HIM:  What’s his wife think of that?

HER:  She’s not thrilled.

HIM:  I can see that.

HER:  Especially when the girl is still in college. He gets all —

HIM:  She’s what??

HER:  Yeah, she’s like 19 or 20. She’s in college — a sophomore, I think.

HIM:  And he’s?

HER:  Forty-one, two kids — newborn. I’m really looking forward to my visit, should be interesting. Guarantee he’ll be pissy, it’s parent’s weekend. He gets all mopey when she’s not around.

HIM:  Yeah, but that’s understandable, he misses her. How often does he go there?

HER:  A few times a month.

HIM:  And arranges that how?

HER:  His visits?

HIM:  It’s a four-hour drive? How do you justify all the trips?

HER:  He says he’s off to scout a project. Denise isn’t dumb, she just didn’t have any hard evidence.

HIM:  She does now?

HER:  There were rumors they were having an affair at work.

HIM:  Well, they had the summer. So who caught them?

HER:  Nobody, but —

HIM: You’d have to have video, else it’s just gossip.

HER:  They found a condom on the floor in the breakroom — they were the only two in the building, before you say “that could have been anybody’s.” I know you.

HIM:  Yeah, well that could have been, like, maybe he had a deep paper cut on his thumb and needed to protect his coworkers from getting HIV after he used the vending machine. Didn’t want to leave blood on the lever.

HER:  And he needed to wear a condom for that?

HIM:  That’s why they say to wear a condom, don’t want to spread HIV.

HER:  They make little finger condoms for that.

HIM:  Maybe he has a larger thumb than most people.

HER:  He doesn’t. Besides, he doesn’t have HIV.

HIM:  Partly because of his efforts to not spread the disease.

HER:  Stop sticking up for him.

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Previously ……… The starting point: Vol. 1 — Every thought is with the kid

ARCHIVES: Follow Lost kittens find their way home. Updates to follow.

—  Vol. 4  —

Thursday, May 24, 2012 …

For two people who didn’t want to go out (and I wasn’t planning on drinking), we drank angry. Jules was feeling no pain at the concert and I hit the bourbon the moment we got home. I completely lost it.

You mentioned crying in the car? I held it together on the ride home, open the garage and let Jules out. She goes inside, I immediately grab a flashlight and start looking in the yard. Quickly realizing there’s no point, I fall apart.

By time I’m inside, I’m cursing the world incoherently. Next I know, I’m upstairs screaming at the top of my lungs, writhing on the spare bed. I hear Jules crying downstairs and I only get louder. Start slamming down bourbon to deaden the pain, nothing. Must have had 5 or 6 shots in 15 minutes. Felt nothing.

I don’t know what to do today. Look in the same places I looked yesterday and Tuesday night? I most definitely will but not sure what I’ll find that I didn’t find already. She couldn’t have just gone missing, it doesn’t make sense. I plan to knock on doors, look around anywhere and everywhere. Today is the most important day of the search, people heading out of town tomorrow for Memorial Day weekend.

You mentioned birds. Maybe 6 years ago, it got dark all of a sudden so I looked out the window. A huge hawk swooped down, grabbed a squirrel off the lawn and flew to the neighbor’s tree. It ate the thing and flew off in about three minutes. That was when I still hadn’t let Bibby or Jackson outside, I needed to know what was out there.

When I finally let them explore, it was like they entered the TV screen — watching a two-dimensional world out the window every day for 9 months, finally it comes to life in 3D. I didn’t know if there were snakes, coyotes, I’d heard stories. One neighbor said they saw a copperhead about three years earlier but no longer a worry in the development. Go deep in the woods, you’ll find two of everything.

Did Jules make it to work? How you doing?

She’s home, depressed. Me too. Bibby has always been her girl, and Jackson my bud. Bibs hangs with me when I work at night, which at some point will hit me and I’ll be devastated knowing she isn’t there to do that. She’s more human than most people I know.

I found some blue plastic on the floor this morning — the shattered top from my water bottle, which I then remembered throwing on the kitchen floor in a post-bourbon rage. I spent the morning going to neighbor’s houses and whether they were home or not, opening crawl space doors and shining a light inside, calling her name. Checked some backyards, thinking like a cat: Would that be inviting? What’s different, out of the ordinary? Can I fit inside that? What’s in there?

