Not much to report here, at the moment.
The estate liquidator has flaked yet again, leaving us precisely where we were on October 14th, when she came by for the walk through--which is to say, EVEN FURTHER BEHIND THE 8 BALL than we were, THANKS AUDREY!
We signed a contract, so WE cannot back out of it; however, we are just waiting until THEY decide to emerge out of obscurity, at which point, the house will probably be sold at that point in time. FUCK THESE PEOPLE.
And we are one day away from the date of foreclosure on my brother's house.
What a train wreck all of this has become.
So much in life comes right down to timing. Rather than lead us all on this stupid vanity trip of Audrey half assing her way through rehab, had she been honest with herself (AND MORE IMPORTANTLY--US!), we could have used the two months she languished and half-assed through rehab, to empty the house. But instead, we get one week's notice that "oh by the way, I've decided to stay" and a week later, my sister got a $13K bill from Shady Pines. And the timing of the YentaBeast doing the five year long con, setting the stage for my brother to become, essentially, homeless. Fuck her too. These two hags are two peas in a fetid pod.
Even my family halfway around the glob are going through something similar. They are selling their previous property, and were depending on the financing from the buyer to go through by now, so my brother-in-law sells the ONLY FAMILY VEHICLE, thinking he can buy a new one SOON, and even halfway around the globe, people are disappointing, deceiving fucks.
The recap:
Audrey's house isn't empty & sold;
Brother's house is about to be foreclosed;
Brother ended up in ER due to defibrillator;
Brother hasn't suffered fatal cardiac attack, yet;
Sister hasn't suffered fatal cardiac attack, yet;
Brother hasn't gone out in a misguided blaze of glory in a murder-suicide, yet;
Estate liquidators are MIA.
Here endeth the non-update update.
Monday, November 20, 2017
Thursday, November 16, 2017
Stalker, More Details Trickling In
The story is awful enough as it is, isn't it? And yet, I felt compelled to ask for clarification on the details, specifically, "was it in front of the urinal or in a locked stall?" It's an act of aggression, certainly, and awful regardless of where it took place; however, I think if it were out in the open, it's even MORE awful.
Today's clarifications:
And in the meantime, the Haitian dude has a project: to basically find out the Stalker's schedule of what he does on what days and times, so I can ensure I stay far from those locations to the best of my ability.
I have two friends at work, two older men in their late 60s, old school paisans of whom are all in my "Circle of Trust," and I am in theirs. Without hesitation, upon hearing of these latest updates, my one friend, who, for privacy purposes, I will refer to herein as Snowy, blurted out, "If you need anything at all, you let me know. And I mean ANYTHING. You *know" D and I will take care of it."
Today's clarifications:
- The previously mentioned workplace tugging did not occur in a stall;
- It happened in front of a urinal in an open mens room (no lock on the door--multiple people can use the restroom);
- When someone walked in on him, not only did he NOT stop; he even managed to either scream or grunt at the point of *release*;
- When confronted (I guess by management or by whomever caught him), he was defiant and said he's not going to stop (and he also managed to say something along the lines about being lonely);
- He pretty much left the surrounding area of the urinal looking like a Jackson Pollock painting. (Ew.)
And in the meantime, the Haitian dude has a project: to basically find out the Stalker's schedule of what he does on what days and times, so I can ensure I stay far from those locations to the best of my ability.
I have two friends at work, two older men in their late 60s, old school paisans of whom are all in my "Circle of Trust," and I am in theirs. Without hesitation, upon hearing of these latest updates, my one friend, who, for privacy purposes, I will refer to herein as Snowy, blurted out, "If you need anything at all, you let me know. And I mean ANYTHING. You *know" D and I will take care of it."
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
Ruminating on The Hostile Work Environment Complaint
So many thoughts I want to smash together and sculpt the perfect post. I have to just accept I'm going to vomit the words here and it'll be sloppy, but so be it.
Since the outcome of the complaint amounted to a whole-lotta-nada, and has made me look at everyone involved, Tim-the-old-fuck, as well as his boss, I view them both with jaundiced eyes, and devoid of good will.
I circle back to how this all came to be, how neither one of them, apologized to me. I think of knowing both of these people roughly 15 years, and how neither one of them valued me as a human or as a friend or even as a co-worker sufficiently to even warrant an apology.
The question I ask myself is, "How would they feel if it were their daughter or granddaughter." And then the realization hits me, that perhaps Tim does this to his own daughters and granddaughters, and he doesn't give a shit. They are theirs for the taking. Women exist purely for their pleasure and whim, without question?
This is the 21st Century. I work where I work, so you'd think the standard would be to default to being a paragon of propriety. And in the end, like every other instance in my life where I was harassed or molested--nothing happened to the person(s) who perpetrated this shit upon me.
Within a year or so of my complaint, we had an EEOC type meeting on harassment, and there was one slide in the powerpoint presentation, wherein EVERY. SINGLE. BULLETPOINT. was pertinent to my complaint. I resented being at this meeting. I resented having to sign a form stating I attended this meeting. It was clear to me, this meeting and the contents of the presentation was not to protect ME, but to protect the "office" where I work.
