Mississippi Damned

I'm not sure how I stumbled on this film, but I know it was over a year ago that I did so.  Maybe even 2.  I finally bought the DVD and watched it.  This movie is a film everyone should see.  The writer/director Tina Mabry does an excellent job, as do the actors.

This movie follows the story of a family in rural Mississippi beginning in 1986 and then continuing in 1998.  At the center of the film is the Peterson family.  Junior, Delores, Leigh and Kari are all members of a larger extended family who all live within a few miles of each other.  Junior has a gambling problem while his wife Delores is a hard woman from years of dealing with her husband's lying about where their money is going.  Their oldest daughter Leigh is gay and struggles with what that means to her family, but also to her own identity and the youngest child Kari has a talent for music that might be her ticket out of hell.

We also closely follow the stories of Delores's two sisters, Anna and Charlie.  Anna has an emotionally abusive husband, Tyrone.  Anna struggles with potential sterility in the early part of the film.  In combination with her husband being unable to find work, their marriage suffers exponentially.  Meanwhile, Charlie is an alcoholic who lives with a cheating boyfriend.  Her only son Sammy is an excellent ball player, but his mother's alcoholism and tendency to focus more on her boyfriends than her son, puts him in some unfortunate situations.  Eventually Charlie finds herself in her own life or death situation.

I've always been interested in family dynamics and this movie gives me all the functional dysfunction I can handle.  I see my own family in this family and I see some of the societal ills that I wonder how we'll ever get around, play out in this film.

For example, there's a theme of power through sex that runs through this film and in some very uncomfortable ways.  We see one character who feels powerless attempt to exert power on another character, using sex.  Their relationship, unsurprisingly, never recovers -- and the ways they relate to one another after the fact provides insight into just how much sex is often not at all about sex.

There's also the theme of sacrifice.  What do we give up for our family -- even though we may not like them very much.  One character sacrifices her way out of the misfortune and dysfunction, only to have another character sacrifice absolutely everything to give it back to her.

One thing is certain: this movie is HEAVY.  I took several breaks during the almost 2 hour film.  There were moments where I thought "Jesus Christ -- is there any light at the end of this tunnel?"  And there is -- but it is most certainly at the very very end.  Even with all that, though, I would watch this movie again and again -- it's that good.

The only place I've found this film is at the film's website -- but it is 2014 and this is the internet.  If you can find it somewhere, anywhere, please watch it.  Even if you don't purchase the film, I bet after seeing it, you'll want to.

One more clip.  In this scene, the women's mother (who lives with Anna) is confronted by Charlie over things that happened when she was a child.  It is very well acted and so true to the experience many survivors of abuse experience when they try to bring up what happened to them.  But you don't really experience Charlie's pain as much as you experience the mother's.  She's denying any responsibility, but you can sense that her words and her true feelings don't really match up.  It doesn't hurt that their mother is portrayed by one of my favorite "little-known actresses" Dr. Tonea Stewart.

Being Different

Today on Twitter, @MsMayfield asked an interesting question: "How long are you to be identified with poor choices?

I immediately thought of a recent conversation I had with my mom about one of my cousins. My mom is the youngest of 14 so the majority of my cousins are significantly older than me and it's only now that I'm truly beginning to get to know them. They have stories and lives that I don't recall or never knew about anyway.

This summer, I helped a couple of my cousins plan a "cousin's reunion." It, as things in my family usually do, came along with a lot of drama. In a family as large as mine, you can expct that at any given time there are at least 3 different feuds going on that have ripple effects. One of my cousins, the oldest in the group of us who were planning, was hoping she could convince everyone to ignore their issues for a weekend and spend time with family. Noble idea, but not gonna happen.

In any case, all this planning and back and forth and talk of feuds meant I spent a lot of time on the phone with her and in contact with her. All seemed ok until I got down to our reunion location (our parent's hometown) and my mom (who refused to attend the reunion, though our parents were invited) found out I was staying with this cousin.

Now, mama wasn't upset but she did want to make sure I knew what I was getting into. We had several conversations where she alluded to the idea that not only would I be indebted to my cousin for letting her stay with me but I should also beware of her around my stuff.

I tried to ignore the sly comments my mom would make -- she's notorious for that and it irks me; say something if you got something to say -- but eventually I just had to ask what was up. What had she done so badly that it warranted all of THIS.

She stole something. Now, mama couldn't remember when, but when I posited the idea that it was 20+ years ago, mama didn't argue she just countered with the idea that she'd also done it the last decade.

