Search and Rescue

I'm finding that when it comes to a story about addiction, it really never ends. Just when you think you're about to tell the end of the story, another chapter starts. But I'm getting ahead of myself again.

When I left off last week, my daughter had gotten out of jail and I hadn't heard from her for 2 days. I had to look for her. So my brother and I set off on a search and rescue mission.

I didn't know what I was going to do when I found her, actually. Offer rehab again? And what if she turned it down again? Then what? Drive away? Enable her by giving her a bed and a meal? I honestly didn't know. But I had to go find her.

We knew the stretch of road she hung out on because the day prior, a family friend had seen her and her boyfriend walking along it. I'll keep this part of the story short, and just say that the family friend stopped her and tried to talk to her, but didn't get anywhere, then called my husband and the two of them followed my daughter for a bit to see where her stomping grounds were.

If you're a Sci-fi movie fan, you might call them the probe.

So when I got off work, my brother and I set out along that same stretch of road to try and find her. You know those Family Circle cartoons, where cute little Jeffey is supposed to go bring something back to the neighbor's house and come right back, only instead of going on a straight path next door, and right back, he goes around back and hops on and off the swing, then runs past where he's supposed to go to jump in a mud puddle, then across the street to talk to a friend, then zig-zags back to his yard to play with the dog, and so on, until when he finally goes back to his mother a half hour later, she always asks what took him so long?

Well, it was like that, only instead of cute Jeffey, hopping on swings, jumping in mud puddles, talking to friends, and playing with the dog, it was exhausted and worried me, hopping out of the car to talk to cops, jumping behind dumpsters, questioning the homeless, addicts, and convenience store clerks, and zig-zagging up and down the street and in and out of parking lots and parks trying to find her.

Our first stop was the Wal-mart parking lot, and lo and behold, you really can find everything at Wal-mart, because we spotted my daughter's boyfriend, next to a cop car, filling out a report. He said they'd had a fight and she walked off with a homeless guy who shoots up meth. He showed us a cat scratch on his arm and said my daughter had cut him with his pocket knife, so he was filing a domestic abuse report against her.

The cop doubted the story and said the scratch looked self-inflicted, but said if we find my daughter, to keep her off the streets for 24 hours or they would have to arrest her if they found her, because of the report. Her boyfriend pointed in the direction my daughter had gone with her other addict friend, and we left to try to find her.

After about two hours of searching we were about to call it quits. It's hard to search for someone who doesn't want to be found. We tried waiting until the cop left, and then following her boyfriend because he may have lied about where she was, but after 2 hours, the cop was still with him.

We were tired and discouraged and decided we would have to try this again another night. Before we left the area, my brother decided to stop for cigarettes at a convenience store that we had previously looked behind, but hadn't gone into.

I was waiting in the car, and he came out and motioned me to come inside. It turns out he mentioned to the clerk that we were looking for my daughter and the clerk knew who she was. He said her boyfriend would wait outside while she went in to steal for him. He felt sorry for her and never called the cops on her. We gave him my number and my exe's number and he said he would call if he saw her.

As we were leaving the store, a homeless man who had been sitting on a stool by the door listening, said he knew who she was too. He said sometimes she sleeps behind a nearby church. We drove to the church.

There was a little patio area in the back of the church partially secluded by a wall. As we drove up we saw a backpack leaning against the wall and my brother leaned out the window and called my daughter's name. A man came out and said, "There's no girl here."

My brother backed up a little so we could see a bit more behind the wall and we could see someone sitting there. I got out and walked over and it was my daughter.

I didn't have a speech planned. I had no idea what I was going to say to her. So the first words out of my mouth as I watched her get up from the ground, wearing clothes that were too big for her, was, "What are you doing? Is this what you want to be doing?" Yeah, I know. Brilliant. Real inspirational, right?

Then I hugged her. Then I yelled at the homeless guy to stay the hell away from my daughter and that she's only 18. I was ready for a fight, but he looked confused, hurt, and afraid, to be honest.

As I said, I had no idea what I was going to do once I found her. I just wanted to get her out of there. I said, "C'mon we're going to your dad's. Get in the car."

The homeless guy added his two cents and said she should go with us because "They've got your back." I later learned his name and that he's diabetic, homeless, and shoots up meth.

My daughter didn't argue. She said okay, and got in the car.

Her father lived just a few blocks away so we headed over there. We called a friend of hers that she's known for a long time to come over, and her brother and sister came over too. First, she sat outside and talked alone to her friend, then to her sister.