Me speaking out is not MY problem.
Me wanting some modicum of acknowledgment or even justice, is not MY problem.
What IS my problem is being raised by two broken people who raised me to expect nothing more than to be broken, too. What no one (even myself!) ever expected was that I'd glue myself back together, and be strong, and be WHOLE, and have standards. This is not my problem.
I have no idea what it will take to break these old, abusive patriarchal behaviors and transgressions. No amount of outing famous, powerful men is going to do this. I haven't wrapped my brain around what it will take, but I know that a tag #MeToo isn't enough. And even men who come forward claiming #MeToo won't be enough either. And this crosses all manner of socio-economic, national, and racial lines too.
Sharing our stories and examining how common all of this truly is, is good in that it exposes how entrenched this problem is, within families, within our work, within our communities; however, what happens next?
Since the outcome of the complaint amounted to a whole-lotta-nada, and has made me look at everyone involved, Tim-the-old-fuck, as well as his boss, I view them both with jaundiced eyes, and devoid of good will.
I circle back to how this all came to be, how neither one of them, apologized to me. I think of knowing both of these people roughly 15 years, and how neither one of them valued me as a human or as a friend or even as a co-worker sufficiently to even warrant an apology.
The question I ask myself is, "How would they feel if it were their daughter or granddaughter." And then the realization hits me, that perhaps Tim does this to his own daughters and granddaughters, and he doesn't give a shit. They are theirs for the taking. Women exist purely for their pleasure and whim, without question?
This is the 21st Century. I work where I work, so you'd think the standard would be to default to being a paragon of propriety. And in the end, like every other instance in my life where I was harassed or molested--nothing happened to the person(s) who perpetrated this shit upon me.
Within a year or so of my complaint, we had an EEOC type meeting on harassment, and there was one slide in the powerpoint presentation, wherein EVERY. SINGLE. BULLETPOINT. was pertinent to my complaint. I resented being at this meeting. I resented having to sign a form stating I attended this meeting. It was clear to me, this meeting and the contents of the presentation was not to protect ME, but to protect the "office" where I work.
Me speaking out is not MY problem.
Me wanting some modicum of acknowledgment or even justice, is not MY problem.
What IS my problem is being raised by two broken people who raised me to expect nothing more than to be broken, too. What no one (even myself!) ever expected was that I'd glue myself back together, and be strong, and be WHOLE, and have standards. This is not my problem.
I have no idea what it will take to break these old, abusive patriarchal behaviors and transgressions. No amount of outing famous, powerful men is going to do this. I haven't wrapped my brain around what it will take, but I know that a tag #MeToo isn't enough. And even men who come forward claiming #MeToo won't be enough either. And this crosses all manner of socio-economic, national, and racial lines too.
Sharing our stories and examining how common all of this truly is, is good in that it exposes how entrenched this problem is, within families, within our work, within our communities; however, what happens next?
A Palate Cleanser of Sorts: Update on the Stalker
It's been some time, and I don't recall off hand whether I shared (several months back) that I learned that the Stalker ended up retiring; however, last night I learned he didn't retire but was "let go." Apparently he had several issues/reprimands with/by his building manager (a woman), with the final straw being he was caught masturbating in the men's room (multiple times).
Masturbating in the men's room is a sign of aggression, also, an inappropriate place and time for that activity, which just further cements my opinion he's dangerous and a sociopath.
I do have an unanswered question about whether he was jerking off in front of a urinal or in a closed door stall. Not that it matters all that much, in the final analysis; however, if it were out in the open, it's even more aggressive, IMHO.
As I said to the Haitian doorman, "This whole thing is like 'the devil that you know, beats the devil that you don't know,' and that Julius Caesar quote, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' The problem here is we don't know where the hell this devil IS right now!"
Masturbating in the men's room is a sign of aggression, also, an inappropriate place and time for that activity, which just further cements my opinion he's dangerous and a sociopath.
I do have an unanswered question about whether he was jerking off in front of a urinal or in a closed door stall. Not that it matters all that much, in the final analysis; however, if it were out in the open, it's even more aggressive, IMHO.
As I said to the Haitian doorman, "This whole thing is like 'the devil that you know, beats the devil that you don't know,' and that Julius Caesar quote, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer.' The problem here is we don't know where the hell this devil IS right now!"
Tuesday, November 14, 2017
T-6 Days & A Wake Up
Here we are, officially/literally a week away from the date my brother's house gets foreclosed.
Where we left off...
He's still pretty much spinning his wheels. He finally broke down and called me. And it was a conversation that went no where, other than just wallowing and circling the drain. No forward movement.
He's incapable of doing what he needs to do (focus, power through, even for the short term) to get himself and his thoughts organized enough to do what he needs to do. And no amount of me telling him he needs to get a storage unit and start ferrying his shit THERE is going to matter.
