When do teeth become optional?

Last week was a week from hell.  My ex-husband announced he was moving into assisted living from a motel in the hooker and junkie neighborhood.  He accepts he cannot do it by himself anymore.  He says he's taking his medication but he doesn't see himself the same way the rest of the world does.  There are three types of people who live in a motel in the hooker and junkie neighborhoods.  There are hookers and junkies, obviously.  There are also crazy people who are unable to see exactly how devastating their lives have become.  He said, "My problem is I spend my money as soon as I get it."

I said, "Your problem is you send your money to thieves who claim to be women who will love you.  Really they are trained professionals who have marked you as golden."  I was sitting on the edge of one of the double beds trying not to touch anything.  I looked at the cabinet and there were condoms visible and I realized at least he'd upgraded to real women.  I was never trashy enough for his tastes.  I'm not saying this as a judgement against him or for me.  He likes trashy women.  I'm not a debutante but my uniform does not include fluorescent pink zebra-striped spandex either.

He called my mother and said he could not take his, formerly our, pets with him. He had three days to find them homes.  Let me clarify.  I had three days to find them homes.  I asked for this so I'm not going to complain too much, but I will be loud about it.

Monday: The guy who sits next to me at work, Tony, loves Boston's, just lost one of his three dogs and was happy to take another if I couldn't find a home.  My ex's daughter and her best friend agreed to each take a cat.  I told them they needed to sort out who got which cat and I would be happy to deliver said cats to them.

Tuesday: I gave Tony a ride home and we swung through hooker and junkie neighborhood to pick up the dog, Patches.  I drive them both 10 miles past where I live and kiss Patches goodbye.  Fond farewells and all.  He is the good dog.  My dogs, who have been mentioned earlier, are the bad dogs.  I may even have this picture in an earlier blog.  Who knows?

Wednesday: I am scheduled to pick up the cats, Tigger and Buddha.  I get there and we put them both in a case meant to contain dogs while they're in the car.  It isn't meant so much as a carrier, but I have to carry them.  They weren't happy so I had two yelling cats in a box that wasn't meant to be carried unless it was empty.  Nice.  We got in the car and they continued to yell.  Then I smelled it.  I thought for sure I was wrong.

I got to Amy's and she felt the bottom of the case and it was wet.  One of them peed in the carrier.  There were two cats in there and one was about to come out and Oh DEAR!  "We'll put him in the bathroom... You'll have to figure out what to do from there."

Poor Tigger was stuck in there.  She squallered the entire way back to my apartment where I tossed her urine soaked butt into the shower.  For real.  I'm not going to have a urine soaked cat anywhere near my bed.  I figured her day was already bad, it was just a matter of degrees at this point.  

I left her to sort it out after the shower and I went to pick up my mother.  She was happily drunk and just tickled to see me and talk talk talk talk talk talk talk... crunch.  Backing out of the driveway I managed to back over a large rock that dislodged my bumper.  Moving forward I scraped the front of the car on a tree.  It was like had no choice.  My mom actually said, "Be careful, you don't want to disrupt her property."  Really?... 

Side note: I'm getting that fixed tomorrow because I noticed the bumper is gradually becoming more and more dislodged. It will eventually fly off and kill a puppy or something and well I can't live with that.  I told a guy I know, "But I bought an avocado so everything will be fine because that's the closest thing to sex I've had all day."  

Thursday was fun too.  My ex asked me to pick up and hold his bags for him.  He needed to find another place to stay and he didn't want to carry his bags with him on the bus.  I failed to remind him if he hadn't gotten his car repossessed he wouldn't have that problem.  I figured his problems were worse than that so I agreed.  I thought I would be nice one last time.

After work, I took Tony to his car.  I followed him to his house and I met his daughter, wife and other dogs. Patches was so happy to see me. If he could speak he'd say something like, "I knew you'd be back!"  On my way to drop him off at his daughter's my ex called me and asked me to bring him his bags.  Like I had nothing else to do, I was expected to bring him his bags.  When I said, "Tonight?!" he said, "I packed my teeth.  I can't eat without them."

What do you say to that?  I dropped Patches off with his daughter and we were shocked together about profound thoughts involving him packing his TEETH.  

Finally I got to the new place where he was staying and he seemed fine with it.  It looked like a hellhole to me but what do I care.  I dropped off his bags and wished him well. I haven't heard from him and don't expect to.  It takes a lot for me to reach the end of the rope.  I had to actually say to him when he asked to stay with me, "I'm not doing this for you.  I'm doing this for them."

Tigger is resting comfortably at my house with my other cat who is miffed, to say the least.  I think she is sick, with something.  She is happy and active but she is losing weight and drinking a lot.  I fear another "Farewell Comrade" entry.  

Another side note: When I published the entry about Toki dying in September, I sent it to the former executive director of the agency I work for.  We share a friend.  He told the friend we share, "I think Melissa's lost her freakin' mind!"  Yes my friend, I have and frankly, you've never known me while I had it.  

It's a good thing my boss doesn't read this...