The Girl Who

In Which I Nearly Assault An Elderly Woman

The Girl Who... — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 23:31:15 +0000

Here is what happened. We paid a $500 deposit when we moved into our sweet, little home in Salt Lake City. I was determined, by God, to get that deposit back when we moved out. After cleaning until the skin on my hands began to reject being attached to my body, I embarked on an unfortunate midweek trip to Wal-Mart to match the paint on the walls so I could get Serge to fill and paint over the nail holes left by our photographs and paintings.

Paint purchased, Violet and I were on our way home. I was traveling behind an elderly woman in a white car. She was just about to cross some train tracks when the lights began flashing. Mind you, the lights flash for a good while before the bar comes down. Instead of continuing through the intersection like any driver under the age of 70 would do, she abruptly stopped. Right where the bar would come down on her car. And it would've if I hadn't rammed her from behind.

My SUV pushed her car smack into the path of the oncoming train, a fact I didn't realize until I had jumped from the driver's seat to check on Violet who was screaming in the backseat. I was frantically trying to unstrap my distraught lil' peanut from her car seat when I slowly became aware of people screaming at me from the third story window of a nearby building.

I looked up.

A woman was hanging out an open window motioning crazily with her arms and it took several seconds before my brain was able to catch up to what was happening and comprehend what she was saying. "MOOOOVE! TELL HER TO MOOOVE! THE TRAIN IS COMING! THE TRAAAAIN" Her voice seemed to float lazily across miles of thick air before I realized what she was saying. The old woman was still sitting in her car. On the tracks. As the train was fast approaching. I left Violet in her seat, ran to the rear of the old woman's car and began motioning and screaming for her to drive forward.

She did. Seconds later the train roared between us sending my hair floating skyward in a puff of wind.

Violet was okay. I was okay. My SUV? Not so okay.

All of the above happened in about twenty seconds yet it felt like I was moving underwater. The woman driving behind me when the crash happened ran up. "Why did that woman stop? I nearly hit you!" I didn't answer. I could only focus on my daughter.

With trembling fingers I tugged and yanked at the straps on Violet's car seat until I could pull her free. I hugged my baby close to me and tried to soothe her. The crash was so loud, she was so scared. Watching my daughter scream in fear, I began to cry. Holding her close I repeated IT'S OKAY, IT'S OKAY, MAMA'S HERE over and over again. I walked forward, assessing the damage to my crunched SUV... and my tears of fear turned into tears of anger. I was pissed.

The old woman had parked her car and was walking back to the scene of the crash. As she approached I began to shout at her. WHY DID YOU STOP? YOU WERE HALFWAY ACROSS THE TRACKS BEFORE THE LIGHTS BEGAN FLASHING! She offered no response. Her chin trembled and she seemed confused. I felt like a bully. But dammit! My car looked totaled. And my little sweetheart - one minute she was laughing and babbling and then BOOOM!

DAMMIT!

Before I could make an ass of myself by screaming obscenities at a 71-year old woman (I know her age because it says so on the police report) and further scaring my already terrified daughter I walked to the back of my car and called Serge.

The police came and I was ticketed for "improper lookout". No matter that she stopped dead in the middle of the road, no matter that she and I and the lady behind us could've made it across the tracks before the crossing bar descended, I rear ended her and so I get the ticket. At least the cop smiled apologetically as he wrote it out and handed it to me.

The SUV is being repaired. For $7,000. The insurance deductible, ironically, is $500. The very amount I was trying to save by driving to Wal-Mart to purchase paint to cover the wall nail holes in order to receive our full deposit back from the landlord.

Here Goes Nothing

The Girl Who... — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 03:19:59 +0000

Today was my first official commute from Mom's house to work. Forty-five minutes. Not too bad considering it's about a half hour longer than I'm used to. However, there is always my beloved Howard Stern who accompanies me on most journeys.

And this! Do you see it! DO YOU?! It hasn't been like that in, oh, say, EVER! Sorry it's so blurry but I was trembling like a new Mormon bride on honeymoon night when I attempted to take a proper photo. Excuse me while I touch myself like a 14-year-old boy who just learned to play the skin flute.