As I relayed all of this to a friend, I said, "you know, I bet when I'm 46 (my cousin's age) I'll look back on things I did as a teen or in my early 20s that I'll regret with everything in me."

Stealing is a huge no-no in my family. Not to say that's a big deal or noteworthy but there's a lot my family will tolerate in the way of poor decision making. Stealing, especially from family (as my cousin is accused of doing) is absolutely not tolerated and I'm beginning to see not ever truly forgiven.

I did a post a really long time ago about being allowed to be different. About giving people space to grow and learn and change. I don't feel like we do that enough. You make one bad move and you're marred for life with it. People do dumb stuff all the time -- what do you have to do or say before people let you move on? How much has to be done to proven you've learned the err of your ways?

I certainly don't want to make excuses for a grown woman stealing -- and my cousin is accused of stealing as a grown woman -- but I do want to make room for her to grow. Maybe even in her 30s she didn't know any better (and "knowing better" isn't just about knowing that what you're doing is wrong -- I know, sounds crazy, but I posit this: a person may know what they're doing is incorrect but if they don't know the correct way isn't that just like not knowing any better?).

So I'm taking my mother's words under advisement. If she does come to visit me and she stays with me, I won't leave anything out to tempt her to take. But I also won't refuse her access to my home based on accusations that are a decade (maybe even two decades!) old. I need to experience her for myself. Not in a dumb way, but in a way that keeps me safe and lets her be a better person if that's where she is in life.

The Moment I Knew I Was Dying

I'm not sure what made me think of this incident, but I like to share it with people to demonstrate that even I have been known to write checks with my mouth that my ass can't cash (and therefore know what I'm talking about when I encourage people not to).

I was about 15 or 16 years old. Right at an age where I was smelling myself (to use a nice country old people saying). I was closer to legal independence and was experiencing this odd thing most high schoolers go through where they have to balance all of the responsibility they're given by school and family with remembering that at the end of the day, they're still underage and relative know nothings. Of course the whole point of being a teenager is not knowing that you don't know anything.

Almost 10 years later I remember not what the argument was about, but as had become the norm, my mother and I were engaged in a heated battle. I'm sure it was some nonsense where I wanted my way because I'm an all knowing teenager and my mother doesn't want me to have it because I'm a smart ass teenager.

At some point I got in her face. I clearly remember thinking "she's probably gonna swing on me, but I'm about as tall as she is and I got a little weight on her, I'll be aight..." She did that "calm before the storm" warning where she eerily tells me that "I need to back up..." and I keep on going, because I'm big and bad and she warns me again and then... she snaps.

The first swing on me misses and I get a little upperhand on her. I'm in control and smelling myself when suddenly, I'm flat on my back with my mother's hands around my throat and she is SQUEEZING.

I very clearly recall doing 3 things: 1) grabbing her wrists movie style and trying to pull them off, 2) kicking with my feet hoping to kick her or get leverage to get from under her and 3) not breathing.

I was looking in her eyes and that wasn't my mother. I thought "this woman has no idea she's literally choking the life out of me, but surely she's going to stop" and as things progressed (the seconds that felt like hours) I began panicking because it seemed like she wasn't going to stop until I stopped breathing and then it happened... my foot went through the wall.

Remember number 2? Well, all that kicking on the wall only served to break the wall, not save my life and in that moment ladies and gentleman, I prepared to go see Jesus. I'm not playing. The lady wasn't stopping and I wasn't breathing.

I guess hearing her wall get a hole put in it (or hearing the sound of money leaving her bank account to fix it) snapped my mama out of it because she stopped squeezing the life out of me and got up. We didn't talk about this incident for years and when we did, we didn't -- I told the story to some family and she laughed along with them as I made light of the fact that one time, my mama almost killed me.

In case you still don't get that my mama is a G, when the handyman came to fix the hole and asked her what happened she said, "Ashley was acting a fool and kicked a hole in..."

What was I gonna do? Right. Not shit.

An Only Child With Siblings

When people ask me if I have siblings, I always hesitate. I typically will say, "I'm my mother's only child."

From my earliest memory, I've always wanted a sibling. An older sibling. Such a thing to wish as how would I ever get one? People would often ask the younger me if I wanted my mom to have another child so I could have a little brother or sister. That thought was terrifying to me. Me? Be responsible for someone else? Be some sort of role model/mentor/caretaker person to a little human? Absolutely not.

