It was January 2, 1996. As I stood on my front steps, holding my now 17 year old son, I was shaking with fear. Yet again, I had been falsely accused of child abuse and was involved in a surreal stand-off with a sheriff's deputy. This particular deputy's method of "determining if my children were in danger" involved screaming at me with such vehemence that he was showering me with his saliva.
Yesterday, this same child and I talked about that day 16 years ago. Fortunately for us, my children were never detained into foster care, or as I have come to call it, kidnapped by the state of Georgia. I have since made it my life's mission to help other falsely accused families. I have always tried to do what is right.
Unfortunately, I have let myself get discouraged over the last year or so- due to both some personal financial troubles and family health issues as well as having been involved in litigation. (Shell v. AFRA, et al) I have to snap out of it. If I am brave enough to stand up to a maniacal cop with anger management issues, then I can handle what life is throwing at me now.
I'm getting my ass back in gear. Stay tuned.
Showing posts with label police. Show all posts
Showing posts with label police. Show all posts
Friday, January 27, 2012
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
White Trash Front Yard Contest!
Yesterday was a rough beginning to Christmas week. It had some weirdness and some absurdly comic elements, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let me start at the beginning.....
Early yesterday morning, my 70 year old mother had eye surgery. She was so uncomfortable after the procedure that she was twitching, skaking, and crying. So I showed my ass a little bit and convinced those in charge that it would be best for all concerned (especially them) if my mother was given a shot for her pain.
I finally got Mom home, tucked her into her recliner and started popping Percocets into her mouth. She settled down, and slept comfortably. At least I hope she slept comfortably - I stopped asking her if she was okay every 10 minutes because I figured that if I kept it up, she might decide to kill me.
Then my 18 year old brought home a puppy that he had bought his girlfriend for Christmas. I'm not even going to go into my moral objection to giving living creatures as gifts. Suffice it to say that my child made a decision of questionable morality (in my eyes) and then brought the product of said decision into a house already filled with 2 and 4 legged family members. (Our family motto seems to be, "Anything nobody wants can come and live with us!") Pandemonium ensued.
Next, my 14 year old somehow managed to literally explode the toilet in his brother's bathroom. Momentarily setting aside the question of why the hell he wasn't using his own bathroom, let me just say that the toilet sounded like a cherry bomb going off. It was not a cherry bomb - I took all those away last summer - but some sort of freakish air pocket in the sewage lines. That's right - sewage. I must really be a bad mother. Poor kid came running, "Mama! Help!" The first words out of my mouth were, "For the love of all that's holy - don't touch me!" We worked for hours cleaning up the mess and trying to figure out how to fix the damn toilet. We didn't call the plumber because we made a collective, only briefly spoken, decision - we did not want to explain to a stranger that our house was spawning exploding toilets.
Before I go on I need to point out that I live in a tres tres upscale neighborhood. Houses in this area go from half a million to a million. Dollars, not copeks. This is an important element in explaining the absurdity that followed.
As this latest adventure was winding down, there was a knock at the door. It was a policeman. He had ventured across the threshold of normalcy into the lunatic asylum I call home to inform me that one of my neighbors had made a complaint about my family's "junk cars." I am not making this up: The cars in question are ones that we DRIVE. Not cars up on blocks with transmissions hanging from trees. Cars that we DRIVE. Older cars. Maybe rust spots in places, but fully tagged, insured and DRIVEN.
So, considering the end of the day, and how absolutely pissed off I am that some pretentious idiot living with all flash and no cash thinks our vehicles are unacceptable....I'm taking suggestions for some seriously tacky things I can do in my front yard. I've already considered moving my clothesline out there, but I'm really looking for seriously creative ideas.
Come on....have some holiday spirit and enter the "White Trash Front Yard Contest!"
Send me an email with your idea.
Tags: Dorothy Kernaghan-Baez, AFRA, family rights, twitter, cyber-dissident, tarot cards, psychic, DFACS, Georgia, politics, humor, opthamology, morphine, white trash, puppies, stupidity, junk car, police
Let me start at the beginning.....
Early yesterday morning, my 70 year old mother had eye surgery. She was so uncomfortable after the procedure that she was twitching, skaking, and crying. So I showed my ass a little bit and convinced those in charge that it would be best for all concerned (especially them) if my mother was given a shot for her pain.
I finally got Mom home, tucked her into her recliner and started popping Percocets into her mouth. She settled down, and slept comfortably. At least I hope she slept comfortably - I stopped asking her if she was okay every 10 minutes because I figured that if I kept it up, she might decide to kill me.
Then my 18 year old brought home a puppy that he had bought his girlfriend for Christmas. I'm not even going to go into my moral objection to giving living creatures as gifts. Suffice it to say that my child made a decision of questionable morality (in my eyes) and then brought the product of said decision into a house already filled with 2 and 4 legged family members. (Our family motto seems to be, "Anything nobody wants can come and live with us!") Pandemonium ensued.
Next, my 14 year old somehow managed to literally explode the toilet in his brother's bathroom. Momentarily setting aside the question of why the hell he wasn't using his own bathroom, let me just say that the toilet sounded like a cherry bomb going off. It was not a cherry bomb - I took all those away last summer - but some sort of freakish air pocket in the sewage lines. That's right - sewage. I must really be a bad mother. Poor kid came running, "Mama! Help!" The first words out of my mouth were, "For the love of all that's holy - don't touch me!" We worked for hours cleaning up the mess and trying to figure out how to fix the damn toilet. We didn't call the plumber because we made a collective, only briefly spoken, decision - we did not want to explain to a stranger that our house was spawning exploding toilets.
Before I go on I need to point out that I live in a tres tres upscale neighborhood. Houses in this area go from half a million to a million. Dollars, not copeks. This is an important element in explaining the absurdity that followed.
As this latest adventure was winding down, there was a knock at the door. It was a policeman. He had ventured across the threshold of normalcy into the lunatic asylum I call home to inform me that one of my neighbors had made a complaint about my family's "junk cars." I am not making this up: The cars in question are ones that we DRIVE. Not cars up on blocks with transmissions hanging from trees. Cars that we DRIVE. Older cars. Maybe rust spots in places, but fully tagged, insured and DRIVEN.
So, considering the end of the day, and how absolutely pissed off I am that some pretentious idiot living with all flash and no cash thinks our vehicles are unacceptable....I'm taking suggestions for some seriously tacky things I can do in my front yard. I've already considered moving my clothesline out there, but I'm really looking for seriously creative ideas.
Come on....have some holiday spirit and enter the "White Trash Front Yard Contest!"
Send me an email with your idea.
Tags: Dorothy Kernaghan-Baez, AFRA, family rights, twitter, cyber-dissident, tarot cards, psychic, DFACS, Georgia, politics, humor, opthamology, morphine, white trash, puppies, stupidity, junk car, police
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