While they talked, her dad, step-mom, and I were inside, trying to figure out the best thing to do. We had her away from her boyfriend, which was a plus. We wanted to get her into treatment right away, but we didn't want to scare her off either.

We went outside and started talking about rehab, asking if she's ready for help, ready to change her life and get off the streets, and she said yes. I was waiting for the "but..." but there wasn't one this time. No person she had to find, no boyfriend goodbyes, she said she was ready.

We called the treatment center, but because it was late, the number forwarded to a cell phone and we left a message. While we waited for a call back,  the whole group of us sat around my exe's kitchen table and just talked. We talked about funny things the kids did when they were little and funny things they remembered.

Then my daughter told us that she tried to break up with her boyfriend earlier that night and he had put a knife to her back and threatened to kill her if she left him. When that didn't work, he cut himself and called the cops to file the report against her. Shortly after that was when my brother and I happened along. After the incident, she went and hid behind the church and was there the whole time we were searching, just blocks away from her.

By 11:00, the treatment center still hadn't called back, so we decided my daughter would stay the night at her dad's, and my son and daughter would stay there too. Then we would all drive to the treatment center in the morning.

It so happened that my older daughter had some bags of clothes in the truck of her car that she was supposed to drop off at Goodwill. My daughter could pack some of them to bring with her, since she didn't have anything but the clothes on her back. Any clothes she had previously at her dad's or at my house, had been in her car, which had been towed a few weeks prior, so she had nothing.

I ran to Wal-Mart to get her some shoes, underwear, and a few toiletries. When I got back to her dad's, she had showered and was sitting in the bed next to her sister, who was laying there watching TV. It reminded me of when they were little and I would go in and read a story to them before bed. I hugged and kissed both my girls and said a silent prayer of thanks that for that moment, all my kids were under one roof and were safe.

The next morning at 5:30, a counselor from the treatment center called and apologized for not returning our call earlier. The calls were forwarded to his cell phone, but he had fallen asleep and just didn't hear his phone. I told him the situation and said we would be there when they opened at 8AM. It was the same person who had talked to us the week prior, when my daughter and I had toured the place. He knew he needed to have everything lined up as quickly as possible so she wouldn't have a chance to change her mind. Also, she needed to get into detox before withdrawals set in and her addiction started to do the thinking for her.

I texted her dad at about 7:00 AM and asked how she was. He texted back "She's cranky." Uh-oh. I headed over there.

She was cranky. She was looking for excuses not to go. There's a part to the story I left out. The day before our search and rescue, a woman came to our house and dropped off my daughter's purse. She said she had found it on the sidewalk and looked on the ID to see who it belonged to and since there was no phone number anywhere, just the address on the ID, she just brought it over.

The time that she brought it over was about the time my ex and our family friend were tailing my daughter, so we knew there wasn't foul play. Our daughter hadn't been kidnapped and dropped her purse, she was alive and being followed. We later learned that the homeless guy shot my daughter with Meth and she had a bad trip and dropped her purse on the sidewalk and went running into the park. The woman had found the purse a short time after that.

Back to my cranky daughter. She asked me if I remembered to bring her purse. I hadn't. I didn't bring it on purpose because I thought if she didn't have it, it might deter her from leaving rehab again. She insisted on getting it before going to rehab. I told her no, we would bring it later. She was edgy and irritable and said if she didn't have her purse, she wasn't going. She walked out the door and began walking away down the street.

Her sister stopped her and said she would run to my house and get the purse and meet us at rehab. My daughter didn't like that idea, but her sister talked her into it. (We knew there weren't drugs in the purse, because we had already searched it) Before anything else could possibly come up that would make her change her mind, we piled in our cars and headed to the treatment center.

She calmed down a little when we got there. It took a while to get all checked in. There was paperwork, then waiting, then a detox nurse, then more waiting, then insurance phone calls, and financial paperwork, and more waiting. It seems most people make an appointment to go to rehab, I guess. I would have thought they would be a little more prepared for the unexpected, but they were doing the best they could, squeezing us between appointments and things.

Through the whole process, our daughter was very positive. At one point, she said she was excited at the prospect of making new friends, and getting back on track in her life. Finally, about noon, it was time for us to leave and her to get checked into the house where she would be staying.

I can't begin to tell you how I felt driving away. Relief, euphoria, trepidation, fear, hope, gratitude - just about every emotion was present and accounted for.