When he called, he was at Walmart getting some bins to pack up some of his trains (see? he should be focusing on essentials, whatever). His goal for the day was to pack those four bins, and at some point during the day, he got himself wound up, and by the time a friend of our sister's arrived (to look at/assess/possibly buy some stuff), my brother's defibrillator was zapping him like a bolt of lightning.
Luckily the friend was there, and he called our sister, who asked him to take our brother to the hospital. Luckily, it wasn't a cardiac event (this time). After a day and a half of being in the hospital, it was discovered the defibrillator needs to be tweaked or calibrated, and was misfiring.
So losing that day and a half puts him even further behind the 8-ball.
All I can do is sit back and witness what's going on. The list of reasons for my non-involvement are:
Will my sister?
Will he go out in a blaze of misguided glory in a murder-suicide?
Who knows. Stay tuned.
Where we left off...
He's still pretty much spinning his wheels. He finally broke down and called me. And it was a conversation that went no where, other than just wallowing and circling the drain. No forward movement.
He's incapable of doing what he needs to do (focus, power through, even for the short term) to get himself and his thoughts organized enough to do what he needs to do. And no amount of me telling him he needs to get a storage unit and start ferrying his shit THERE is going to matter.
When he called, he was at Walmart getting some bins to pack up some of his trains (see? he should be focusing on essentials, whatever). His goal for the day was to pack those four bins, and at some point during the day, he got himself wound up, and by the time a friend of our sister's arrived (to look at/assess/possibly buy some stuff), my brother's defibrillator was zapping him like a bolt of lightning.
Luckily the friend was there, and he called our sister, who asked him to take our brother to the hospital. Luckily, it wasn't a cardiac event (this time). After a day and a half of being in the hospital, it was discovered the defibrillator needs to be tweaked or calibrated, and was misfiring.
So losing that day and a half puts him even further behind the 8-ball.
All I can do is sit back and witness what's going on. The list of reasons for my non-involvement are:
- Geography--I live too damned far away to commit to helping him without putting a strain on myself and my household, monopolizing our household's only car for this purpose;
- The fact that in 1998 when my life imploded, the only time my brother "helped" me, was when and if I were able to PAY him for his time;
- The fact he's got a baseline of hostility, in a general sense;
- The fact he possesses all the negative characteristics of both parents, that he's lazy and complacent, and easily overwhelmed, and pretty much thinks either he's going to hit rock bottom or perhaps someone will save him, because both of our parents did nothing in the way of preparing ANY OF US with any real life skills like COPING.
- He hasn't asked me for my help.
Will my sister?
Will he go out in a blaze of misguided glory in a murder-suicide?
Who knows. Stay tuned.
Thursday, November 9, 2017
Yesterday and Today
Just a quickie post of sorts.
I was in NYC for appointments yesterday. One of which was with my therapist, who I normally do phone in sessions. I was in the city for another appointment and I figured it would be nice to have an in person session if possible. The entire session was devoted to pretty much what I dump here in this blog.
This morning, as I'm packing my bag for work, I check my phone, and fuck-me-running, Audrey called AGAIN. This time at 8:02. I know this is where some other person would say, "I'm sorry but this is not an appropriate time for someone to call me," only problem is, I AM NOT SORRY. This is inappropriate.
Reason for the call: She's concerned she hasn't heard from me, and oh by the way, call your brother.
Um. No. I will not call him. Why? Because clearly, he knows I am the one who has suffered through a divorce, and yet, inexplicably, for whatever reason, he has decided NOT to loop me in (personally) in regards to what is going on with him, and I am not about to stick my nose in where it is clearly not wanted.
Also, my sister is on vacation this week, so, again, NO THANK YOU, I won't be answering my phone at all those weird hours.
Bottom line: Mom is in a stable environment. There is no way in hell I am going to answer the phone during these times:
Early a.m.: I am getting ready for work
During the day: I am at work
7:30: We are having dinner
Also, I don't trust myself at this point. I don't trust that I will be able to keep my composure while on the phone with her. I am thoroughly BORED by her, her narcissism, her pathetic nature, etc etc. DONE, in fact. I am totally devoid of fucks with which to dispense towards Audrey and the on going soap opera that is her life, aka "As the Stomach Churns."
And the more she calls me at inappropriate times, the less inclined I am to answer the phone or call her back.
I was in NYC for appointments yesterday. One of which was with my therapist, who I normally do phone in sessions. I was in the city for another appointment and I figured it would be nice to have an in person session if possible. The entire session was devoted to pretty much what I dump here in this blog.
This morning, as I'm packing my bag for work, I check my phone, and fuck-me-running, Audrey called AGAIN. This time at 8:02. I know this is where some other person would say, "I'm sorry but this is not an appropriate time for someone to call me," only problem is, I AM NOT SORRY. This is inappropriate.
Reason for the call: She's concerned she hasn't heard from me, and oh by the way, call your brother.
Um. No. I will not call him. Why? Because clearly, he knows I am the one who has suffered through a divorce, and yet, inexplicably, for whatever reason, he has decided NOT to loop me in (personally) in regards to what is going on with him, and I am not about to stick my nose in where it is clearly not wanted.
