I want to be smart about how I finance it.

BLURGH.

TRACY:  How many years have you known me, Liz Lemon.

LIZ:  One.

TRACY:  So you know I like to minister to transvestite prostitutes.

LIZ:  I don’t think I did know that, no.

DOTCOM:  It’s true.  He doesn’t mess with them.  He just tries to get them into computer school.

LIZ:  Ah.

TRACY:  So Labor Day weekend, I see this young she-dude at the dumpster by the 40/40.   I pull over and say “you don’t have to live your life like this!  You can be a freaky-deaky AND do data entry!”

LIZ:  Sure.

TRACY:  “What about Court Reporting?  Believe in yourself!”

Hope everyone had a Happy Leap Day!

30 Rock promotes Leap Day in their latest episode as a day to do something you normally wouldn’t do.  As they say, “real life in for March!”

So what did I do this Leap Year?  Why thank you for asking.

I made a life change.

(look at me going Oprah on you!)

I’m leaving my job and (finally) starting grad school this summer.

Yeah yeah, I know.  I’ve been talking about going back to school forever – basically since the moment I left college 10 years ago.  Why haven’t I gone back before now?  A number of reasons  excuses.  Mainly fear of  1) leaving a real income to go back to a student’s “income” and 2) not knowing if I would be happier doing something else.

I’ve been working with a Finance degree since college, doing all different types of administrative work.  HR, Operations, and Finance.  That’s the world I’ve been living in, with little passion for the work.   Why did I stay?  Well, I kinda just chalked up my lack of interest to the idea that no job is THAT much fun.  That all work, at some point, becomes routine and boring.  And work is work, you’re going to have bad days and not be happy all the time.  But what I was experiencing in my career was a complete disconnect.  I found my passion in the organizations I was working for – their mission and vision – more than the actually tasks I was performing.

Anyhow…

I spoke to my boss, who has been extremely supportive and encouraging, and just annouced my departure to the staff today.  I’ll stay around to hire on my successor and train them – so we’re looking at at least a month or more.  And then?  Well, I’m not entirely sure.

I haven’t been accepted into a Masters program yet, mainly because I haven’t taken my GRE and therefore can’t complete my application.  However, I can still enroll in classes as a non-degree seeking student while I am in the process of applying to the program.  So I’ll begin Summer classes in June.

My next steps are to:

1.  Study for the GRE and take the exam

2. Finish my application

3. Apply for summer classes

4. Find a job

I’m a little unsure what to do for a job.  I need to figure out if I will work full-time or part-time.  Ideally I would work part-time, but I don’t know if that will be financially feasible.  I know that I want a job that is relatively stress-free;  I work hard while I’m there, but then leave the job behind once I clock out.  I don’t want a lot of responsiblity, as I need to be able to focus on my classes.  Maybe I’ll do temp work for awhile?  I’m also very interested in bartending – I’m going to look up some bartending classes in the Orlando area.  I don’t have any restaurant experience so taking the class is a must.

As for my program of study, I’m applying for a Masters in School Counseling.  My favorite positions in the past have been working in charter schools; I love working with students.  I thought for awhile about teaching, but I’m more interested in working with students on a one-on-one basis, or small group.  Plus, I love psychology.  I really feel like this is a good fit for me.  Which is great feeling, as I’ve not experienced being in a position where I really felt successful and had passion for the work.

I’m headed in the right direction.  There have been a lot of starts and stops in this process – a lot of procrastination on my part – but now that I’m almost out of job, I feel like this creates just enough stress to light a fire under me and get myself in gear.

And looky there, it just became March – real life time!

While trolling around on People.com tonight, I came across the pictures from all the after parties!  In particular the Vanity Fair and Elton John soirees.  And there was some good stuff out there – let’s dig in!

Oh, Miley.  I’m glad you don’t look strung-out anymore.  But didn’t you have time to shop for your own gown, instead of raiding Dina’s closet?  For one thing, it makes you look like a midget – cuts off half your legs.  And while it seems like everyone is jumping on the vintage bandwagon, I’m afraid this 80s Dynasty look is not for you.