I have always had older friends, always run with an older crowd. I always liked having someone older to help me figure things out and I've also always been mature for my age. I never related well with folks significantly younger than me. I play "little sister" VERY WELL.

When I was 14, however, I got my wish. As we did every year, my mom and I went to AL to visit family for Thanksgiving. Somehow, that year, I ended up spending a lot of time with one of my older cousins and her daughter (who is about 2 or 3 years younger than me). This cousin had a sister named Lisa, and so when she kept mentioning that later in the day we would be going to Lisa's house, I didn't think anything of it. Her sister had moved, having recently gotten married, and I was excited to see her new home.

Later that night we pulled up outside of a nice house and as we got out of the car, my cousin hesitated. She turned around to face me in the back seat and said, "Ashley. I never thought about how this might make you feel. You're ok with us being here, right?" I was confused. Why in the world wouldn't I be ok with it, I thought. She read my mind and jumped out of the car, pulling the front driver's seat forward so she could see me. Her eyes got big and she said "you don't know where we are, do you?" Then I was DEFINITELY confused. Hadn't she told me we were going to Lisa's house? Reading my mind again she filled in the blanks - "Ashley, this is your sister's house..."

There are levels of confusion. I know this because at this point I was on the most extreme level. What sister? How did I have a sister? I'd been with my mom 14 years and seen no other child show up with her.

My cousin led me into the house and we walked towards the back and downstairs into a finished basement/den. There sat a woman about my cousin's age, who looked just like me. Next to her was a woman with a lighter complexion and smaller frame but who resembled the woman who looked like she was me 15 years in the future. Turns out they were both my sisters and that they knew all about me. They knew things like what kind of grades I made, what grade I was in. Lisa -- my sister -- had just given birth to her daughter and she already had a son (who had the same name as my cousin Lisa's oldest son... she also almost chose the same name for her daughter as my cousin's daughter... too much).

I sat with them for over two hours dumbfounded. How had I had what I wanted for all this time and no one told me? I wish I could say we went on to have really tight relationships but we didn't. After the end of that year, I lost touch with one and I haven't spoken to the other in 4 years.

I've mentioned on several occasions that my life is nothing if not a series of motifs.

This past Thanksgiving, as I sat down for dinner with my family, one of my cousins' (by marriage) sisters and niece walked into the banquet hall to join us for dinner. Another one of my cousins later told me she heard that the niece was also my sister. My mother later confirmed it...

Clearly my father has ensured the human race will never die out...

Thanks

Yeah, it's post-Thanksgiving, but you're supposed to be thankful year-round, no?

I'm thankful for my family. I'm SUPER thankful for them. There are so many things I wish were true about us -- like that our whole family was closer, or that we were better communicators -- but I'm SO thankful that they are mine.

I don't believe I talk a lot about my extended family. I don't see them as extended, as if to say they don't matter as much as my immediate family. I see them simply as my family. Supportive, caring, concerned, etc...

That's it. That's all I got. Thankful for my family. I'm thankful for lots, my family is at the top.

Good Morning Family

As I'm getting older, Christmas is getting to be less and less... Christmas-ish.

Mom hasn't put up any decorations in years and that's never fazed me. We buy stuff for each other all year so by the time we get to Christmas there's nothing to buy. She usually gives me cash and mentions an item or two she wants.

And now with me being back closer to home, I'm here frequently so even just the fact that I'm here is no... well... big deal.

But that doesn't change the fact that what happened between us this morning was ridiculous. This isn't what should be going on during this time of the year.

One of my favorite quotes about self is, "I'm checking for what you're not saying..." in other words, I'm big on tone of voice and body language. My mom thinks she's slick or maybe she doesn't get tone of voice and body language, but I can ALWAYS tell when she's on the verge of having an attitude. I can't get her to see what the warning signs are and over the years, I react just as strongly to the warning signs as to any actual attitude. That's what occurred this morning.

For the first time ever, my mom told me to go to hell and I responded to her by saying "you first..." It's not what she said, it's that she said it. It's that whenever we argue she's always going for the low blows. Anything to piss me off or hurt my feelings. She doesn't fight fair.

I'm not better, I'm fighting back in the same way because it's almost all I know to do and that's absurd. I have tools and techniques for how to deal with this, and with almost anyone else I employ them without a second thought. Her? Nope. No dice. She's almost the only person in the world who can get to me on that level.

I think it's all only made worse by how different we are when it comes to dealing with this. I want to talk it out. I wanna be heard. She's content to being mad and moving on. You can't talk to her when she's mad and you can't talk to her after she moves on. So basically you can't talk to her.