This is as hopeless as I am powerless to do anything about it. Either she just shows up or someone finds her. Without a collar, where do they know to take her?

I talked with a neighbor and as I’m walking away, I’m a mess. He said he’s always seen Bibby walking across our lawn to the neighbor’s house, that was her route. She rarely strayed from that. When I left his house and got to our lawn, the realization hit me that she isn’t coming home. I don’t know what the fuck to do.

Sometimes I guess, you just have to accept that you’ve done all you can. There’s no easy way out of this one. Keep Jules and the other cats close and ride it out.

Jules said the same thing. She’s been in bed all day. I went to lay down with her and keep getting up, pacing around. She’s telling me to sleep and I need to but there has to be better use of my time. Like you both say, I’ve done everything I can.

Being so vocal, someone would hear her. Other reason I have a hard time sleeping is that she always lays between Jules and I, that’s her spot. First night we had her as a kitten, we locked her out of the bedroom and she cried ALL FREAKING NIGHT. Second night, we locked her out again and five minutes later, she was making room for herself in between us. She had learned how to open the door from watching us. I looked at Jules, we knew we had a crafty one. She’s never ceased to amaze me but now I feel hopeless.

I keep thinking I hear her, it started the night she went missing. Certain areas in front of the house and in the garage, I swear I can hear her. It’s all in my mind.

Now will try going back to bed, which means I’ll be writing back in 20 minutes.

Get some sleep or you’ll spiral deeper into the abyss. It’ll be tough for a while, but you guys shall overcome.

Tried to. Fell asleep, fast. Then the phone rang, not related to Bibby. No phone calls, that’s freaking me out. All the places I put our info and nothing. So here I am, wide awake, wondering what else I could be doing.

Add to this, a few weeks ago, Jackson was sick — first time in his life, to any degree. Started hacking, thought it might be a hairball. Went to PetSmart and have avoided that building with every ounce of my being, driving miles out of the way to not have to walk in and see Banfield looking back at me.

Needed hairball medicine, which is basically salmon-flavored Vaseline, so I sucked it up for the sake of the Dude. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t brutal. I had Carlisle flashbacks and needed to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. I treated Jackson but the coughing continued.

Feline herpes, highly contagious, from contact with other cats. The first outbreak is usually the most severe. Once recovered, the immune system keeps it in check. Got him an antibiotic and antihistamine but three nights later, he isn’t sleeping or making any effort to. He’s exhausted, groggy, totally drained.

Dude came upstairs around 1 am and something isn’t right. It was clear he came to me for help. He wasn’t himself. Throat’s still bothering him, breathing heavy, coughing and sneezing.

I call the emergency hospital and came off like a total freak, telling the health history of all the cats and my concern about Jackson. I’m told he should be re-examined but that it can be done by our current vet in the morning. They open at 8 am. I relay my experience about Carlisle and fear that we may not have time, he stresses again that it was not an emergency.

I hang up and want to take a look at Jackson, so I lift him up and his energy is nonexistent, like lifting a 10-pound bag of potatoes. No fight, his back legs dragged behind him. He barely stood up straight, only after I helped. Not even trying to sleep, eyes wide open. Six feet away, I can hear him breathe.

Called the hospital again and confirmed I was overreacting. Told he’d need chest X-rays, blood work and maybe a steroid but it could all wait until morning. Said it’d be 3x less cost if we wait and based on everything I’d told him, it was not on an emergency level. I’ve become a hypochondriac, driven to second-guess and question everything. Not necessarily a bad thing, but …

Monitored Jackson all night and neither one of us got much sleep. Brought him in first thing and, yes, I apparently freaked out. I apologized to the doctor, it was a pure reaction to the experience with Carlisle and a refusal to let it happen again. A little over $200 later, the steroid shot helped and in a few days Jackson recovered. Me, not so much.

Keep your chin up. It is so moving, the great love you have for your cats. They are truly blessed to have you and Jules. I wish I could take it the pain and pray that whatever is going on with Bibby ends positively. If not, I hope you can find acceptance in this horrible, painful experience called life. It sucks, especially when the ones we truly love are gone or in the unknown.

I just read up on why cats end up in unfamiliar areas, the theory being she was chased by another animal and is now outside her zone. Unaware of the new surroundings, she can’t find her way back. If hiding, it can sometimes take cats up to 10 days to move from a safe spot. I’ve been focusing inside her usual boundaries and that’s the point, need to expand that and will do so first thing in the morning.