See this lady?  Her name’s Joan.  She’s what you’re after.

Nice try, though.  (please continue to keep your clothes on)

OH, HEY GIRL!

Look, you already found a friend to join your fugly party!   And I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s our very own Kelly O.  She’s wearing some kind of old woman gown, looks like there’s barnacle growing on it.

More FUG friends!

Shaliene insists upon wearing non-flattering dresses, in ugly-as-sin prints.  I do not get it.  At all.

Alright, girls.  Who’s gonna tell her?  Who’s gonna tell Elizabeth Banks that she’s got A DISEASE for a dress??  I know you see it.  You, Cheryl Hines – I can see it in your eyes.  YOU tell her.

What do you think Lily Collins is more shocked about?  The fact that she ran into Tom Cruise at the after party, or the fact that she’s basically nude in front of everyone?  I mean, sure, she’s got that blue algae covering up some stuff.   But still, kinda embarrassing.  (stop making me speak ill of my favorite singer’s offspring; I’m already trying to contend with The Eyebrows.)

The reds won’t quit!  And while I like the orange-undertones of Kate’s dress, the blue-undertones of Claire’s done go well with her skin.  But that’s certainly not the biggest problem with her gown; the skirt is awful, as is the red lace overlay.  My friend, Jen, has already educated us on red lace (it’s a DON’T).  You can barely tell, but Kate’s got a nude overlay at her neck.  Why?  I don’t know why!  It’s unnecessary and doesn’t look good.

Remember the 90s?  With all its mixed-print fabrics and lace-overlays and just too many things going on at once??  These ladies are just knocking it out of the park tonight.  I think that’s what’s going on.  In an effort to go vintage, they’ve gone ugly.  And I know where Elizabeth Olsen gets it from – those little twin fashionista sisters of hers.  They’ve got to be behind that satin/pleather/sheer/pom-pom mess of a dress.  And Gwen just needs to tone it down with the lace – it’s growing all over her, just like Kelly’s barnacles and Lily’s algae.

Girls.  If I had known you were going to make it this easy for me, I would have skipped the Red Carpet 🙂

KISSING BOOTH:

So, so disturbing.  Not sure which bothers me more – Bieb’s head digging into her bosom or the tongue action going on in #4.

Sometimes you need to stop at ONE after-party.

Tracy Jordan, to Liz:

“Let’s blow this joint! It’s about to turn back into a taxi dispatch set-up. You going to the after-after-after-after party?! Well, let’s rock!”

It’s here!  The Academy Awards is here!

And you know what that means – RED CARPET MADNESS!

So let’s get this party started.

Sarah Hyland was in such a hurry to be one of the first on the Red Carpet, that she forgot to iron her dress…or attach that other sleeve.

I’m not sure why Kelly insists upon keeping this cotton candy hair – did she not receive enough attention as a child?  Does she not have the money to color it?  That, along with her PINK lipstick, makes her head look disjointed from this dress (which I actually enjoy).

The only people on the Red Carpet this early are the reporters commentators and actors who have no role in the Academy Awards.  I like all these gowns; I think Nancy’s hair is a little poofy and I wish Maria’s gown was a more vibrant/richer shade.  I love Milla’s whole look.

THE BRIDESMAIDS:

Ellie Kemper is bringing it in this copper gown.  I love her hair and accessories, but I’m unsure about the the dress.  It’s a bit loud and shiny.  Hopefully it’ll look less flashy inside.  I don’t know how old Wendi is, but she’s too old to be wearing this prom dress; I feel like I saw Taylor Swift in something similar to this recently.  Melissa…oh Melissa.  JUST NO.  I love the cut and the jeweled neck and waistline, but I absolutely hate the color.  What is that?  Washed out rose or peach or gold?  I can’t even tell.  That dress should have either been black or jewel-toned, like emerald or ruby or sapphire.   Rose B, love the hair, love the dress.  Maya is MEH.  Not overwhelmed by the dress (love the hair, though).