I kept thinking about the events that got us there. About how if any one thing that happened that night had happened differently, or not at all, we wouldn't be there.

If my brother hadn't wanted to stop for cigarettes, we never would have went into that convenience store. If he hadn't of thought to say something to the clerk, the homeless guy wouldn't have overheard and directed us to the church. What if we had stopped there two hours earlier, when our search had started, and the homeless guy wasn't in there then to hear us?

We would never have known to look behind the church if he hadn't said something. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have found her that night. What would have happened when the cop had left, and her boyfriend, who had just threatened to kill her, had come looking for her? What if he found her before we did?

I truly believe there was divine intervention that night. There were just too many what-ifs, and too many coincidences. I said another prayer of thanks as I drove on to work that day. I prayed again for all the addicts out there and for their families. I prayed for that homeless man that helped us find our daughter.

A few days later, we went back and thanked him and gave him some money. I know his name now, so I can pray for him by name.

I also realized that before I started looking for a person on the street, I didn't really see all the people on the street. There are so many homeless, aimless people out there. Some are addicts, some aren't. But you don't really see them until you look for them.

So, my daughter went to rehab. This is part four of my story, but as I said in the beginning, when you think the story is over, another chapter is written.

I wish I could have written each part right after it happened, but there just wasn't time. I'll try to get you caught up so I can be in real-time, instead of past tense. Not that there's many of you reading - actually, just 3 I believe (Hi Kim and Kelly and hubby!) But nevertheless, just know, the next chapter is coming soon...

(Here are the links to part 1, part 2, and part 3 if you're interested) Tweet

Jail

I got the call from my ex at about midnight. A police officer had called him and said he found my daughter behind a convenience store, drinking with a bum. No, not a bum as in "Lose him, he's a bum," but an actual homeless man bum. (Is that politically incorrect to call homeless men bums? Maybe. But any guy who would hide behind a convenience store and offer alcohol to a young girl in the middle of the night is a bum - and worse.)

The officer said that since she's 18 he was arresting her for underage drinking and wanted to let us know because she looked so young and he could see she didn't belong there.

So our daughter went to jail that night.

I got a call from her at 4 in the morning. She didn't sound terribly sad or sorry. Just tired. I asked her if jail was where she really wanted to be right then and reminded her that this was the consequences of her choices and it didn't have to be like this. I feel like what she hears is "Blah, blah, blah, blah..."

It was a short call.

The next morning I called the jail to see when her hearing was because I thought that maybe her dad and I could show up at the hearing and ask the judge to order her to rehab. Then she would have to go and it would be mandated for 30 days. If it was the only way to get her off the streets and clear her head of the drugs and keep her safe, then so be it.

While I sat on hold, for some reason I expected hold music. Something like "Bad Boys", or "I shot the Sheriff," or maybe "Smuggler's Blues." But I suppose they don't have a sense of humor like that. Or a budget for hold music. Or to pay a person to decide what hold music to have.

My idea of court mandated rehab was not to be. They had already ordered her release on OR. This is "Own Recognizance" for those of you unfamiliar with jail terms. I'm not sure what it means really. She said she was sorry I suppose. Honestly, I was hoping for a longer stay. I was hoping a few days of having no freedoms at all and having to poop in front of strangers might make her think about the direction her life is going and maybe it's time for a change.

After they order the release, it's anywhere from 12 to 24 hours before they actually let her go, so she still had a short stay in a cell. She called me that afternoon and there was a very different tone to the call. I guess she didn't know how short her stay was going to be. They had given her an orange jumper and soap and toothbrush and it was beginning to sink in that she was in jail.

She was crying and she said she didn't like it there and didn't want to be there. She said she knew she needed to get clean. I told her we could pick her up when she was released and we could take her straight to rehab when she got out. She said no, she could get clean on her own and didn't need rehab. She said she needed to find her boyfriend/ex-boyfriend and make sure he was okay. Always a reason or an excuse not to get help.

She was released not long after that call. I don't know how she got from downtown where the jail is to back up to her old stomping grounds where her and her boyfriend hung out, but she did somehow.

Two days went by and I didn't hear from her. I knew her situation was worse than ever. I knew her boyfriend was trouble, but if she was with him, it was less likely other guys would bother her. The thought of her alone out on the streets just fending for herself amongst junkies and thugs was terrifying.

After two days, I couldn't stand it anymore and my brother and I went looking for her. Stay tuned for my next post to see what happened. If you want to catch up on this story read part 1 and part 2.