Also, we need to GO to the Humane Society and shelters — not just call. Too much confusion in relaying details and mistakes are common. Need to go every 48 hours because of 72-hour kill policies. Will do that in the morning. It’s not enough to put up signs. I’m comforted in the belief that she’s still alive, just lost.

Friday, May 25, 2012 …

Found Bibby!

Neighbor’s crawl space since Tuesday, nearly 72 hours. They had cut the lawn and that’s where they keep the mower, so the door was open. Bibs walked in, got locked inside and in retrospect, best place for her. No problem with the rain we had, no issue with the heat because it’s cool inside and no predators. More later, just wanted to break the news.

OMG, I am sooooo happy. So how far away was she?

Probably 150 yards, maybe six houses over. I’d been looking 3-4 houses from ours, had to expand the perimeter. From what the neighbors said, they see her every so often, it wasn’t the first time. I had no idea she went that far.

Another neighbor — I was lucky to catch them because they were headed out for the weekend — saw her around 5 pm Tuesday and it hit me that I was Kiefer Sutherland searching for Sandra Bullock and several days behind the trail to Jeff Bridges’ house. Pieced together what everyone told me and focused on those areas. Good thing, someone else said that on the other side of the woods, you’ll definitely find coyotes.

I was determined and confident I’d find her today and woke up with that firmly planted in my head. Gathered what I needed calmly because I was sure I’d locate her, wasn’t taking no for an answer. Went out of the development and found my way back by accident. I came out of the woods at one point, didn’t have a clue where I was but gradually figured out I was closer to home than I thought possible. Took the long way to get a few houses from ours, essentially. That told me that if I so easily lost my bearings, so could she.

Started hitting those houses, figured she was somewhere closer than I imagined. Knocked on a door and before the guy could come out, I heard her in the crawl space. He later said he thought he heard something the past few nights, it woke him up several times. He wasn’t sure what it was.

He unlatched the door and normally this would be a fear of mine — dark, unknown, cobwebs in my face and her voice the only thing guiding me to the far end of the crawl space. Only thought in my head, “no stopping now, this is the playoffs.” She’s all black, I’m a foot away from her at one point and I have no idea where she is. Following her voice, grabbing at air.

Interesting, one of the things the Humane Society asked was if I needed a trap. I figured that was crazy — it’s Bibby, I’ll pick her up and we’ll be on our way. Um … they were right. Feisty as hell and tried escaping me several times. You forget they’re animals and after that much time, they’re in a defensive state that’s unrecognizable. Took everything I had to hold her like a football, so she wouldn’t get away. She’s okay now, although she’s never going outside again.

I am sure she will be fine. Your persistence had its rewards. Perhaps you and God are on speaking terms again… 😉

Sorry, God didn’t just knock on door after door, search the woods, call Bibby’s name probably 1500 times in 3 hours and hand flyers to every neighbor possible. God didn’t look in the crawl space and He won’t. He’s busy. God doesn’t have a nasty bee sting on his left shin that I was able to put out of my mind until about a half hour ago and now it really hurts. Only thing God did was create the Guinness that I’m drinking in celebration right now and I thank Him from the bottom of my heart for that because it’s absolutely delicious. You have no idea.

She’s sacked out now. I checked on her and she shied away when I went to kiss her on the top of the head. Nope, sorry babe, I found you and I’ll kiss you if I want to. You’re mine now. It’s almost as if nothing ever happened. I let Jackson out and Bibs didn’t make much effort to do anything but hang inside. She’s content, so am I.

All I can think of is weeks, months or years from now, the bones of a cat are discovered in the corner of a crawl space and we never have resolution. No collar, no way to identify the body, just a bunch of bones someone would toss in the trash. We live the rest of our lives wondering what ever might have happened to her. In our minds, endless questions and misery.

None of the cats will ever go outside without a collar again. And Bibby owes us a Dave Matthews Band experience we can actually enjoy.

Bibby now has the second chance that Carlisle was denied, and I’m so grateful I was able to assist. She’s noticeably enjoying her next chapter. Carlisle deserved more, if karma is a gauge. All four kittens were stories in themselves, but his personality and soul were a gift and the emptiness of missing him still haunts us today.

ARCHIVES: Follow Lost kittens find their way home. Updates to follow.