I don’t normally put guys on here, but…

Oh. My. God.  What the hell happened to Nick Nolte?  And his son/grandson(?) – I just don’t even know what to say.  Kurt Cobain?  Jesus?  Homeless Man he picked up on the way there?

Yeah, you’re not 60 and you’re not 16.  SWITCH DRESSES.

Hey, looks like they already awarded the Oscar to Clooney –

I don’t want to say it, but G’s looking a little old.  And Stacy’s looking a little like his daughter.  Not that it matters at all when it comes to Hollywood men.

THE HELPERS:

I wanna like Viola’s dress, if only to please Melissa 🙂  But I’m sorry, I can’t get behind this color.  I love the dress, hate the color.  I want something deeper, like a plum or sapphire (similar to Melissa M’s dress). (NOTE:  The color looks much better on camera, I kinda like it there).  LOVE Jessica’s dress, one of my favorites tonight.   I think Octavia’s is beautiful too, really flattering cut.  I also liked Emma’s dress – even though it’s almost identical to a Nicole Kidman Oscar dress from a few years back; it was also one of the few red dresses tonight that actually was the right hue against the actress’ skin.

Unlike Michelle’s red(?) dress –

I’m not even sure what this is – tangerine?  Is it supposed to be red? Certainly nothing Marilyn would have worn.  I love the retro look of the gown, delicate and soft, Michelle wears this look often.

And of course, close behind, her BFF Busy –

Busy has a talent for turning any outfit into a tacky wreck.  Here’s the thing, I like each element of this outfit – the grey lace, the hot pink heels, the abalone earrings – but they look horrid together.  I don’t know what this girl thinks when she’s getting ready.

THE SISTERS MARA:

Hey girl, your sleeve fell down.

Rooney, the pads go INSIDE the bra.  How embarrassing…

LIZ LEMMMOOOONNN!  As I told my (other judgmental) friend, Patrick, it looks like the post-baby fat is gone!  I can’t tell from this photo, but the gown is Navy Blue – Tina is partial to that color.

I’ll end with the caped Gwyneth.  I mean, why?  Why the cape?  It can’t possibly be that cold there.

The dress itself was nice.  It looked good, it did.  A solid gown.  Classic….

BORING.

Yeah, yeah Melissa, I said it.  It’s boring.  It’s just so safe.  I know it’s her style.  She wears clean, classic cuts – and there’s nothing wrong with that!  But it’s just not much to look at, for me anyway.  I’d rather have a potential nip-slip from J-Lo any day of the week.

What can I say?  I like the excitement 🙂

***********************************************************************************************

The last award Tracy Jordan needs to win to complete his EGOT (Emmy-Grammy-Oscar-Tony) goal is the Oscar.  And he accomplishes it with his movie Hard to Watch: Based on the Novel “Stone Cold Bummer” by Manipulate.  If you can’t tell (and if you can’t, we shouldn’t be friends),  the title is a play on Precious.  At first, Tracy is reluctant to take the role because he doesn’t relate; apparently, he blocked out everything horrible from his childhood….until later in the episode, when he breaks down in the stairwell of a Kinkos:

Tracy: It’s all coming back to me. Oh my God! I slept on an old dog bed stuffed with wigs! I watched a prostitute stab a clown! Our basketball hoop was a rib cage — a rib cage! Why did you bring me here? I blocked all this stuff out for a reason! Oh, Lord, some guy with dreads electrocuted my fish!
And later…

Tracy: All my life I’ve tried to forget the things I’ve seen — a crackhead breastfeeding a rat, a homeless man licking a Hot Pocket off the third rail of the G train!
And still later…
Tracy: I’ve seen a blind guy bite a police horse! A puppy committed suicide after he saw our bathroom! I once bit into a burrito and there was a child’s shoe in it! I’ve seen a hooker eat a tire! A pack of wild dogs took over and successfully ran a Wendy’s! The sewer people stole my skateboard! The projects I lived in were named after Zachary Taylor, generally considered to be one of the worst presidents of all time! I once saw a baby give another baby a tattoo! They were very drunk!