I continue to pray for every addicted child and their family. Tweet

Disappointed...again.

I'm sorry I used the word dick-head in my last post. My husband said it was "raunchy". It was just the first word that came to mind and I didn't feel like censoring. One of the rules (are they rules? no, more like tenets, I think) of recovery is honesty and I'm embracing that right now. So if I feel like saying dick-head, I'm just going to say it.

But, once again, I'm getting ahead of myself. This is part 2 of the story I started yesterday about my daughter.

After she called to say she wasn't going to rehab, we had no choice but to continue as usual. No enabling, which means no offer of a shower or a bed or food, and a lot of worrying, stressing, and crying. I didn't hear from her again for 4 days.

I was at work when I got the call. It was a police officer and he said he found her and her boyfriend sleeping in a vacant house. He had brought her to my house, where she was outside talking to her brother. I headed home.

My daughter is a small girl and has always looked younger than her age. At almost 19, she still looks about 14. This is what tugged at the officer's heartstrings and prompted him to call instead of arresting her for trespassing or letting her just walk away back onto the street. She reminded him of his 14 year old daughter.

The officer and I spoke for a bit. He said there were 2 other men staying in the house. They were bad guys with bad records that would wind up in prison, he had no doubt. Apparently, my daughter had broken up with her boyfriend (which she's done several times in the 6 months they've been together) and one of the other men was trying to convince her to go with him. The officer, bless his heart, couldn't stand to leave her there and risk her going from the frying pan to the fire, so brought her home.

His intention was that if she came home and got cleaned up and spent time with her family, that she'd realize how much better life could be than being out on the streets. But I don't think he realized that addiction overrides comfort. If I let my daughter stay and shower and refuel, it would only be a matter of hours before she'd leave in search of her boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, and/or her drug.

I have to say though, that I'm grateful for all the officers out there that truly do care. They see so much suffering and sadness and stupidity it's a wonder they aren't all jaded and cynical. But there are many who are still tenderhearted and care and go out of their way to try to help.

He talked a bit more to my daughter to try to reach her heart, and he did for a moment. She cried and admitted she needed help. I asked her if she would go with me to a treatment center to just check it out and see what it was like. I'd asked her this question before, and the answer was always no. But this time, she agreed. It wasn't exactly a commitment to treatment, but it was a start.

When we arrived, we talked to an intake specialist who was the perfect combination of compassion and directness. A recovering addict himself, he tried to encourage my daughter to commit to treatment on the spot, but the best she would do was to say that she would come back. She did fill out intake paperwork though, which surprised me.

We toured the center and she was quiet, but positive. When we were done, the specialist and I tried to convince her again to commit to treatment, but she said she had to go back to the area where the officer picked her up because "people" (a.k.a. other users) saw her driving away in a cop car, without handcuffs, and talking to an officer, so if she disappeared for a while, they would think she's a snitch. And bad things happen to snitches.

Of course, that was more paranoia and excuses than anything else. Maybe on the streets there's some truth to that, but I doubt any users that saw her would even remember it after their next high, so it likely wasn't a real issue.

But, once again, she couldn't be persuaded to go to treatment right then. She said she would call me later that night. She did, but still wasn't ready to go. I was disappointed, but still felt like although it wasn't a triumph, it was a small step forward. Maybe enough small steps would eventually get her there.

I next heard from her 3 days later, from jail. That's part 3 of my story. I promise to post it tomorrow. Tweet

Disappointment

It's been a month since my last post. Wow. I'm so sorry, my little blogging community, that I'm not more consistent. It's just that I get depressed and overwhelmed, and I feel so spent by the end of my workday that I just can't sit in front of my computer and type when I get home.

And to add another reason not to blog, it's been getting warmer here and my office is upstairs and at 5:30 in the afternoon, when I get home from work, even with the air conditioner on, it's just so friggin hot in my office. Oh, and my hot flashes that like to come and go without notice are back, so that's double the sweaty fun.

But I have to blog today, because I have a story to tell you. It's a bit long, so I'm telling it in two three four parts. Yes, I promise to have part 2 posted tomorrow and part 3 on Monday and part 4 on Tuesday. Really. I will.

This story took place over the last 2 weeks and it's about my daughter who we're trying to get into treatment for her drug addiction. As you know, the last time didn't go so well.