Also, my sister is on vacation this week, so, again, NO THANK YOU, I won't be answering my phone at all those weird hours.
Bottom line: Mom is in a stable environment. There is no way in hell I am going to answer the phone during these times:
Early a.m.: I am getting ready for work
During the day: I am at work
7:30: We are having dinner
Also, I don't trust myself at this point. I don't trust that I will be able to keep my composure while on the phone with her. I am thoroughly BORED by her, her narcissism, her pathetic nature, etc etc. DONE, in fact. I am totally devoid of fucks with which to dispense towards Audrey and the on going soap opera that is her life, aka "As the Stomach Churns."
And the more she calls me at inappropriate times, the less inclined I am to answer the phone or call her back.
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
YentaBeast: Fourth Shitty Incident, December 25, 2001
Though, I rarely view giving a handmade gift as a "cheap gift," this is the one occasion where I didn't feel like spending money, and knocked out a muffler with some beautiful pink mohair yarn (for the first and only holiday gift I ever gave the YentaBeast), which was given in my absence (see also: I was avoiding direct contact with my mother from 2001-2002).
YentaBeast's reply?
"Why does Maven hate me so much?"
YentaBeast's reply?
"Why does Maven hate me so much?"
YentaBeast: Timeline, Third Shitty Incident, December 5, 2001
In the beginning of December 2001, my brother and YB got married in a hush-hush marriage ceremony performed by a Justice-of-the-Peace in northwestern NJ.
Imagine my surprise when I came to learn that both sets of parents and both sets of siblings were invited; however, I was not included. Later on, I was told they didn't think I'd attend anyway, given it was on a Wednesday night and so far from my house.
I still think I should have been the one to make that determination.
So why "hush-hush?" They were married for six full months before their wedding, or as I call it the $20,000 mad grab for cash and gifts. They got married so soon so she could go on his medical insurance. And hush-hush, because if other extended family were to know that they are already married, those relatives probably would be less inclined to attend the other wedding (subtext: and would be less inclined to give cash gifts).
When the invitation came for the June nuptials, Maharajah proved himself to be a fabulous husband and booked us a vacation in Ft. Lauderdale instead, it would prove to be a far more enjoyable thing to do with our time (and our money).
Imagine my surprise when I came to learn that both sets of parents and both sets of siblings were invited; however, I was not included. Later on, I was told they didn't think I'd attend anyway, given it was on a Wednesday night and so far from my house.
I still think I should have been the one to make that determination.
So why "hush-hush?" They were married for six full months before their wedding, or as I call it the $20,000 mad grab for cash and gifts. They got married so soon so she could go on his medical insurance. And hush-hush, because if other extended family were to know that they are already married, those relatives probably would be less inclined to attend the other wedding (subtext: and would be less inclined to give cash gifts).
When the invitation came for the June nuptials, Maharajah proved himself to be a fabulous husband and booked us a vacation in Ft. Lauderdale instead, it would prove to be a far more enjoyable thing to do with our time (and our money).
Monday, November 6, 2017
YentaBeast: Timeline: Second Incident, September 2001
It has been 16 years since our wedding, and people STILL continue to talk about how wonderful the food was. As many compliments as I received, what I am going to detail herein overshadows any positive experiences others had of the day.
What I am about to detail is devoid of hyperbole. What I am going to detail are just the facts as they unfolded.
My brother and (his then girlfriend) wife arrived to my wedding reception (which was held in an Indian restaurant), each of them wearing the gold paper crowns from Burger King, and sporting a bag of BK burgers and a 7-11 Big Gulp in each hand.
Okay, process the level of disrespect right there:
1. Showing disrespect to us by upstaging us in those stupid crowns;
2. Showing disrespect to my husband, the host of our reception, by toting in BEEF HAMBURGERS into an Indian restaurant where beef is not served.
Done processing? It gets worse.
They then proceeded to announce their engagement.
AT. MY. WEDDING. RECEPTION.
Incredulously, it continues to get worse.
My mother then insisted then demanded that I acknowledge that they got engaged. (The more someone demands I do something which is THIS FUCKED UP, the more I dig my heels in and refuse.
This then spiraled out of control to the point where, weeks later, my mother wrote e a piece of shit letter that basically detailed how ashamed she was of me, and that if I didn't fix this RIGHT NOW (mind you, I was 32 at the time, not a small child to be castigated and chided into obeying) she was going to just write me off (or somesuch, I don't recall the precise wording, as the Maharajah insisted on grabbing the letter and ripping it up).
I then rewarded my mother for being such a bitch, I refused to visit her and avoided speaking to her for an entire year.
What I am about to detail is devoid of hyperbole. What I am going to detail are just the facts as they unfolded.
My brother and (his then girlfriend) wife arrived to my wedding reception (which was held in an Indian restaurant), each of them wearing the gold paper crowns from Burger King, and sporting a bag of BK burgers and a 7-11 Big Gulp in each hand.
Okay, process the level of disrespect right there:
1. Showing disrespect to us by upstaging us in those stupid crowns;
2. Showing disrespect to my husband, the host of our reception, by toting in BEEF HAMBURGERS into an Indian restaurant where beef is not served.