Mom had surgery this morning – she had some fibroids on her ovaries that were causing her pain.  Surgery went well.  It’s after 8pm and I’ve been up since 3:30am…on purpose. We had to be at the hospital at 5:30am, so of course we needed to get ready for two hours 🙂

I have to say, this hospital is awesome. It was built 3 years ago – it’s gorgeous, like a hotel.  Has a piano in the lobby that plays on its own, very fancy. ( They even play Brahm’s lullaby every hour it seems – random times, not sure why.  It comes over the loud speaker, kinda creepy actually.  I feel like they’re sending us some subliminal message; just not sure what.)  They triple check everything, they introduced us to EVERYONE who was going to be in her operating room, they check on every 15 minutes. It’s quite nice. All the rooms are singles and they have both a recliner and a chair that pulls out to a single bed.

This is the life.

Oh, except for the part where I have to take care of deal with my mother. When she’s not feeling well, she doubles in criticisms and complaining. It’s actually quite amazing. She’s eating drinking dinner right now and has this to say:

1. I didn’t know how to make her side table go up right away. “You no know how to do! You need to learn to be nurse! For when you have children.”  CHECK.

2. The silverware was wrapped in plastic, with a dotted line along one side telling you to rip it open. I start to rip it, only to discover that the bottom is already open.  So down go the fork and knife on the the floor. “E-Stupid! You let fall on the floor! It’s dirty! Why you do that?!” I tried enacting the “three second rule” and picked it up, but she wasn’t going for it 😉

3.  She’s on clear liquids, so they gave her a spread of stuff – including tea.  “Why they give me tea?  They don’t read notes.  I can’t have tea!”  “Mom, we never told them you can’t have tea.  It doesn’t say that anywhere.  I didn’t even know you couldn’t have tea.”  “I can’t have tea!  Why did they give it to me?!”

4. The Ensure bottle spilled out of the straw.  “Stupid!  Why they fill so high?!  How can I drink?  ACK!  Too sweet!  Stupid.”  Stupid Ensure.

So that’s going well.   My dad is at home, in charge of Toby and the cats.  I chatted with him earlier, and mom reminded me to tell him to feed the cats, lock the doors, close the garage, take Toby out…you know, like he’s five.   20 minutes later I hear mom start talking – she’s dialed dad on her cell.  “Joe!  Lock the doors, double lock them for yourself, feed the cats, close the garage door, take Toby out-”  “Mom,  we just told him all of that!”  “I can tell him AGAIN!”

She then proceeded to tell him how they keep offering her drugs.  Earlier, the nurse told her to ask for pain meds “if she needs them”  My mother then tells her the story of how she was once drugged up in a hospital.  I wonder what she’s referring to, until I hear her mention “the baby fell out of my arms.”  Yeah, she’s talking about when my brother was born, almost 40 years ago.  I tell the nurse this and she nods and winks at me, and tells my mom that she can take “a little bit” if she wants.

“Joe, why they keep trying to give me drugs??  I tell them I no want!  I don’t want to be groggy, drugged up! — Kristina, talk to your father.”

UGH.

“Dad- no.  No, dad, they are not forcing drugs on her.  No.  Yes, I know she doesn’t have to take them.  Yes, dad.  DAD.  We just had this conversation with the nurse!  Yes.  Yes, this is exactly the same as her telling you to feed the cats after she WATCHED me tell you.  Yes.  NO.  BYE DAD.”

Oh, she’s asleep!

I won’t even go into the story of me making the bed.  I mean, SHEETS, people.  SHEETS.  She was criticizing how I laid the sheets down.  And don’t even mention the blankets.  I almost nose-dived to stop one from hitting the ground.  Remember, ground = dirty.

I imagine that dealing with a parent in the hospital is stressful for most adult children.  Well, most adult children that have “difficult” parents.  Like Jack Donaghy, with his mother Colleen.  Back in Season 3, he accidentally hit his mom with his car.  ACCIDENTALLY.

Jack: I hit her. Colleen. I hit her with my car.
Liz: What? Oh my God. Is she—
Jack: She’s fine. She’s better than fine. They’re giving her a titanium hip, like the terminator. It’s only gonna make her more powerful.