We rocked NYC, until it rocked me...
It all started with a drunken phone call from Schmat. "Wanna go to NYC for my 35th to see Book of Mormon". "Sure", I replied. I love it when others plan my social life. Julie McCoy does it all the time for me. She makes lists and google docs with things to do/see/eat. Schmat plans my getaways. 6 years ago she planned a 3 week excursion for us to England, Ireland, and Scotland. 8 years ago it was London and Paris. She has never failed me, so I said yes. I had no idea what the Book of Mormon was, but I was game. Soon after that, as word got out that I was heading to NYC to see the show, people started telling me how jealous they were of me. "Do you know how hard it is to get tickets to that show? How did you do it?" Easy...Schmat did it for me. Then, it won 9 Tony Awards. Yup, I was gonna go to NYC to see Tony Award winning show! "What's it like to want, suckers!" I thought to myself.
We timed it perfectly. Schmat got into JFK 30 minutes before me and met me as I got off the plane. We took a death defying cab ride to our hotel, The Hudson, in midtown. The ride was totally worth it, as the hotel was amazing! Incredible bars and lounging areas...not to mention central air conditioning, which was essential on this 90 degree humid day. From there, we were off to Julie McCoy's favorite restaurant for lunch. We were the coolest people there because I ordered the quattro panini, which isn't even on the menu anymore. We also drank proseco, which was delicious on this steamy day. We wandered a bit, ate gelato in Central Park (Schmat picked pistachio because she was attracted to the color, I had the usual chocolate) and headed back to the hotel to rest, clean up, and get ready for dinner.
After much contemplation, we decided to walk to dinner. Thankfully, there was a street fair of some sort on Broadway that broke up the walk a bit. I secretly love street fairs. They are so dirty and a rip off, but there is something so appealing about them. Schmat and I each bought a David Yurman knockoff ring and were quite satisfied with our purchases. We ate our prix fix dinner and had plenty of time to wander a bit more before going to the show.
Then, it happened. We saw Book of Mormon. For those of you who don't know what it is, look it up. It is only the funniest thing I've seen thus far in my life. How can you not love a musical with lyrics such as "F U God" about a missionary who dreams to be sent to the majestic Orlando, FLA!?! And here's the cherry on the top of this amazing evening....wait for it....Oprah and Gayle were in the audience. Yup. Oprah Winfrey and her non sexual life partner, Gayle King were in the same room as us. Don't hate! Since all good things come in threes, I ran into Christopher Noth as we were trying to get away from the crowds of the theater. Yes, ladies, Mr. Big is as beautiful in person as he is on t.v.
Oh, and I almost forgot. Because we are crazy and adventurous, Schmat and I decided to go to the nightclub in our hotel after the show for just one drink. After we ordered our first drink, we looked at each other and realized just how out of place we were. One drink. Then we could go to bed and say that we were fancy ladies in NYC who went to a Broadway show and sipped cocktails and a nightclub afterward. Three hours and many drinks later, we were still there. We took control of the bar and became gatekeepers for those looking to get closer to the bartenders. We realize now that being the gatekeepers was probably a huge faux pax, but we didn't care. We were superstars!
The next day proved to be equally as lovely as the last. Leisurely brunch, a stroll through the neighborhood, and magazine reading time in the outdoor space of our hotel. Incredible. Schmat had to head to the airport in the mid afternoon while I headed to Brooklyn to visit a friend for a few hours. Like a fancy person from Park Slope, I had to call a car service to get a ride to JFK. On the way to the airport, I couldn't help but think what an amazing weekend Schmat and I had in NYC. It was truly perfect...until it wasn't.
The next 12 hours were a bit of a blur to me. I spent most of them in the bathroom at JFK, the bathroom on the airplane, the bathroom at Logan, and then my own bathroom. I don't know what hit me, but whatever it was, it was miserable. It sucked. I can't imagine anything worse. Ok, maybe I can imagine worse things, but at the time, it felt like NYC was giving me the finger.
Schmat and I had rocked NYC, and then in rocked me in return!
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
The End of an Era
Today is officially my man's last day in the sandwich biz. I really can't believe it. 12 years is a LONG time. I think restaurant years are like dog years, or at least they sure feel that way. To celebrate, Bot 1 and I headed to the store to get a suitable balloon and card. (We affectionately refer to the kids as "The Bots" because of a Beastie Boys song that Bot 1 loves.)
Anyways, I hate card shopping. I struggle to find something I like every time. Luckily, there was a great assortment of stickers right next to the cards. I should add here that we were hoping to find a SpongeBob themed card and/or balloon because my man loves watching the show with Bot 1. I also thought it would be fitting to have Mr. Krabbs, a Sandwich King in his own right, on the card.