Next episode: Vol. 5 — [coming soon]

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Previously ……… The starting point: Vol. 1 — Every thought is with the kid

ARCHIVES: Follow Lost kittens find their way home. Updates to follow.

—  Vol. 3  —

Flash forward — Two events which compelled me to face the keyboard again, after finding it so difficult.

Tuesday night, May 22, 2012 …

“Mountain lion killed in downtown Santa Monica”

We live in the mountains and rarely see these. Is a mountain lion like a “cougar” in the vernacular? “Hot dirty mountain lion working her magic in Hollywood — next on TMZ!!!!”

Bibby is missing and I’m hoping something like that didn’t get her. She usually comes in when it’s still daylight and rarely goes off like this. It’s 11 pm and this is not good. Pouring rain, started about 45 minutes ago. Again, not good. No clue where she is. I let her out around 4:30 pm. Gone.

She was inside, then I had a weird feeling because she was so eager to get back out. It told me she wanted to finish whatever it was she was exploring earlier and I needed to keep an eye on her. We did, no sign of her anywhere.

At this point, she’s stuck, trapped or worse. The rain would have had her scrambling home. Downpour, to the extent that I was checking storm drains and watching a foot of water moving at about 20 feet per second. If she got caught in that, she’s gone.

Of course, I didn’t put her collar on — figures — but I always joke that that’s usually just so they can identify the body. A few years ago, she was out past dark and got cornered by a dog. I could hear it happening but couldn’t get there in time. She tore her ACL trying to escape and remembers these things. Found her in the middle of the lawn, crawling back home on three legs. One would think she’d be making a move to get home now, if she could. Not liking the scenario.

If it’s raining she may be hiding and waiting for it to pass. We couldn’t find ours and a day or two later I heard him in our neighbors basement/crawl space. He was covered in cobwebs. She’s likely somewhere rather than dead. Keep me updated. I have faith she shall return in good time!

Wish I was as confident. I’ve looked everywhere. I’m expecting, if/when she does show up, she’ll be in rough shape. I thought I heard her earlier but can’t be sure. She’s Mensa smart, so that’s on her side. Hopefully sheltered somewhere and by morning she appears. I fully expect to be bringing her to emergency the moment we find her and hope to hell we’re able to. Jules went to bed and I’m going back out to search now. Not really sure where I can look that I didn’t check in daylight.

Wednesday morning, May 23, 2012 …

Any word on Bibby?

Nothing. I was up most of the night looking for her in the rain. Went out at dawn and twice since. Have posters up and emailed surrounding neighbors. Talked to a few but she wouldn’t have gone that far from the house. Jules has already lost hope and I’m bordering on it. She either got bitten by something and is laying somewhere or got taken by something and is gone. Or she crawled into something and got trapped. I call for her and nothing. If she could hear me, I’d hear her.

I don’t know what to do. I’m calling local animal hospitals and shelters plus animal control but I have a hard time believing someone picked her up and brought her someplace so quickly.

A sad reality is starting to set in. Jules is praying, losing hope. I’m teetering. This morning, Jules said this wasn’t the way she wanted to say goodbye and is completely despondent, knowing she didn’t get the chance.

She couldn’t have gotten far. If she were lying somewhere, birds would gather, flies; someone in the neighborhood would have seen something by now — CSI realities but true. Talked to a neighbor who’s lived here 12 years and she’s never seen a coyote or bobcat in the development. They’re around, just not this close.

So the question is, where the fuck is she? I’m thinking she might have crawled into something and got locked in. Putting flyers in people’s mailboxes, asking them to check. Supposed to be 82 degrees today and 90 by the end of the week.

I’ve walked corners of this neighborhood I’ve never seen before, areas I’d normally avoid — no idea what’s living in these spots. I’ve seen snakes, rabbits, heard things move where you’re not sure what it was but the sound alone freaks you out — but I can’t leave any area unchecked.

We’re going to a Dave Matthews concert tonight and have standing room tickets in the pit. Never this close to the stage and we’ve been looking forward to this for months. We’d give the tickets away if we could, just the last thing on our minds.

As much as I hear stories about cats coming back after several days, I have no answers for this anymore. She’s 10 and we’ve had her all but 6 months of that. From the moment we met, she’s been the oldest daughter — the glue and, if you ask her, the household runs only due to her involvement. Can’t say what happened but we take turns being puddles and I’m no longer a shoulder of strength when it comes to this. We’re family and I can’t go through this twice in eight months.