So... yeah. Mom's house. In Pleasant Grove, Utah. Utah county. The Mormon capital of the universe. There is a bright side. My God, the blogging fodder Mom's going to provide. I haven't written about Mom so much except for alarming stories like this one and hilarious stories like this and my personal favorite. But, holy hell, just cataloging the items in her home is worthy of a blog post a day.

In clearing a little space in her house for my family I had to kind of organize her stuff in the process and OH MY GOD the awesomeness. For example:

ME: Mom, why do you have a lone wooden drawer sitting on top your microwave?

MOM: I found it in the street.

ME: You found a random drawer in the street and brought it home? Like, were you on a walk or something?

MOM: Nah. Saw it laying in the street right in front of my house and I kept an eye on it for a couple days and it was still there so I figured it fell off somebody's truck so I brought it inside because maybe the guy who lost it would knock on my door and ask if I had his drawer and I would give it to him.

ME: Right, right... So how long has it been sitting here on your microwave?

MOM: (Sheepishly) About a year. But look! I used it to hold the phone book!

ME: You think it's safe to say he ain't coming back for his drawer?

MOM: Oh shut up! Throw the damn thing out then.

There was also a rather amusing conversation about her collection of Coca-Cola related products from which I emerged victorious after convincing her that the world would not spin off its' axis if I stowed that crate of old-fashioned coke bottles in the basement so there was more room around the kitchen table. I mean, I know it's totally awesome that you have a coke calendar that matches your coke drinking glasses and coke canisters and old-fashioned coke crates but could I maybe take this one Coca-Cola crate downstairs so I can slide a chair out enough to sit down? I mean, you still have these old six-packs of Coca-Cola bottles prominently displayed and all so you're in good shape. So... this crate? The basement? Um, yeeeaaaah. That'd be grreeeeaat...

Have you seen my stapler?

If you got the above reference we should totally be pen pals.

Really, Mom has been nothing but amazing and accommodating and fantastic considering her home has been overrun by her mean oaf of a daughter, her fishing obsessed husband, their noisy daughter and two giant black labs that aren't exactly tiptoeing through the daisies and whatnot. So, thanks Mom. Now go fetch me a big onion from the fruit room!

Diet Cokeless

The Girl Who... — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 01:27:00 +0000

Aw, damn. I knew this day would come. I sensed it deep, down in dark places. It couldn't go on forever, this love affair with Diet Coke.

But it has nothing in it! Swear to God. Check the side of the can! It's all, like, zero! ZERO! How can it even be a thing if there's nothing in it? And so, with visions of a slender me, I glugged myself a veritable swimming pool of Diet Coke... Last month, last year and most of the last decade.

But y'know, Diet Coke is expensive. And bad for you, I guess. I mean, I've heard that highway patrol troopers use it to clean blood off freeways after bad accidents, but still, it has NOTHING in it! Which means I can drink cases of that shit, yeah?

Alas, it is over. Mama's relations with Diet Coke have come to an end. Or I will be decreasing my consumption throughout February with hopes of a Diet Coke-free March. I mean, seriously people, we're tanking through something like two cases a week over here. Now, I can't speak for Serge but without my lips constantly wrapped around a can of The Dark Lord I'm hopefully cutting our consumption in half which means cutting dollars spent and I guess a healthier, angrier me. So, here's to health... and anger.

First Birthday

The Girl Who... — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 02:55:46 +0000

Waiting for Pop to get home so the fun can begin!

Still waiting. Max. Milo. Keep an eye out!

I mean, seriously, where is he?

Oh, oh! Is that him?

Aw, damn. False alarm. Where IS he?!

OMG, OMG! HE'S HERE!!!

Balloons!

Look at the pretty balloons!

Do you see my awesome balloons? Do you?

Balloons are amazing. There they are! Right up there! Do you see?

Time out for the requisite paparazzi shots with The Grandmas.

Thanks Grandmas. You're swell and all but MY BALLOONS! I can't stop looking at my balloons. Nothing can distract me from my balloo.... OMG! CAAAKE!

Mom says Dad made it so I can't be sure.

Okay, all right, I can dig this...

I LOVE CAKE! I LOVE BALLOONS! LOOK AT ALL MY PRESENTS! MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE! Aw hell... Mom says it's time for a tub and then bed. G'night.