Once we spotted the stickers we knew just what to do. We bought a yellow, smiley face balloon and a cool enough card that we then doctored in the car with kick ass stickers. The result was better than we had hoped. To add to our great luck, we went to buy some scratch tickets for the card. I hardly ever buy scratch tickets, but I had a feeling one would be a winner. I picked out one and let Bot 1 pick out the other. When she was choosing, she hit the first button twice so we got two of mine. I told her that it was all fate, and that maybe she picked the winning card. Well, sure enough he just scratched the tickets and won on both! $100 on one and $10 on the other. I knew it!! A sign of good things to come I hope.
Once Bot 2 starts sleeping through the night and we find a babysitter, we will go out sans Bots to celebrate an incredible journey properly. I am very proud of my man and the place he helped build. Cheers and here's to the future!!
Anyways, I hate card shopping. I struggle to find something I like every time. Luckily, there was a great assortment of stickers right next to the cards. I should add here that we were hoping to find a SpongeBob themed card and/or balloon because my man loves watching the show with Bot 1. I also thought it would be fitting to have Mr. Krabbs, a Sandwich King in his own right, on the card.
Once we spotted the stickers we knew just what to do. We bought a yellow, smiley face balloon and a cool enough card that we then doctored in the car with kick ass stickers. The result was better than we had hoped. To add to our great luck, we went to buy some scratch tickets for the card. I hardly ever buy scratch tickets, but I had a feeling one would be a winner. I picked out one and let Bot 1 pick out the other. When she was choosing, she hit the first button twice so we got two of mine. I told her that it was all fate, and that maybe she picked the winning card. Well, sure enough he just scratched the tickets and won on both! $100 on one and $10 on the other. I knew it!! A sign of good things to come I hope.
Once Bot 2 starts sleeping through the night and we find a babysitter, we will go out sans Bots to celebrate an incredible journey properly. I am very proud of my man and the place he helped build. Cheers and here's to the future!!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
conversation with a nephew
I was over at my parents' house for dinner. For some reason, we were talking about people getting dumped. I am not making this up. And remember, Nephew is 5 years old (although he'd be sure to remind you he's turning 6 in August. Then he'd probably make a fart noise.)
Nephew: What does 'dumped' mean?
Me: Well, if you're dating a girl, and you decide for some reason you don't want to date her anymore, you dump her.
Nephew: Oh! I would never dump anyone!
Me: But, she might turn out to be crazy or something...
Nephew: That's okay. I might be a little crazy, too.
Me: Or, the girl could dump you, ya know.
Nephew: Well, then I'd just find another girlfriend.
Mom: That's true. He does like a lot of girls.
Nephew: I like every girl I see!
Mom: Especially Inez.
Nephew: [wistfully, leaning his back and head against the door frame] Oh Inez. She makes me melt like ice in the sun.
*End Scene*
Note: He is allegedly already engaged to Inez. He asked if they could get married, she said she'd marry him for gum. So he sent a stick of gum in the mail to her (with the help of grandma). Later on that day he proposed marriage to me as well. Homeboy is shaping up to be quite a player.
Nephew: What does 'dumped' mean?
Me: Well, if you're dating a girl, and you decide for some reason you don't want to date her anymore, you dump her.
Nephew: Oh! I would never dump anyone!
Me: But, she might turn out to be crazy or something...
Nephew: That's okay. I might be a little crazy, too.
Me: Or, the girl could dump you, ya know.
Nephew: Well, then I'd just find another girlfriend.
Mom: That's true. He does like a lot of girls.
Nephew: I like every girl I see!
Mom: Especially Inez.
Nephew: [wistfully, leaning his back and head against the door frame] Oh Inez. She makes me melt like ice in the sun.
*End Scene*
Note: He is allegedly already engaged to Inez. He asked if they could get married, she said she'd marry him for gum. So he sent a stick of gum in the mail to her (with the help of grandma). Later on that day he proposed marriage to me as well. Homeboy is shaping up to be quite a player.
Fashion Future
I am scared. Terrified, actually. Yup, I am afraid of my fashion future. And here's why. I am a social worker. A mental health professional. A member of a field that is known for its peace, love, and happiness approach to life and fashion. When I was studying to become a social worker, I had a stereotypical image of social workers in my mind. You know...flowing skirts and over-sized shirts, tie-dyed attire, etc. When I joined the profession, I worked with young, hip, middle classed women with long brown hair with Longchamp bags their mothers bought them for their birthdays and Tori Burch shoes they purchased at Nordstroms. While I wasn't proud of my wardrobe that was completely supplied by Marshalls and Target, I sighed of relief thinking that social workers didn't really dress as poorly as I thought.