I need to lay down for an hour or so. On fumes.

Maybe it’ll help to get out, clear your minds. Attack the search refreshed when you return. Go out and enjoy yourselves.

Can’t sleep. Going to take another look around, put flyers in more mailboxes. People are coming home, opening garage doors so maybe she pops out from somewhere.

Alright, well stand strong. Cry in the dark basement or in the car. That’s what I do.

Kind of what I’m doing. I’m not going to be in good shape if she doesn’t come back. If she’s hurt, I’ll mend her. I’d love to be her nurse, just need her back home. As it is, I can’t focus on sleeping and am talking a strong exterior with Jules, when I could lose it any moment. Talking to neighbors and my voice is cracking constantly.

Jules is saying that God doesn’t want us to have three cats and I still think there is no God after what happened to Carlisle. I am so firmly a non-believer at this point — karma is bullshit and so is faith. I do nice and Carlisle doesn’t get a second chance, Bibby goes missing? Might as well piss on the world because what’s the difference? They still don’t come back. I question what the lesson is that I’m supposed to be learning.

Bibby still has to be out there but she’s clocked through most of her nine lives, I get that. I don’t know if we’ll ever learn what happened but looking out the window and walking the yard, I expect to see her and that doesn’t seem to be possible anymore, so my ability to have faith in most things goes poof in the wind. I don’t understand anything anymore and don’t care to. There are reasons for everything but NOTHING will make sense of what we’ve gone through and continue to go through with these purely loving dudes.

Jules is convinced that Bibby is gone and has been since early in the process. I’m not sold yet.

Not sure what to say now that this much time has past. Do you have foxes? You mentioned coyotes and, yes, they will take cats IF they can catch them. Usually cats are too smart and nimble. Maybe someone has her? Any bad blood on the block? Sorry, just thinking out loud. It’s just bizarre. I’ve seen hawks take pigeons and rodents, but cats are instinctual and choose to walk close to the perimeters or trees so its rare but not impossible. Any large birds there? What type of snakes? We know how devastating this is and are thinking about you both … and Bibby. The hardest part must be not knowing what the hell happened. At this point, good or bad, some idea would help to ameliorate a very bad situation. Very sorry.

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Next episode: Vol. 4 — No stopping now, this is the playoffs

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Previously ……… The starting point: The Unemployment Chronicles, Vol. 1

—  Vol. 5  —

A week later …

I had a dream where I stumbled upon these really cool rocking chairs at a Costco in Pakistan, brought them over mountains with the aid of a 900-pound mule and a old Sherpa who helped transport us all into Afghanistan, where I’d sell the chairs at a small mark-up. So, in my mind, I’ve found work.

I was reading about the connection between work and worth and the value one gives the other — all about positive energy and fulfillment that’s lacking right now, with no employment. Also was led to a book called The Seasons of a Man’s Life, which details the difference between being in your lower 40’s and not as overwhelmed with goals and accomplishment – versus – the urgency a man feels in his upper 40’s, having not achieved the bulk of what he’s wanted in life.

No kidding.

When people who love their work say, “I’d even do this for free,” it’s different when you’re actually doing it for free and don’t have the enrichment of actual enrichment. This explains why I’m freaked.

I have to find some sort of income, not only for myself and state of being but for the sanctity of the household. Jules never used to be worried but lately she’s sweating smaller purchases, which only makes me additionally freaked. We’re both stressed for different reasons but similar reasons, at the same time.

We argued on the way home, a few nights ago. She had more than enough drinks and was making me feel like a loser by essentially calling me one, not in those words but not listening to anything I said because she was in her own argument. Granted, she’s footing bills I can’t contribute to and I get that, but what she said pissed me off so much that I pulled over, screeched to a halt in a parking lot, opened the door, and didn’t really know what to do once I got out of the car.

I screamed at her from outside her rolled-up passenger window, then just started walking. Like Forrest Gump. Kept to the sidewalk, headed home. Left the phone in the car, not smart. Totally on my own. This wasn’t in any way planned.

Probably a solid 20 miles from the house and I got about half way before my brother pulled up. I was in such a forward movement mindset, at that point, I was still walking even when I stood still. One foot in front of the other, no clue what the purpose of any of it was.

