The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday (and it was pretty fucking hard)


First let me offer up my condolences to the family and friends of Heather Nicholson who was a friend of mine from the late nineties on.  Some of you may know her as Brusha Brusha or Crazy Heather.  Anyway she is dead.  I just found out about this on Sunday accidentally on Facebook.  Facebook is really good for bad news.  Its how I found out about Darin Byrne, Todd Fowlie, Richard Bultsma and others.  I’ve been remiss in keeping up with everybody that I care about in this world mostly due to  spinning my own wheels and having them being spun for me by my daughter Audrey who as I type this is laying behind me on the bed with her baba, kicking me in the back with her little feet and pretty much demanding my attention as she fucking always does.  Anyway we all know that I am far from perfect so I’m not apologizing I’m just trying to explain how I could be five months late in hearing that a friend of mine is no longer running amok here on Earth.  Heather died of a drug overdose which is an all too familiar tale and one that I don’t really want to give too much lip service to right now.

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My daughter is so cute.  She is such a little terror I swear to God.  She can be insanely frustrating, horribly demanding, incredibly impatient, mind numbingly messy, excruciatingly whiny, piercingly loud, inexplicably deaf, ridiculously careless, nosier than you would believe, way too smart for her own good, with the attention span of a goldfish, often the very definition of a bad kid in every facet of her existence.  She slows me down to a snails pace and makes it so I can’t get anything at all done I swear to God.  If it wasn’t for the kindness of people who I won’t mention right now, we would be literally living in the gutter.  I really want to cry several times a day just from the sheer nonsensical scenarios I find myself in because of the fact that I am taking care of Audrey by myself and we don’t have a place to call our own.  Life can be so fucked up these days and I really hate being at the mercy of the world or at the mercy of my daughter and her temper tantrums and the rate at which she changes her mind about what she wants to have happening in order to not be crying or running around like a chicken with her head cut off.

That being said, I would not change it for the world.  Well I would change the fact that we live in a motel on PCH in Orange County and I would change other circumstances of our daily lives.  You know I would rather go from being a have not to a have that’s for sure.  I wouldn’t change having my daughter under my wing like the little puppy that she is though.  I love her.  I have two daughters and don’t get me wrong I worship the ground my older daughter walks on but you have to understand my older daughter is kicking ass in life and doesn’t really need me on a daily basis.  She has her life in much better shape at age eighteen than I have ever had my life.  Audrey though, needs me big fucking time just to make it through her day.  She gets herself in so much shit that I’m all too familiar with that I really wonder what would happen if she was in the care of another for a prolonged period of time.

Everybody always thinks she is such an angel because she really is so sweet and loving and nice.  Little do they know though what will happen if you are in the same room as her and you both fall asleep but she happens to wake up earlier.  You won’t look at life the same once Audrey has unleashed her special brand of fucking tornado on your room house life car backyard garage whatever the fuck.  Dude…..you just can’t imagine the devastation that you will wake up to.  It doesn’t make me want to cry.   It makes me literally cry and want to sob and pull my hair out.

She will have her clothes off that’s a given.  Her diaper which will be full of pee and maybe several round pellets of poo somewhat reminiscent to the droppings a hunter tracking a deer would come across in Sherwood Forest.  This diaper will be sitting askew and perched on something precious of yours.  Precious and delicate, maybe a cashmere jumper that you paid $650 for at Dolce & Gabbana or your new True Religion jeans or better yet on the keyboard of your laptop.  Trust me that is just the beginning.  Her diaper bag will be fucking annihilated, utterly destroyed with every clean wipe separated from its plastic container one by one and then balled up and left to dry out  in several hundred  convenient locations throughout her stomping grounds.  Always the fucking wipes.  It is enough to make you feel like you have lost the fucking plot I swear to you.  Every diaper will be opened and either put in the trash or better yet if she can reach it it will be stuffed in the toilet.  God help you when you wake up if you try and correct the little urchin or even express your displeasure because she doesn’t give a fuck what you think about it and there is no swaying her idea that what she did is what needed to be done so don’t bother trying to fix it she will lose her mind and throw a tantrum on top of already having destroyed the place.

Your cell phone will be somewhere with jelly and ketchup smeared all over it and sitting in a puddle of water.  Every article of clothing in the room, will be pulled out of wherever it was neatly ensconced.  Each thing will be balled up and grimy.  Any food anywhere in the vicinity will be separated from its container and absolutely smashed and ground into the carpet, smeared on the walls thrown in the sink.  The trash can will be emptied on the bed, any books especially hardcovers and first editions will have roughly one third of the pages ripped out of them.  They are often in the toilet too.

I am not making this shit up I swear to God.  I am permanently banned from the Motel 6 in Temecula, the Travel Inn in Lake Elsinore, and the Elsinore Hot Springs Motel for leaving the place so destroyed.  Guess who did all of the destruction?  Not me.  The Motel 6 was unbelievable.  She got into her mom’s makeup bag found the expensive eyeliner and used it to draw intricate designs on the duvet cover and sheets.  This place has wooden floors which you would imagine would make it really hard to fuck up too badly but she managed to make it appear like the Rolling Stones or Motley Crue had rented the room the night before.  The place was fucked up.  I tried to clean it up too but just ran out of time and they were bugging for check out so what the fuck I had to leave.  That same night  I was run off of the grounds under threat of the cops being called and told never to ever ever ever return because the fat boy that I used to be cool with at Motel 6 took that shit personally and didn’t want to hear jack shit about my angelic, happy, gentle daughter supposedly being responsible for the hovel that used to be Room 141.  In fact, he was mad that I even attempted to put the blame for trashing the room on her.  How could I try to evade justice and stoop so low as to pin it on the daughter I obviously did not deserve!! Oh hell yeah he was spitting mad.  He was so mad that he hung up on me twice and would not listen to reason even a week later.  The guy that owns the Mt. Vernon Inn in Escondido is a really nice person.  Seriously a nice guy. Three times in a row though, Audrey was so out of control at that place that three times in a row we received increasingly harsher warnings about the condition of the rooms when we checked out.  Rather than risk permanent expulsion from  the place we voluntarily chose not to stay there anymore.

You would maybe think my daughter is out of control by reading this but you would be wrong.  She just needs a tad more structure and living arrangements she can rely on for than a few days in a row.  Its not her fault if we leave things in places that she can find them and easily destroy.  That fault is all mine.  Therefore I have stopped getting mad.  Its so hard to stay mad at such a pleasant little miscreant anyway.  She has the prettiest smile and the cutest voice and she truly is such a sweetheart and has no idea whatsoever that she is doing anything wrong so its actually a sin to get mad at her.  If I want to get mad at anyone its myself.  Not my beautiful daughter that I am so incredibly lucky to have the privilege of raising.  She’s an angel.

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