I remember once we got in a physical fight. A friend came and got me and later I went back home to pack some stuff to leave for the night. I expected her to ask me where I was going when she saw the bag or call me that night when I didn't come home. I don't think she even noticed when I got back. That's a lonely feeling and it's how I feel every time this happens and I need to talk about it but she won't.

What a way to wake up...

Something I Regret

I saw someone on twitter talking about how they didn't regret anything they had done. I mean this is just like the "if you could go back and change anything, what would it be..."

The right answer, of course, is "nothing, my mistakes make me who I am..." and that's a great answer. It's true, we learn from our mistakes and they got us to where we are, but does no one ever stop and wonder where else they might be? Not that where you are is bad, or that you could be anywhere better, but just... different? No one?

Just because you regret a decision doesn't mean you made a mistake and sometimes because you made a mistake doesn't mean you regret doing it.

There are 3 things I regret almost equally, and they all revolve around the same lesson (I really believe life gives you the test before the lesson and continues to test you until you pass it -- a developmental theory I'm now familiar with suggests that you experience the same things repeatedly, just a higher and higher levels of understanding...): telling people how you feel before it's too late.

In 2008 an uncle died. I hadn't seen him in years upon years, but he lived in the same city as my mom. While I was in college, he was found in his house unconscious. He'd fallen into a diabetic coma and they believed he'd been that way for 3 days, at least. He regained consciousness, but had some brain damage (the brain was swollen for 3 days and pushing against the skull resulted in damage). He didn't know who anyone was and he didn't know what had happened to him. A few weeks after he regained consciousness my mom, her brothers and his kids decided to put him in a nursing home until he got well enough to go back home. While I was home for Spring Break that year, my mom asked if I wanted to go to the nursing home to visit him. I hate nursing homes. Hate. So I asked my mom how he was doing -- she assured me he was fine and getting better every day. I decided not to go.

The next week, my uncle died. Did I have anything to tell him? No -- but it would've been nice to see him one last time.

In 2009, J committed suicide. As I mentioned in some of the posts I did after his death, there were things I really wanted to say to him and never got the chance. There have been, continue to be and I anticipate will be days where I think that had he known the things I wanted to tell him he might still be here. I know it's not my fault, I don't ever think that, but I can't help but wonder what if -- what might be different right now if I'd gotten over myself and expressed my feelings...

In 2010, the uncle that I talked about on my blog got sick and died. My mom used to hassle me everytime I was home about going downstairs to spend time with him. He worked all the time and so when I would be up, he'd be at work and when he got home I usually would be out. That's not to say I had no opportunities to see him -- I did and I didn't take them. There were lots of things I would've loved to have heard him tell me about, like how he started his business and what it was like to be a business owner. I did, however, see him when he first went into the hospital when he was still doing ok, before the surgery. It was eerie seeing him in the casket at his funeral because he'd lost a lot of weight after his surgery.

It's easy to hear the lesson of recognizing that life is precious in these -- and that is an important lesson; however what I keep being reminded of is how important it is to let those around me know how I feel about them. To take advantage of time I have with people I care about. Ironically I sometimes get so focused on making those brief moments be everything they can that I miss out on the moment! I'm trying to work on that too. Being fully present for everything I experience isn't as easy as it sounds, but I am trying.

I regret plenty of things, but I learn from those regrets and ideally I wouldn't repeat those mistakes. I don't think it's a bad thing to have regrets. It means you're looking for those life lessons and learning from them. I love self-aware people, they are the best! It's not easy being self-aware; it requires un-fun conversations with yourself and sometimes people you really care about but personal growth is everything!

My Favorite Memory

I have no idea what my favorite memory is. I have many that I draw on when I need a pick me up. Like my trip to Belize in 06, graduating from college in 08, random moments in my life where I had a good time with friends, memories of pushing myself beyond what I thought I could do, etc...

To have to pick just one memory as my absolute favorite isn't fair. I don't know that I can do it. What I can do is pick a favorite memory, though.

My mother loves her mother. I think in order, my mom loves God, her mother and then me. That doesn't bother me, I think it's a fair lineup. My grandmother had 14 kids, dealt with an abusive husband, worked a farm, raised her kids... she was fly. I didn't get a chance to know my grandmother like some of my older cousins did. Some of my oldest cousins were raised by my grandparents, alongside my mom. Others of them spent summers with my grandparents or were raised nearby. They all have many specific memories. However, my grandmother died when I was 4, so my memories of her are fewer.