Done processing? It gets worse.
They then proceeded to announce their engagement.
AT. MY. WEDDING. RECEPTION.
Incredulously, it continues to get worse.
My mother then insisted then demanded that I acknowledge that they got engaged. (The more someone demands I do something which is THIS FUCKED UP, the more I dig my heels in and refuse.
This then spiraled out of control to the point where, weeks later, my mother wrote e a piece of shit letter that basically detailed how ashamed she was of me, and that if I didn't fix this RIGHT NOW (mind you, I was 32 at the time, not a small child to be castigated and chided into obeying) she was going to just write me off (or somesuch, I don't recall the precise wording, as the Maharajah insisted on grabbing the letter and ripping it up).
I then rewarded my mother for being such a bitch, I refused to visit her and avoided speaking to her for an entire year.
YentaBeast: Timeline: First Incident, August 2001
One of the many reasons why I am not involving myself in the Merde Maelstrom is the fact that at a time when I was financially devastated, the only way I could convince my brother to help me would be to PAY HIM.
My shitty Escort needed new rotors, and I didn't have a dime to my name, and he was single and living with our parents and working in a well-paying transit job, and he had the connections to get the rotor for me (perhaps at cost) and he could have done the repair for gratis, too, to HELP; but no. I had to elicit the help of the former brother-in-law of a first cousin of our mom, to get me the rotors for cost, and I had to drive to Paterson to pick them up, and then I had to drive an hour so my brother could do the repairs.
And just when my life was on the verge of about to improve, and I needed some help moving some things from my home in Morristown NJ to Westchester, I had to pay him $300 (FOR HIS TIME). And in doing so, to add insult to injury, the YentaBeast had wiggled her way into this particular day. She wasn't invited. It was not a social call. This had nothing to do with her, plus, in doing so, her presence also immediately impacted how we were going to be able to transport the items I needed moved.
We arrive in Westchester and move everything in, and the Maharajah had catered in a lunch from PF Changs--Chinese food, and nothing too adventurous. And rather than sitting down to eat and being POLITE, and acting as if this particular day was all about HER, she blurts out, "Oh, I only eat normal food." WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS.
My mistake here was that I didn't know her well enough to assert myself. Despite her rudeness, I wanted to accommodate them, since my brother did move my stuff for me (FOR A PRICE). We went to a diner, and that was the first and very last time I ever had my brother and the YentaBeast in my home.
There's a Maya Angelou quote kicking around the internet these days, "When someone reveals who they are, you owe it to yourself to take notice."
Here endeth the first encounter.
My shitty Escort needed new rotors, and I didn't have a dime to my name, and he was single and living with our parents and working in a well-paying transit job, and he had the connections to get the rotor for me (perhaps at cost) and he could have done the repair for gratis, too, to HELP; but no. I had to elicit the help of the former brother-in-law of a first cousin of our mom, to get me the rotors for cost, and I had to drive to Paterson to pick them up, and then I had to drive an hour so my brother could do the repairs.
And just when my life was on the verge of about to improve, and I needed some help moving some things from my home in Morristown NJ to Westchester, I had to pay him $300 (FOR HIS TIME). And in doing so, to add insult to injury, the YentaBeast had wiggled her way into this particular day. She wasn't invited. It was not a social call. This had nothing to do with her, plus, in doing so, her presence also immediately impacted how we were going to be able to transport the items I needed moved.
We arrive in Westchester and move everything in, and the Maharajah had catered in a lunch from PF Changs--Chinese food, and nothing too adventurous. And rather than sitting down to eat and being POLITE, and acting as if this particular day was all about HER, she blurts out, "Oh, I only eat normal food." WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS.
My mistake here was that I didn't know her well enough to assert myself. Despite her rudeness, I wanted to accommodate them, since my brother did move my stuff for me (FOR A PRICE). We went to a diner, and that was the first and very last time I ever had my brother and the YentaBeast in my home.
There's a Maya Angelou quote kicking around the internet these days, "When someone reveals who they are, you owe it to yourself to take notice."
Here endeth the first encounter.
T-14 Days (and a "wake up")
Make no mistake, even the act of doing nothing in the physical sense does bring with it a tremendous amount of stress, which for me, I absorb like a sponge, and the result is additional pain and stiffness as well as mental exhaustion and emotional depression.
So here we are, a smidge over two weeks from when the Sheriffs put a lock on the door to my brother's house.
If I am this exhausted, I do not know how my sister keeps going, even as desperate as she is to ensure two things: 1. That our brother does not end up homeless; and 2. That our brother does not end up living at her house (to keep from being homeless). I'm sure that to scratch beyond the surface of her helping our brother (and hopefully helping prevent him from having a cardiac event), she's also operating from a point of self-interest too.
All of this could have been avoided. I keep thinking of that Woody Woodpecker episode, "If Woody had gone to the police, none of this would have happened." If my brother made smarter choices, none of this would have happened. If he wasn't too trusting, or didn't marry Voldemort with a vagina, none of this would have happened.