Hold Me Closer, Tony Danza

The Girl Who... — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 11:56:21 +0000

Here I am! Hello!! Those exclamation points belie my absolutely bone-tired body and state of mind. Moving whilst simultaneously hosting your mother-in-law for a week (love you, Marian!) and organizing your daughter's first birthday party will do it every time.

Yes, we're moving.

And when I tell you where you will absolutely DIE!

_{My Mom's house.}

I KNOW! COULD YOU ABSOLUTELY DIE? Hold me. Hold me closer, Tony Danza.

Here's the deal. Here is also where you tell me I'm out of my fucking mind. Here is also where I won't listen to you because I am so turned on my the thought of paying off debt and saving some serious cash. Like, rub my nipples while talking dirty to my dwindling credit card balance, turned on. Which, by the way, the credit card balance that was nearly $2,000 in October, the credit card that will be PAID IN FULL this Friday? Paid off, bitches!

What? The deal? The deal! Right! Sorry, like I said, I get all hot and bothered talking credit card balances. Here's the deal: we've decided to get on with the business of getting on over here and are taking drastic steps to meet our goals (some details forthcoming, others can't be revealed until after the fact) and paying off our debt is key. The only way to do that quick-like is to move in with Mom. Did I mention she has a hot tub? On a deck overlooking the valley? As if that makes up for the epic battles betwixt me and Mom that are likely to cause heart palpitations and an early death for Serge.

Oh stop, it'll be fiiiiiine. She's never there, she's always working. Also? Built in babysitter, right? And did I mention she has a hot tub?

Oh my god, we aren't going to make it out alive, are we?

Thank You

The Girl Who... — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 09:32:04 +0000

With your timely contribution to the American Red Cross, we are helping our sister society in Haiti to provide critical assistance to the untold number of people affected by the catastrophic earthquake.

Thanks to you, the American Red Cross:

* Pledged $10 million to support humanitarian relief activities;
* Deployed disaster response experts to provide relief and recovery expertise;
* Sent 5,000 family kits that include blankets, kitchen sets and water containers.

We are grateful to have your support that brings hope and comfort to those affected by these devastating earthquakes. As the response evolves, please visit www.redcross.org to learn more about your gift at work.

Sincerely,
American Red Cross

Please print the following for your records:

Transaction Summary

Transaction Date:

1/23/10

Amount: $750.00

Billing Information

Payment Information
Payment type:
Credit Card
Credit Card Number:
************8739
Gift Amount:
$750.00
Tracking Code:
3526-1201-1-171929-183844

One Year Ago

The Girl Who... — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 18:30:46 +0000

The Great Experiment: Emergency Edition

The Girl Who... — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 16:15:24 +0000

AND THE WINNER IS... DAYCARE LADY! DAYCARE LADY, YOU ARE AUTOMATICALLY ENTERED INTO FEBRUARY'S CONTEST, IF YOU'D LIKE, THAT IS. THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO ENTERED AND DONATED. WE RAISED $750 FOR THE RED CROSS TO HELP HAITI. THAT'S AWESOME! IF YOU'D STILL LIKE TO DONATE, PLEASE DO. I WILL DONATE ALL THE MONEY FIRST THING THURSDAY MORNING. I AM SO PLEASED AND PROUD THAT WE DID THIS. THANK YOU, THANK YOU!

VOTING CLOSED

You guys are amazing! We've raised about $750 so far. Encourage your blog readers to come vote and donate a couple bucks. Maybe we can make it to $1,000! Voting closes tomorrow at 1pm Mountain Standard Time.

Christine at Wardrobe Dresstruction

Robert at The Long Road

SAHM at Surviving Assorted Home Mayhem

Daycare Lady at Temporary Limbo

Norma Jean at November Juliet

Andrea at La Alaskena

Crummy Mummy at Crummy Mummy (who drinks)

Shelly at Hair Bows and Guitar Picks

Nicole at Blondie of Arabia

Keenie Beanie at Keenie Beanie

The Great Experiment: Emergency Edition

The Girl Who... — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 01:38:30 +0000

UPDATE: THE GREAT EXPERIMENT IS FULL! AND WE'VE RAISED NEARLY $700!! I WILL WELCOME FIVE MORE PEOPLE TO THE GREAT EXPERIMENT WITH A $50 DONATION. OTHERWISE, THE COMPETITION WILL BE THE TEN PEOPLE THAT HAVE ALREADY ENTERED. NEED LINKS BY SUNDAY NIGHT, VOTING BEGINS MONDAY MORNING AT 9AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME. AND PLEASE, PLEASE KEEP DONATING! I'M RUNNING OUT OF WORDS TO TELL YOU HOW EXCITED I AM BY YOU GUYS!