As I began writing about this, I was inclined to share a story from during the time my grandmother lived with me and my mom. I realized that in some respects, there are aspects of my memory that are enhanced by pictures I have of me with her. One memory that I know isn't tainted by pictures is of the time I slammed my thumb in the car door.

My mom owned a black, 2-door 1986 GMC Jimmy when I was born. On a trip down to visit my grandparents, I got out of the backseat on my own and shut the door myself. My mom was distracted by a relative and so she didn't realize I'd gotten out of the car. I accidentally shut my thumb in the door.

I didn't break it, but obviously it hurt very much. I began screaming and my mother ran over and freed my thumb. She checked it out and saw it wasn't broken and told me, "Ashley, I'm sorry it hurts, but if it's not broken, there's nothing I can do about it." Of course at this point, I'm bawling as little kids are apt to do when in pain and it surely didn't help to hear my mom say there wasn't anything she could do. Your mother is supposed to make every pain go away, right?

My grandmother rushed to my aid once my screams were within earshot. My memory is of her setting me in her lap, wetting a paper towel with hydrogen peroxide and wrapping my thumb up in it. We all know that peroxide didn't do anything for the pain, but in my memory, the pain instantly went away. Just the fact that my grandmother tried was all I needed. I think that's what grandmothers are for -- to do the magical things mothers can't.

This is definitely a favorite memory.

On a slightly different note, I like responding to prompts like these. I'm a fan of random pieces of information about people because I feel like they're always a good window into that person's world. Often when I give people opportunities to ask me anything their heart desires, they ask personal and intimate questions. That's fine, I'll answer those, too -- I understand that we're often seeking the hidden parts of people -- but questions about my favorite memory, or what I wanted to be when I was younger or what my dreams and goals are will tell you more about me than anything about my personal self. When you know what a person values, you know everything you need to.

My Family

I'll start with my father, because this will be easy:

My father is... umm... you know, I actually think that aside from the whole abandoning me thing, my father is a good guy. Really. I have a hard time imagining that my mom would've fallen all in love with him if he didn't have somebody's positive characteristics. And there are things about myself that I don't see in my mom and I just know I had to get from him -- and I think those things are good.

However, unfortunately the script he's written in my life is one of subpar activity. He's been non-present, non-active, non-supportive. He's, unfortunately, been the stereotypical black father. I guess, though, it's hard to be present for every child when you have 9 by different women (yes, that was a low blow... I get to take a few cheap shots).

There are days I'm so angry at him, days where I don't care and days where I want to reach out to him. I don't know what the future holds, but right now, today, he's going to have to make that first move.



As I grow older, my appreciation and love for my mother only grows. When I was younger she used to talk about her late mother with such awe. I used to love to hear her reminisce just to hear her talk that way -- but I'm getting to a point where I completely understand that. My mother is awesome. Strong, smart, beautiful... everything I pray God will allow me to grow up to be one day.

She was a single parent. Ya'll gathered that. It's not easy being a single parent. Ya'll knew that.

When I was a freshman in high school, my mom quit her job and went back to school. Everyone told her she was crazy. She had a child, in private school no less, to support. But she did it anyway and she now has a degree in nutrition and massage therapy. This story has been a jumping off point for many essays I've had to write about myself and my background. I didn't get it at the time, but the more I come to understand exactly what it took to go back to school at 45 the more I understand that "strength" isn't the word for it.

I am who I am because of God and because of my mother. Whatever you could want to know about the type of woman she is, you can see it in me.

To Parent or not To Parent

You guys know what? I need to stop making promises on what my next post will be because rarely is it the right thing.

I'm trying to figure out how to end The Series -- I shouldn't leave you guys hanging, but I don't want to keep going all things considered. Maybe I will leave you hanging until I'm over it? Eh. I don't know.

Meanwhile, I do still have a post ready to go (in my head) to follow up my initial post about the Hofstra rape case; however, subsequent conversations are making me plan some serious alterations to it, so that's not what this is.

Also, I said on Twitter I was working on a post about my middle name. I was (in my head) but then I had a conversation on Twitter that gave me this:

I said (on Twitter - @ASmith86, follow me): "Also, at the risk of offending some, I think ppl who choose to have kids alone are selfish and didnt grow up in a single parent home."