Two weeks ago, while I'm in the dressing room at the mall with my mom (new post coming about my revised view of "mom jeans" by the way), my ex-husband (a.k.a. dad) calls and says my daughter and her boyfriend (also an addict) showed up at his house and asked to stay and just sleep for a while.

Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself. They were homeless (my daughter and her boyfriend, not my ex). He lost his job because he no-called, no-showed too many times and they wore out their welcome on other addict's couches (because believe it or not, even addicts don't like other addicts sleeping on their couch) and her car which they were living in, had been towed. So they had the clothes on their backs and whatever she could fit in her purse.

So there they were, on my exes front porch. I left the mall and headed over. By the time I got there, police had been called because my ex was trying to hold my daughter there-literally-and the boyfriend didn't like it and started causing a ruckus.

So the cops, her dad, her step-mom, myself, and her brother, all try to convince my daughter that it's time to stop this craziness and get help. We told her boyfriend the same thing. He needed help too and the officers gave him a card with places he could go to get help. Her boyfriend is a dick-head, but he's a dick-head with the disease of addiction and I'm not without compassion for him, even though I'm angry at him because of the way my daughter's life has spiraled downward so fast since she met him.

I watched my exhausted daughter agree with all of us that she needed help and tell us that she would get help only if  her boyfriend agreed. I realized then what a sick hold he had on her and how much control she had lost over her life. He was her connection to her drug and so controlled her almost as much as her addiction did.

The cops could see it too. One of the cops took boyfriend outside while the other tried to talk to our daughter with us. We tried to tell her he didn't care about her and if he did, he would let her go get the help she needs. We told my daughter to ask him straight out if he would let her go to rehab and see what his answer was. If he cared, he would let her get off the streets and get help.

So we all traipse outside so she can ask him. She looked him straight in the eyes and she asked in a pleading voice that broke my heart if he would let her go get help. And that little mother-effer said, "You don't need rehab, you can get clean on your own."

Bzzzzzzzzzzz. Wrong answer dick-head. But my daughter didn't see it. She said she needed to talk to him alone.

We couldn't hold her there. The cops couldn't make her go. They couldn't haul boyfriend's sorry ass away because he hadn't committed a crime. Our daughter said she would talk to dick-head and get him to agree to rehab and she'd be ready to go to rehab the next day. She said she just needed to talk to him alone.

And so we had to watch our homeless daughter walk away. With a dick-head.

By now, you've probably figured out how this story ends. Because addicts are a predictable lot, not known for keeping their word.

My daughter had said she'd call us the next day by 10 AM and we could take her to rehab. She called at noon. She was high, talking very fast and angrily. She wasn't going to rehab. She couldn't leave dick-head alone on the streets because people were after him. There was no reasoning with her.

She slipped out of our grasp again.

Do you want to know how a parent sleeps knowing their child is out on the streets, homeless, and entrusting her life to a dick-head? They don't. They worry and they cry and they try to enjoy a thing or two here and there, but they're never truly happy because they hurt for their child and for themselves and for their family and for what is no more.

I truly pray everyday for every addict out there, including dick-head, and for every parent of an addict.

Please come back and read part 2, part 3, and part 4 of my story. It gets better. Tweet

Sunday Snippets

This really was meant to be a "Friday Fragments" post, but since I'm both a procrastinator and much to tired to come home from work and blog, it's now a "Sunday Snippets" post. You know, just snippets and fragments that, when strung together, just might qualify for a blog post. Maybe.

Snippet #1: I went shopping yesterday at Kohl's in hopes of finding some springy tops to resurrect my winter pants. Out of about 10 tops I tried on, I found only one. One. Quite disappointing. It was a cute one though:

Right? And might I just add here, that whatever Blogger did to it's "insert image" function, SUCKS!! This wasn't uploaded sideways, but no matter what I did, it would only insert sideways! Also, Giggity.

ANYhoo, I just found the one top. In my rejection of all the other tops, I realized something. You know all those cartoons and jokes about gravity affecting women's bodies, and that things hang that didn't hang before, yada, yada? They. are all. true.

Looking in the dressing room mirror, I could have sworn I shrunk 2 inches. My butt sagged, my arms looked way fatter than I remember (and it hasn't been THAT long since I've been in a dressing room. Maybe a couple months), and I had a camel toe, even though my jeans weren't tight in the least. Which tells me even my vagina is now sagging. Just. Perfect.

I looked like an Oompa-loompa.