UPDATE: $630 RAISED. UNBELIEVABLE! ONE SPOT LEFT IN THE GREAT EXPERIMENT.

UPDATE: $550 RAISED!!!! THREE SPOTS LEFT IN THE GREAT EXPERIMENT. YOU GUYS ROCK!

UPDATE! I just woke up to a barrage of emails from y'all. Nearly $300 raised while I was sleeping! Sitting here bawling at the awesomeness of you all. This blog has changed from something I somewhat avoided to the loveliest, most welcoming community. I just love you guys!!!

Haiti needs our help. I'm going to do an emergency edition of THE GREAT EXPERIMENT with modified rules. Ten people can enter. Cost to enter - $20. Topic - Open (just like December). You can pick your best blog or write a new one. Please donate, even if you don't want to enter and just enjoy The Girl Who. All money will be donated to the American Red Cross. I'll need entries by Sunday night and will open voting Monday morning. Encourage your friends and family to come vote for you AND DONATE! C'mon people, if you've seen any coverage on this story (oh my God all the little children!) you know we've got to do SOMETHING!

Shattered

The Girl Who... — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 04:09:47 +0000

Some people wear lampshades on their heads after a long night of partying. I swing them like baseball bats after a night of, well, after a night of no partying. In fact, I get to the point quick-like. I swing them while on an hour lunch break from work.

It's a recurring phenomenon throughout my life: I love the sound of shattering glass. When I was in junior high, on the receiving end of some snipey teenage girl drama, I'd grab one of the many Mason jars that held Grandma's canned peaches in our pantry and fling it from our front porch into the dark night. Seconds later I'd hear the satisfying shatter as it exploded into a thousand pieces out on the road in front of our house. I did that more times than I can count.

I can't remember what precipitated this latest fight. In fact, I was excited to get home because Serge was making baked potatoes. Oh my God! As I sit here thinking about the drama chez Bielanko it hit me what ridiculous nonsense set this particular episode in motion. We were arguing about... what was on TV. Yep. That's all it was. But the pent up aggression from not getting along for weeks prior fueled the fire. And... BACKDRAFT.

Yes, yes, it's all coming back now. Serge ballet danced into the living room with two piping hot baked potatoes and set one plate in front of me. Starving, I prepared to dig in and then noted the TV was tuned to shark attacks or world news from some bizarre channel that only folks without cable seem to be be able to rabbit ear into existence and I snarled "Do we have to watch this crap?" In retrospect, what an asshole! Me, I mean. Not him. Couldn't I say "Mmmmm, dinner looks good!" instead of bitching about the channel? He responded with a snide comment of his own, the contents of which escape me now, picked up his plate and went to eat in the kitchen.

Left alone, unable to eat the potato I'd had sexy foodie fantasies about the entire drive home, something inside me snapped like telephone wires in the path of a dirt bound jetliner. I swear to God my vision blurred, I picked up the object nearest me, which happened to be a table lamp, and started swinging. I didn't stop until I heard the light bulb shatter and the lamp was hanging lifelessly in my hands, all bendy metal and dangling wires.

I dropped the lamp in horror and returned to work like nothing happened.

Read and infer what you will. Monica needs medication. Monica is mentally unstable. Monica is insane. All arguably true. I returned home from work three hours later, at ten o'clock that night, and crawled around the floor, hands massaging carpet fibers in search of every shard of light bulb. I picked up the mangled lamp and deposited the embarrassing evidence of my unchecked rage in the big trash can outside.

My standard level of nutty usually doesn't cross over into physical acts of violence against innocent household furniture. That night I was a shaken can of soda, a firecracker, a grenade. Serge popped my top, lit my fuse, pulled my pin and I exploded across the room in a messy rage.

There is no excuse for that kind of behavior.

But damn, in that moment of beating all hell out of that lamp, when, like Elvis, all thought had left my building, I felt good. And then bad. So bad.

Serge never talked about the lamp I killed.