Labor Day weekend, I went up to NYC to visit some friends. That didn't quiiiiiiiiittte work out the way I was expecting it to (which I may or may not expound on later), but it did give me an opportunity to spend some quality time with one friend I haven't seen in a while. One afternoon we decided to go to Central Park and on our walk there we started talking about kids. She told me about a woman she used to babysit for who has 6 month old twins and she's 52. She makes a lot of money working as a lawyer and she's well accomplished. Her children will be well provided for and probably have everything they need... except a two-parent household.

I grew up in a single parent home and I think I turned out great. However, I can tell you, the absence of my father was problematic. Now this conversation plays at the edge of "do children need a mother and father" and I have to say unequivocally that I think children need strong and consistent male and female role models, and that in a perfect utopia both of those models would be their biological parents, but I don't necessarily think that both role models need to be in the household -- even in my perfect utopia.

I don't think there's much about being a parent that looks like a one-person job. Hell, where do you think we get the saying, "it takes a village to raise a child?" A strong and consistent role model, in this capacity, is more than someone you know and admire. It's someone who can chastise you, give you advice, make major decisions that effect you. I had a lot of male models in my life, but none of them fit all those criteria.

There's also the fact that one person can only do so much. My beautiful mother could only make so many school plays and events; she could only cart me off to so many places; she could only be there so much. I don't blame her at all for whatever effects growing up sans a father had on me, because my father's absence was his choice, but I wouldn't wish that for anybody. Money is not everything, but my mom working wasn't about providing the finer things in life, it was about providing the necessities and time was sacrificed so she could do that.

My bottom line is, I understand that there are women out there who wake up one morning (proverbially speaking) and feel like they've accomplished so much but really want to be mothers. They have mothering instincts and it's what they really want and so they go out and use their resources to have their own child, alone. Someone asked me if my thought process applied to adoptive parents. It doesn't, because kids in the foster care system are far better off with one parent than with the foster care system raising them and that's a fact. I understand going out and finding your husband (or wife) right this minute is not an option for a lot of women who really want to be mothers, and I'm not suggesting you have to be married or in a committed relationship to adopt a child. In fact, I think if more people who were in that situation (single but wanting kids) would adopt or at least be a foster care home, a good one, there would be so many more kids who can grow up healthy and happy.

As much as I can help it, if I have kids, they will not grow up without two parents in their lives and fully committed.

Family, Friends and Enemies

We know the old adage. Keep your friends closer and your enemies closer. And at different times in my life, I've supported that and disagreed with it. I guess it depends on what kind of enemies and friends you got and whether or not you can tell 'em apart. In any case, what do you do with family? I firmly believe that your choice of friends is a reflection on yourself. I've said:

some of us, based on the friends we choose, don't like ourselves...

I think it's very important that the type of people we surround ourselves with are only on the up and up. Like Katt Williams said "we keep it pushin' 'round here..." But, you don't get to pick your family. It's the luck of the draw. Some of us are blessed to have loving, caring families and others of us have been slapped with the worst of the worst. Most of us, though, fall somewhere in the middle... functionally dysfunctional and in my case, that has turned out to be the best thing. I love my family and feel blessed. It's because of that, that I have such a hard time really understanding families that are horrid.

I have a friend in an interracial relationship. Her grandfather isn't speaking to her. Not because of her boyfriend but because her roommate is a gay black male. She's scared to death to tell her grandmother about her boyfriend for fear that she'll cut her off as well. My cousins and I and other family members have made not great decisions in our lives, but never has anyone been cut off. Even when they've tried to desert us, when they decided they needed family, we were still there. Functionally dysfunctional and all.

Then there's another friend whose brother has been screwing her over for a long time. Most recently, she paid to bring him to where she is after his girlfriend put him out and to help him get back on his feet. To repay her for all she's done for him, he first stole a credit card and now he's stolen hundreds, maybe thousands, of dollars worth of stuff from her and pawned it. And then when busted, refused to help her get it out of the pawn shop (just for future reference, if someone steals your crap and pawns it, be prepared to take the legal route to get it back). So clearly she's put him out, but still... I don't care how criminal you are, when your family tries to help you out when no one else will the least you can do is STFU and leave them out of your illegal crap. And aside from her anger at the fact that her stuff was stolen from her, I'm sure there's some sadness. Because even when your family is effin up, you think they won't do it to you.

On a different, yet equally as depressing, note, I found out a co-worker of mine was let go today. She will continue to work through the end of the year, but it was a shock for her and for us as well. I know nothing of the details, but I know she didn't see it coming. I work for the government, so you can't chalk this up to the economy... which kinda makes it worse... so far, my Holiday season is NOT getting off to the best start, but I know it'll get better...