Jules was unable to drive and apparently a cop saw the car and threatened to tow us. I’m a shit for leaving her there and the worst part was, what she was saying to me was right. Didn’t realize that at the time. Couldn’t.

We didn’t talk for about 48 hours. I spent the next day trenching the backyard, extending gutter downspouts to move water underground, away from the house. We were supposed to do the project together but I knew she’d be hungover and we’d put it off for a better day. Went to Lowes, got the supplies and started digging.

Midway through, remembered I had an untouched Ruth’s Chris gift card I bought for half price years ago that I was saving for some point when I’d take her out.

Fuck that.

Showered, changed, poured a tall bourbon for the drive and sat at the bar. Had a medium rare burger out of anger and it was fucking delicious. Breaking out the fake money, all I’ve got left. Celebrated momentarily out of anger and pride in completing a project that was grueling, intense and neither of us wanted to do.

I did the job out of spite.

Couple of things to remember for us “modern males” — we are innovators. No one has ever been presented with our social or economic dilemmas. We are CEO’s of the homestead. We keep things moving pure as silk. Not many males are capable.

We are the chosen ones.

Food, gutters, children, pets, etc., and most important, keeping our women emotionally stable, which is no small task. They’re amazing at their jobs, but fragile. We manage the “talent.”

It’s not easy, it’s thankless, but damn it, it’s necessary! Resumes, letters, advice … ghostwriting at it finest, ghost shopping, ghost whatevah!

The Kowalski moments are necessary to show you are a man and still in control. Walking, throwing dishes against the wall, these are our primitive actions but effective ways of subconscious translation.

“I am the man!” Don’t under estimate your contribution.

I got out of the car two weeks ago and jogged four miles home. When CJ questioned my motives I simply said, don’t ever doubt me. She was speechless and later apologized. I’m a dick, I’m a career failure, but I’m a successful man and husband. Women just want to make sure we’re in control. CJ will always make more money than I and she deserves to, but she still needs me to be in control. I manage everything here and she admires and wants it that way.

A Stanley Kowalski moment is necessary now and again to reinforce. It’s in our DNA, don’t deny it.

I know you. You’re not a slacker. You’re a doer. You’re better than 99% out there …

I can teach you how to throw bowls against the wall.

Glad you had a Kowalski moment.

Found this from the Wall Street Journal and am still in a fetal position — “When the Wife Has a Fatter Paycheck.” For better or for worse and I’ve yet to be able to show Jules the better. Should be able to, know I’m capable, can never seem to locate it. Beyond feeling emasculated, feel unhuman, don’t know what I am.

Very good article. Look, I’m damn good at my non-conventional role. The house is perfect and I do my best to be a loving father and husband. But I AM enraged! I’m angry, and I don’t like myself no matter how much I try to justify my existence. But mostly I feel I’ve missed the boat.

I feel emasculated in the deepest sense and compensate with Kowalski moments to prove I’m a man, which is pathetic. But it’s in those moments I feel — on a DNA level — that I’m a man with power and control and that only adds fuel to the fire. The irony. The more I lose control, the more I feel I have it.

Vintery, mintery, cutery, corn,
Apple seed and apple thorn,
Wire, briar, limber lock
Three geese in a flock
One flew East
One flew West
And one flew over the cuckoo’s nest

I was listening to a financial investment show on the radio last week and the guy said his advice was to get a can of coffee and if you like coffee, drink and enjoy it. Then fill the empty can with whatever cash you have and dig a hole in the backyard. This was a financial adviser!!!!!

It’s ugly out there. At least you found something, not anything resembling what you’re looking for but still …

Well …

I respectfully “resigned” today. It was insane. The menu is 20 pages — soups, salads galore, burgers, build your own pizza 20 different ways with 10 different sides. They’re trying to be Cheesecake Factory so they do everything — EVERYTHING.

After 10 hours learning the computer and two “following” shifts, I still couldn’t put an order in without it taking two minutes. That’s how intricate and time-consuming the orders are. Everyone assured me, “it takes time,” “it took me 3 weeks,” but I came home last night after following my trainer and decided enough was enough. She was in the weeds and I basically watched her run around for 8 hours, non-stop. I think she walked with $80 after tip-outs and she earned every f’ing penny. She’s late 40’s and works six days a week, probably makes $600-700/week. But she has a lot of gray hair.