And yet, my god. He is worse than both of my parents combined.
New Discovery: He is a hoarder. Like he needs an intervention. He needs psychological counseling. He should be on the t.v. show Hoarders THAT LEVEL HOARDER. This, of course, will be used against him on the complaint of divorce.
Question: If you were about to be homeless--if your house were on fire, what would you grab? Clothing? Meds? Photographs? Important papers? Nope! Not this dipshit. He insists on boxing up his library of music CDs. I know how overwhelming it is to be in that very spot--because in 1998, I was there, and I believe I had less time to come up with an emergency/transitional plan for my life.
My input or advice hasn't been solicited. My help is not wanted. So I'm staying out of this. Yet, despite being a bystander, it is disgusting (among other adjectives) to bear witness to this.
When your life is in upheaval, you no longer have long term goals. Everything else is suspended, until you can catch your breath. You first lock down your finances, cut off points of access to your funds so the other person won't bleed you dry in the interim. You set up a post office box. You take advantage of every single moment the other person is not in the house, so you can (as calm as you can) take an inventory of what you might need for your immediate survival (we call this your "A" stuff).
You then line up a depository of sorts, whether it is a storage unit or an alternate site (or better yet, the place that will be your transitional home) and start ferrying your stuff there while the other mate is not at home.
You gather up all your important papers, your tax rebates, every document you need, titles to your cars, deeds to your home, birth certificates; everything.
Not him. Suggestions have been made by others, and he's not absorbing shit. Either that, or he is hearing the suggestions, and then becomes the eunuch-ified personification of Blanche DuBois, by relying on the kindness of (strangers) others to do the heavy lifting.
Case in point:
My sister, brother-in-law, niece, and a few friends of my sister's were at my brother's house to help box up what they can. My brother-in-law went into my brother's bedroom and was repulsed by the mess, the stink, and the dust. My brother apparently has hyperhydrosis, so everything that touches him is permeated with his sweat. And his bedroom was filthy, and appeared as if it had never been dusted--EVER.
My sister loaded up a truck she borrowed from work, and managed to drive that a half hour back to mom's, many "treasures" of which my brother couldn't wait to pilfer and abscond home--are making their way back to our mother's house.
My sister's boss, allegedly, is planning on buying mom's house to "flip," and my brother will be able to stay at the house in the interim (possibly 1-2 months) until the sale goes through. Hopefully that will be enough time for him to get a handle on things. My educated guess would be a resounding NO. He's going to get comfortable, TOO comfortable (Denial is a helluva thing!), and then that will be another problem to get him out of a house which will then be owned by my sister's boss.
So, my sister drove that truck back to mom's, where our uncle and our Viking Warrior Aunt with the Stage IV breast cancer (with mets) is helping unload the truck. Where is the Dipshit? Shamelessly, out having a leisurely dinner... WITH THE YENTABEAST.
So here we are, a smidge over two weeks from when the Sheriffs put a lock on the door to my brother's house.
If I am this exhausted, I do not know how my sister keeps going, even as desperate as she is to ensure two things: 1. That our brother does not end up homeless; and 2. That our brother does not end up living at her house (to keep from being homeless). I'm sure that to scratch beyond the surface of her helping our brother (and hopefully helping prevent him from having a cardiac event), she's also operating from a point of self-interest too.
All of this could have been avoided. I keep thinking of that Woody Woodpecker episode, "If Woody had gone to the police, none of this would have happened." If my brother made smarter choices, none of this would have happened. If he wasn't too trusting, or didn't marry Voldemort with a vagina, none of this would have happened.
And yet, my god. He is worse than both of my parents combined.
New Discovery: He is a hoarder. Like he needs an intervention. He needs psychological counseling. He should be on the t.v. show Hoarders THAT LEVEL HOARDER. This, of course, will be used against him on the complaint of divorce.
Question: If you were about to be homeless--if your house were on fire, what would you grab? Clothing? Meds? Photographs? Important papers? Nope! Not this dipshit. He insists on boxing up his library of music CDs. I know how overwhelming it is to be in that very spot--because in 1998, I was there, and I believe I had less time to come up with an emergency/transitional plan for my life.
My input or advice hasn't been solicited. My help is not wanted. So I'm staying out of this. Yet, despite being a bystander, it is disgusting (among other adjectives) to bear witness to this.
When your life is in upheaval, you no longer have long term goals. Everything else is suspended, until you can catch your breath. You first lock down your finances, cut off points of access to your funds so the other person won't bleed you dry in the interim. You set up a post office box. You take advantage of every single moment the other person is not in the house, so you can (as calm as you can) take an inventory of what you might need for your immediate survival (we call this your "A" stuff).
You then line up a depository of sorts, whether it is a storage unit or an alternate site (or better yet, the place that will be your transitional home) and start ferrying your stuff there while the other mate is not at home.
You gather up all your important papers, your tax rebates, every document you need, titles to your cars, deeds to your home, birth certificates; everything.
