So whenever I talk to the bitch, I somehow allow myself to get caught up in her drama. Her man's cheating on her. Whatever. I'm the one who told her. Again, whatever. He's been trying to get with ME since August. Whatever. And when she asked me if he'd ever tried to fuck me, I had a guilty look on my face. So I said "he accidentally kissed me once when he was very drunk." Which I figured was better than "yeah, once or twice while you were otherwise occupied." And I could've left it at that. I would've been FINE with leaving it at that. BUT-and I know I'm being silly and insulted when it really IS his right to lie to her about everything-of course he lied to her. The BUT comes in when he decides to take it as far as "she's a whore and not even remotely attractive and I think she's ugly and I would never try to get with that." Call it an insult to my womanly pride. Call it deja vu of the worst kind-because something familiar has happened to me before. Call it whatever you want. I told her that he's been trying to get with me since August. Oftentimes while she's been next door sleeping. Or running to the store to get HIM stuff. Or working. Or going to school. Or taking care of HIS children. Take your pick, but the point is: she's been out of the way, he's been in MY way. Even recently he's been knocking on my door at all hours of the day and night trying to get him a piece. When he KNOWS I'm...taken. Anyway. So he cheats on her, even brings his girl to his house while I watch the kids. She finds out and-understandably-gets angry. So when I was outside today smoking my lonely cigarrette, she's getting drunk and not taking care of her children. Then she decides that she's going to drive down to his work and confront him. With the children. Being the kind of person I am, I decide to drive her. And I tell her that she needs to calm down and that we should just take Amethyst and the other kids to eat. No, she insists I drop her off at his work first. So I do, take the kids to eat, am out maybe an hour, and when I get to his work she's been taken to jail and he's got a bandage on half his face. He thinks he's taking the kids. Um, no. I had the car seats, he needed to calm down. So I bring them home, with him saying he'll be right behind me. THREE hours later, he still hasn't shown up, their grandfather refuses to come get them and Slate walks in the door demanding that I call the police. Then Slate calls the grandfather back to tell him that the police are on their way to take the kids. At this point it becomes a race. Who will show first, the father, the grandfather or the police? The grandfather wins, but barely. The police are right behind and I'm in the middle of it. The thing that pisses me off the most is that everyone's blaming ME for this whole situation. I told the bitch about her man, I drove her there, I called the police, I made the grandfather miss work (which, by the way, I'm pretty sure he wasn't AT because it'd take him WAY more time than that to get here from work than say from his house), I watched the children for HOURS ON END the last few days because no one else was around to do it. And even the people who WERE around were incapable, incompetent or unwilling. But it's all MY fault. Yeah, I see THAT one-and please fall off the planet if you don't see the sarcasm there. I shouldn't have even been involved in this, much LESS blamed. Hell, if I were any kind of different person, I'd march over there and demand to get paid for my services. I have every right to. Anyway, now I remember more reasons why I didn't talk to them for months. Other than the whole Thanksgiving thing-for which the bitch keeps apologizing, by the way. But only when she's wasted. I guess that means it's truth? At this point I don't even care. Slate has all but forbidden me from ever speaking to them again and I'm gone in a month anyway. I suppose we'll see what happens. Oh, and when the father got home, he never mentioned why he'd disappeared and left me with his kids for so long. Only got pissy at me for taking her to his work in the first place. Oh, AND the grandfather said something like "what kind of fucking people are you, the kids are only two and three years old." To which Slate replied, "two and three and not our responsibility." He hates that whole family. *sigh*
Laters