They do a good business, but the servers are always in the weeds and the side work is insane. I’m too old for this.

I got up this morning, went to the manager at 8 am and was very honest. Told him I was sorry for wasting his time, but I was done. He thanked me for actually going in and looking him in the face.

I’m closing this chapter of my life. I will never do that again.

Back to the drawing board.

To be continued (link below) …

  • Of the 4.3 million jobs created in the past three years, nearly 3 million have gone to people over the age of 55. To be sure, the unemployment rate remains naggingly high for all workers, including those 55 and over. But the unemployment rate drops sharply for seasoned workers over the age of 44 and remains comparatively low for those a decade older. The unemployment rate among those 44 and older is between 6.4% and 6.5%, according to this analysis of Department of Labor data.”  Older workers snapping up all the jobsCBS Moneywatch

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Next chapter: Vol. 6Minimum Wage and the Limonette Mystique

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“There is a moment in every relationship when one of the parties senses its imminent demise. There’s a moment of incredible clarity when your stomach drops with a heavy sense of dread, and you feel like control is slipping through your fingertips even as you try to hold on.”
— Allison Winn Scotch, The Department of Lost & Found

The secret to any successful marriage is learning to overcome challenges. For couples entwined in deep ideological disagreement, the need to resist holding grudges and bringing up the past (and sometimes ugly present) is of utmost importance.

Nobody knows this better than Joanna Sheffield, lifelong fan of the Boston Red Sox.

Through the brutal dog days of “The Curse of the Bambino” to the glorious peak of World Series redemption, this 46-year old Norwich, Conn., housewife has spent the last 22 years focusing her marriage squarely on the positive.

“I married an imperfect person – and so did he,” she says of husband Rob, son of a New York Yankee fan, a lifelong fan himself and father of their two children. “We’ve had our ups and downs,” Joanna admits.

While they’ve dealt with the setbacks and pain of difficult seasons before, this year has been particularly stressful with the Red Sox never in contention and the Yankees continuing a seemingly annual quest for a spot in the playoffs.

“It’s been frustrating and I never seem to hear the end of it,” she says, “but this year was worse than usual” — pointing to a last place American League East finish by the Red Sox, despite Major League Baseball’s third-highest payroll.

“You have to put a smile on the negative, sweep snide comments aside and overlook the mockery and ribbing because it’s usually done in fun,” she said. “The span of a 162-game schedule dictates that a bad day not interfere with the next, that’s always been key — as a fan and with our relationship.”

The moment of incredible clarity

Through the storied history of these two iconic franchises, the Sheffield union remained strong. “Until one day in late August, Rob came down the hall — iPhone in hand — laughing hysterically,” Joanna recalls. “I asked him what was so funny, he told me the Red Sox were just traded to the Dodgers.” [referring to the nine-player deal which sent four-time All-Star Adrian Gonzalez, pitcher Josh Beckett, outfielder Carl Crawford and utilityman Nick Punto to Los Angeles in exchange for first baseman James Loney and four prospects — shedding the Red Sox franchise of approximately $260 million in payroll obligations over the remainder of the decade but leaving designated hitter David Ortiz as the lone remaining representative of both the 2004 and 2007 World Series teams].

It hurt, Joanna said, and she admits the sadness of the team’s 2012 failures caught her by surprise. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, Joanna felt alone.

“The team is virtually unrecognizable now. Melancon, Ciriaco, Nava, Lavarnway, Valencia, Lin, Iglesias — are you kidding me? I don’t know who these people are,” she says. “I have a hard enough time enjoying a game knowing Kevin Youkilis is in a White Sox uniformthat’s just wrong — the last thing I need is to be reminded of where we are in the standings. I know where we are in the standings and I try to forget.”

After a few days to let it settle, Joanna says she called a divorce attorney.

Husband Rob countered by seeking custody of the children and the family’s black lab, aptly named “Fenway.” Lawyers for the couple say divorce proceedings have been heated and, at times, volatile.

“That’s my dog too,” Rob said, “we’ve had him for 12 years. To put that in perspective, the Yankees have made the postseason 17 of the last 18 seasons, so that’s quite a long time. But this is a deeply personal time and we hope everyone will respect our privacy while the Yankees set their pitching rotation for the playoffs and the Red Sox will most likely be looking for a replacement for (manager) Bobby Valentine. What a horrible decision that was, huge mistake.”