Not him. Suggestions have been made by others, and he's not absorbing shit. Either that, or he is hearing the suggestions, and then becomes the eunuch-ified personification of Blanche DuBois, by relying on the kindness of (strangers) others to do the heavy lifting.
Case in point:
My sister, brother-in-law, niece, and a few friends of my sister's were at my brother's house to help box up what they can. My brother-in-law went into my brother's bedroom and was repulsed by the mess, the stink, and the dust. My brother apparently has hyperhydrosis, so everything that touches him is permeated with his sweat. And his bedroom was filthy, and appeared as if it had never been dusted--EVER.
My sister loaded up a truck she borrowed from work, and managed to drive that a half hour back to mom's, many "treasures" of which my brother couldn't wait to pilfer and abscond home--are making their way back to our mother's house.
My sister's boss, allegedly, is planning on buying mom's house to "flip," and my brother will be able to stay at the house in the interim (possibly 1-2 months) until the sale goes through. Hopefully that will be enough time for him to get a handle on things. My educated guess would be a resounding NO. He's going to get comfortable, TOO comfortable (Denial is a helluva thing!), and then that will be another problem to get him out of a house which will then be owned by my sister's boss.
So, my sister drove that truck back to mom's, where our uncle and our Viking Warrior Aunt with the Stage IV breast cancer (with mets) is helping unload the truck. Where is the Dipshit? Shamelessly, out having a leisurely dinner... WITH THE YENTABEAST.
Friday, November 3, 2017
(T-27 Days) Dueling Shit Shows
T: -27 Days: Prelude To YentaBeast's Departure
Where to begin? I'm not even sure I've sufficiently delved into the beast of whom my brother married 16 years ago. Pretty much a monster in all manner. Shrill, know it all, emasculating, rude, socially inept, pretentious, jealous, petty--do you have all day? The inventory truly is never ending.
Where to start? I don't know where I left off as it pertains to peeling the rotten orange that she is. Have I delved into and analyzed her as a human--and I dare say that as she's truly proven herself time and time again to be nothing more than an over-stuffed garbage bag wrapped in something resembling skin and trying to pass herself off as a human.
I've always thought she was evil; however, her actions as of late truly demand a refinement on the adjective to adequately describe her.
The nuts and bolts of what is going on currently is that she wants to leave my brother and plans on doing so the beginning of December, a scant 27 days from today (really, 26 days and a wake up). This would be difficult yet manageable if it weren't for the fact that we have come to discover that she had not managed to pay their mortgage for an fathomable 61 months.
For 16 years, my brother, in good faith, has had his paychecks directly deposited into a joint account; and in good faith, he presumed that since bill paying was her strong suit, that she would be doing just that--paying the bills. And paying the bills one would assume (rightly, so) it would include paying one's mortgage.
I'm not really certain what has transpired in the last five years. Perhaps she wanted to restructure their mortgage? Or perhaps she re-mortgaged the house? Or perhaps she forgot to fill out some necessary paperwork and then things snowballed from there? I haven't a clue. Perhaps she put it in forebearance? And since she's home, she'd grab the bills and notices as they arrived--and perhaps there was a foreclosure notice taped to the house itself, which she also hid from my brother.
The full depths of the fraud she's perpetuated against my brother has yet to be fully actualized. What I have detailed herein is merely the superficial stuff he's unearthed. I am sure there will be more of a financial shit show to be discovered after he finally sees his divorce attorney.
No, she hasn't absconded with his money, or at least not all of it (she has moved some money around, but smaller amounts that wouldn't necessarily catch one's attention if they weren't looking closely); from what I can gather, the money is still in the account; however, the house is scheduled for foreclosure on 11/21, 18 days from today (really 17 and a wake up).
So if you're following along and connecting the dots, she fully intended on leaving my brother at the beginning of December, and planned on doing so without informing my brother that he is on the precipice of being homeless. It is only within the last week that my brother started digging around, and with the help of our brother-in-law, he has uncovered quite the shit storm she has been planning for him, for the last FIVE YEARS.
So he's got 17 days and a wake up until the Sheriff's office comes by and puts a lock on his home. I'm envisioning how this could have gone down had he not made this crucial discovery this week: perhaps he would have worked a long day, then made that one hour commute home, in the dark of night, only to realize he cannot get into his home.
The unfortunate thing here is, my brother possesses all the negative qualities of both of my parents: dad's laziness and complacency and weakness; and mom's ease of getting overwhelmed, and weakness; zero fortitude on both of their parts, and zero ability to be an adult.
To say my brother is overwhelmed is an understatement. The last few days he's been INERT. In shock. And wasting precious time wallowing when he could be ferrying what possessions of his that he can (in such a short amount of time) to a storage facility, and come up with a transitional plan for his life--as well as contact a divorce attorney (and looks likely he'll need a bankruptcy attorney too), and do what damage control he can, to minimize what little of the destruction his wife has wrought.
I don't presume to know what it must have been like for the last 16 years to live in their home; however, as a bystander, at family gatherings, their presence together was unbearable.
And if you're curious about what's going on with my mother's house, where we left off there is:
This woman is a fucking blight, and I want to scorch the earth by outing her and shaming her.