And it didn't help my already jangled-due--to-an-unpleasant-dose-of-reality nerves that my cousin (whom I love dearly and whom I asked to go with me shopping, but who couldn't because she was going to take a nap), kept texting, asking me to send her pictures of Jennifer Lopez's line.

Yeah, right? The nerve! While she's napping at home, I'm stuck in the Kohl's dressing room, all by myself, staring at the reflection of an Oompa-loompa and forced to deal with the trauma of realizing all those things Maxine says are true! Like this:

And this:

But instead of saying "Hell-to-the-no, Be-atch, get outa bed and get your ass over here and tell me I don't look as bad as the dressing room mirror says I do," I took pictures of JLo's cute tops and sent them and informed my cousin that yes, JLo's flowy pants are really cute, but they had no size 14's, and no, I didn't see any JLo platform shoes.

But at least I got to end my shopping with a glass of wine at Mimi's with my sister, who texted me after she woke up from a nap to see if I wanted to go to Mimi's with her so she could get away from her husband and step-kids for awhile. What the hell is up with everyone taking naps??

Snippet #2 and yes, I promise it won't be as long as snippet #1: Hubby and I are going to Zion next weekend on a little 3-day getaway, just the two of us. We haven't went away together in a while and with all the stress from my daughter, and just life, we're really looking forward to it.

Attention internet weirdos looking for houses to break into: No, our house will not be empty while we're gone!! We have kids in their 20's that still live at home, and my daughter has already asked me if she can have "a few people over." Translation: Can I have a house party and let everyone crash for the night so they don't have to drive home. So, not only will our house not be empty, but there's likely to be more people there than I care to think about at the moment. Now back to my blog post:

Room rates for the town of Springdale, right outside of Zion, start at $130 a night, which really was more than I thought. I was a bit disappointed. I even came up with the idea of pitching a tent in one of the campgrounds, just to sleep in, to save money on the room. Yes, I really did. I like camping, so it wasn't a bad idea to me, and surprisingly, hubby even agreed. This is the same hubby that told me once, after I told him that I could just pitch a tent on the beach in Hawaii and live there, perfectly happily, that I should make sure the tent is close enough to the hotel he would be staying in so that he could wave goodnight to me from his room. So I was quite surprised he agreed to this idea..

In the end, we decided to go ahead and spring for a room because we really did need a stress relieving getaway and having to traipse across a campground to the bathroom in the middle of the night wasn't really very stress-reducing. So, we found rooms for about $108 a night at the Bumbleberry Inn. No, I have no idea was a bumbleberry is, but I'll find out and let you know.

Snippet #3: The boy (that's my son), who has been going to cooking school for the past several months, got a job as a cook at a local bar and grill. We're very happy for him, because it's a start in the field he wants to be in, and it's a job after having been unemployed for close to a year.

Snippet #4: I'm also very proud of my older daughter, the dancer, for not letting anything get in the way of her goals. She continues to pursue her dancing and her associates degree, while holding down a job, and plans to get her own apartment, with a friend in the coming months. Which would be great because then she can have her "few people over" at her house.

Snippet #5: I'm still hoping and praying for my youngest child, my creative one, that she'll have a moment of clarity in her addiction and realize she needs to get help, and get it.

Snippet #6: I almost made the fatal mistake of confusing Star Wars with Star Trek while at work. This may seem like no big deal, but I work with computer geeks. And Star Wars and Star Trek are like the old and new testament to them. Seriously. I tweet to our work twitter account, and someone had tweeted that Spock was celebrating his 81st birthday. So I was about to tweet that at 81, he would  need the force to be with him to blow out all those candles.

Fortunately, I realized my faux pas before I sent it. In case you aren't a geek, the force was a Star Wars thing and Spock was from Star Trek. Anyway, I ended up saying that I hope Spock lived long and prospered, which, my husband informed me later, was lame.

Snippett #7: I bought some new spanx, and would like to say something to all spanx-makers everywhere:

BE PART OF THE SOLUTION, NOT PART OF THE PROBLEM!

By this I mean, if you make a product that is supposed to hold in a woman's gut and diminish her fat rolls, but said product simply rolls down to the waist, adding to the woman's already existing rolls, THAN YOU ARE NOT SOLVING THE PROBLEM, YOU ARE ADDING ANOTHER ROLL, WHICH IS ADDING TO THE PROBLEM! Not too mention making for a very uncomfortable workday as I constantly tried to unroll my spanx from my waistband. Oh, and then I remembered the security cameras. Perfect.

Oompa-loompa here, signing out.

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