Joanna’s attorney paints an unflattering portrait, as Rob became unrelenting in what is described as a “reckless desire to kick Ms. Sheffield while she was down.” Stats and embellishments touting New York Yankees success, carelessly flung through various rooms of the house and serving as a wedge in what was once a satisfying marriage.

So brutal was the verbal abuse, the divorce deposition cites a Labor Day weekend incident when Joanna was folding laundry and Rob dropped the name “Bucky Dent” into a conversation for no reason whatsoever.

“He forced it,” she said. “There was no call for that.”

Rob tells a different story, saying that after the Red Sox won the second of two World Series titles in 2007, it was Joanna and Boston fans who became obnoxious.

“Talk about your bandwagon fans. Vanity license plates, patio flags, door mats, key chains, hats, clothing. Red Sox everything — and pink, what’s with all the pink? The green St. Patrick’s Day stuff, I can understand,” he said. “Where was all this silly crap when they were losing? Nobody wanted a part of it then. They finally win, what, once, twice — whatever — they finally win a title and now everyone wants to show they’re not a loser. Well, guess what? Look at the standings. Where’s your pink hat now?”

Sports psychologist B.J. Murphy explains a fundamental difference between the two fan bases lies in a difference in expectations.

“Yankee fans feed on victory and are uncomfortable, to the point of not knowing how to handle losing. Finding the process unfamiliar, they tend less to internalize failure, overlooking the value of the learning experience because they assume it’s only temporary,” he said. “Red Sox fans are all about the learning experience, all too familiar with the frustration and toils of defeat, therefore the confidence gained from winning once becomes far more gratifying than doing so 27 times. It’s very much a quality over quantity argument.”

Joanna agrees. “Try waiting 80-plus years between titles and thinking that maybe — maybe — this might be the year. Then when you finally win, it means something — 2004 was everything. The kids were too young to understand but I wanted them in front of the TV when it happened, mainly because my father and grandfather never got to see it. I never thought I would.”

Three outs from being swept in the 2004 AL Championship Series, Boston began an improbable comeback, defeating the Yankees in four straight to become the first team in major league history to overcome a 3-0 postseason series deficit. The Red Sox went on to “reverse The Curse,” sweeping St. Louis to clinch the team’s first championship in 86 years.

Memories of Bill Buckner, Aaron Boone and, yes, Bucky Dent, erased in an instant. Viewed as the greatest post-season collapse in sports history, the balance of American League power shifted from the Bronx to Yawkey Way and inside divided homes, such as the Sheffield’s, a geological fault had broken new ground. The events of the 2012 season seemingly restored the Bronx Bombers as the “Evil Empire” and the fiercest rivalry in sports is renewed, as strong as ever.

“It’s disappointing, I imagine, when your team doesn’t do well,” Rob suggests. “I suppose that’s not very enjoyable but Joanna brought a lot of this on herself. She carries a lot of negative emotion that brought us to this point. She’s angry about most anything, she’s still mad about the Babe Ruth trade.”

“I’m not mad about the Babe Ruth trade, what’s wrong with him? He said that?” Joanna countered. “That was, like, a hundred years ago. I sometimes don’t understand why I ever married that guy. I’m sorry, but that’s borderline psychotic.

“Great, you’ve won 27 world championships. Congratulations, you’ve made the easiest choice a person can make as a sports fan in America,” she added. “Being a Yankee fan is hardly a character-building decision and I want more for my children. Four titles in five years during the late 90’s? I don’t want my kids raised like that, thinking success is automatic because you’ve been outspending your opponents since the dawn of free agency.”

As the 2012 season comes to a close, the Sheffields are only beginning what’s shaping out to be a lengthy process involving custody hearings and court proceedings. Battles on the field give way to decisions made by judges which will alter the lives of each member of the family. As any attorney will affirm, divorce is not a game and there usually are no winners.

Proving the difficulty the couple faces at the outset of this arduous journey, Joanna shows a text sent to her by Rob on September 28, shortly after the separation became permanent. The brief message notes simply that it was the one-year anniversary of Boston’s elimination from the 2011 postseason, having blown a nine-game lead in September, the worst collapse in baseball history.

Rob ended the text, “Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today.”

To which Joanna texted back, “Yes, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

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