Where to begin? I'm not even sure I've sufficiently delved into the beast of whom my brother married 16 years ago. Pretty much a monster in all manner. Shrill, know it all, emasculating, rude, socially inept, pretentious, jealous, petty--do you have all day? The inventory truly is never ending.
Where to start? I don't know where I left off as it pertains to peeling the rotten orange that she is. Have I delved into and analyzed her as a human--and I dare say that as she's truly proven herself time and time again to be nothing more than an over-stuffed garbage bag wrapped in something resembling skin and trying to pass herself off as a human.
I've always thought she was evil; however, her actions as of late truly demand a refinement on the adjective to adequately describe her.
The nuts and bolts of what is going on currently is that she wants to leave my brother and plans on doing so the beginning of December, a scant 27 days from today (really, 26 days and a wake up). This would be difficult yet manageable if it weren't for the fact that we have come to discover that she had not managed to pay their mortgage for an fathomable 61 months.
For 16 years, my brother, in good faith, has had his paychecks directly deposited into a joint account; and in good faith, he presumed that since bill paying was her strong suit, that she would be doing just that--paying the bills. And paying the bills one would assume (rightly, so) it would include paying one's mortgage.
I'm not really certain what has transpired in the last five years. Perhaps she wanted to restructure their mortgage? Or perhaps she re-mortgaged the house? Or perhaps she forgot to fill out some necessary paperwork and then things snowballed from there? I haven't a clue. Perhaps she put it in forebearance? And since she's home, she'd grab the bills and notices as they arrived--and perhaps there was a foreclosure notice taped to the house itself, which she also hid from my brother.
The full depths of the fraud she's perpetuated against my brother has yet to be fully actualized. What I have detailed herein is merely the superficial stuff he's unearthed. I am sure there will be more of a financial shit show to be discovered after he finally sees his divorce attorney.
No, she hasn't absconded with his money, or at least not all of it (she has moved some money around, but smaller amounts that wouldn't necessarily catch one's attention if they weren't looking closely); from what I can gather, the money is still in the account; however, the house is scheduled for foreclosure on 11/21, 18 days from today (really 17 and a wake up).
So if you're following along and connecting the dots, she fully intended on leaving my brother at the beginning of December, and planned on doing so without informing my brother that he is on the precipice of being homeless. It is only within the last week that my brother started digging around, and with the help of our brother-in-law, he has uncovered quite the shit storm she has been planning for him, for the last FIVE YEARS.
So he's got 17 days and a wake up until the Sheriff's office comes by and puts a lock on his home. I'm envisioning how this could have gone down had he not made this crucial discovery this week: perhaps he would have worked a long day, then made that one hour commute home, in the dark of night, only to realize he cannot get into his home.
The unfortunate thing here is, my brother possesses all the negative qualities of both of my parents: dad's laziness and complacency and weakness; and mom's ease of getting overwhelmed, and weakness; zero fortitude on both of their parts, and zero ability to be an adult.
To say my brother is overwhelmed is an understatement. The last few days he's been INERT. In shock. And wasting precious time wallowing when he could be ferrying what possessions of his that he can (in such a short amount of time) to a storage facility, and come up with a transitional plan for his life--as well as contact a divorce attorney (and looks likely he'll need a bankruptcy attorney too), and do what damage control he can, to minimize what little of the destruction his wife has wrought.
I don't presume to know what it must have been like for the last 16 years to live in their home; however, as a bystander, at family gatherings, their presence together was unbearable.
And if you're curious about what's going on with my mother's house, where we left off there is:
- 10/14 The estate liquidator came by to do a walk through and do an assessment of volume of stuff and talk over fees to organize/price/advertise the tag sale--despite us signing a contract and the estate sale was supposed to take place THIS weekend (11/4), the liquidator has flaked already and wants to reschedule for the following weekend--this is getting everyone anxious as fuck!
- A bill has been received already from Shady Pines, to the tune of $13K--so it's more than somewhat urgent that we get the home emptied and sold in order to pay Audrey's bill, so she can continue to live out her days in delusion, as if she were Leona Helmsley living at a 5 star hotel, complaining how the staff isn't wiping her ass quick enough;
- In the interim, now, as we empty my mother's house of HER stuff, my brother is going to be moving what stuff of his he can into the house, so he won't be out on the street homeless--this is a temporary thing for the next 1-2 months until the house sells, and hopefully in that amount of time, he'll get his act together;
- In the interim, we are worried about his health. In subsequent posts to this one, I might do a small series of posts that delve a bit into what a trash heap this twat has been, not just to my brother, but to pretty much everyone in our family--however, as this paragraph is devoted to my brother's health, my sister and I are concerned that he'll end up having a fatal heart attack from all the stress;
- In the interim, we also are doubly concerned about him hitting rock bottom--and many other people have turned up in the evening news in the form of an article about how some mild mannered man ends up murdering his family and commits suicide--as tragic as this is, this would not surprise me if this were the case.
This woman is a fucking blight, and I want to scorch the earth by outing her and shaming her.
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