Then, I came to the Cape this week to take a class. Not a bad gig. 8:30-12:15 M-F, good snacks, continuing education credits, time with other mental health professionals from around the country, and time enough left in the day to get to the beach and cook out. The only problem is that I've had difficulty focusing on the topic at hand (executive functions) because I've been distracted by the hideous fashion that has surrounded me. My fear of becoming a fashion "don't" as I continue in the field has returned. Here's why.
First, there's a woman I've named Cat Lady. While she does seem like a woman who has a dozen cats and no friends, I call her Cat Lady because 3 days this week she wore three dimensional cat socks along with her black sneakers, over sized pocket less jeans, and various amazing (and you know what I mean by amazing) tops. The scariest top was worn today. A black sweatshirt with shoulder pads. Yup, you read it right. Shoulder pads. The collar, shoulders, and 3/4 of the sleeves were covered in gingham plaid, while legs and red shoes that were bedazzled made up the rest of the core of the sweatshirt. The back said, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home". Incredible.
Then, there's Crunchy. You know the type. Shorts that are too short and tight, hideous orthopedic sandals, and a funky t-shirt with some Native American representations. I wasn't as distracted by her attire as I was by the pale skin she displayed with the only hint of color coming from her varicose veins.
Oh, and Florida Fashion Plate is also a winner. Today, she had on a leopard print jacket, black clam diggers, gold strappy sandals, and too much gold jewelery which was only outdone by her perfectly highlighted helmet of hair.
Of course, there was also My Favorite Repeat (wore the same thing every day in different colors), Christy McNichol (head to toe in different color denims), and Token. Token is every man at a mental health conference. There are only a few. Usually, they are the speaker. Sometimes, there are a few in the crowd. Wherever they are, these men are usually Fraud-like psychiatrists with white beards and mustaches, receding hairlines, short sleeved Sipowitz shirts, khaki shorts, skinny hairless legs, and Birkenstocks.
So, can you blame me for being anxious about my own fashion future? In a room of 45, I couldn't identify one social worker who had any sense of style. What's worse is wondering...what if I, too, am a horrible dresser? Am I in denial? Is it because of my childhood? Should I blame my mother? Good thing I have one more day with these mental health professionals, as they might be able to help me work through these issues.
Then, I came to the Cape this week to take a class. Not a bad gig. 8:30-12:15 M-F, good snacks, continuing education credits, time with other mental health professionals from around the country, and time enough left in the day to get to the beach and cook out. The only problem is that I've had difficulty focusing on the topic at hand (executive functions) because I've been distracted by the hideous fashion that has surrounded me. My fear of becoming a fashion "don't" as I continue in the field has returned. Here's why.
First, there's a woman I've named Cat Lady. While she does seem like a woman who has a dozen cats and no friends, I call her Cat Lady because 3 days this week she wore three dimensional cat socks along with her black sneakers, over sized pocket less jeans, and various amazing (and you know what I mean by amazing) tops. The scariest top was worn today. A black sweatshirt with shoulder pads. Yup, you read it right. Shoulder pads. The collar, shoulders, and 3/4 of the sleeves were covered in gingham plaid, while legs and red shoes that were bedazzled made up the rest of the core of the sweatshirt. The back said, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home". Incredible.
Then, there's Crunchy. You know the type. Shorts that are too short and tight, hideous orthopedic sandals, and a funky t-shirt with some Native American representations. I wasn't as distracted by her attire as I was by the pale skin she displayed with the only hint of color coming from her varicose veins.
Oh, and Florida Fashion Plate is also a winner. Today, she had on a leopard print jacket, black clam diggers, gold strappy sandals, and too much gold jewelery which was only outdone by her perfectly highlighted helmet of hair.
Of course, there was also My Favorite Repeat (wore the same thing every day in different colors), Christy McNichol (head to toe in different color denims), and Token. Token is every man at a mental health conference. There are only a few. Usually, they are the speaker. Sometimes, there are a few in the crowd. Wherever they are, these men are usually Fraud-like psychiatrists with white beards and mustaches, receding hairlines, short sleeved Sipowitz shirts, khaki shorts, skinny hairless legs, and Birkenstocks.
So, can you blame me for being anxious about my own fashion future? In a room of 45, I couldn't identify one social worker who had any sense of style. What's worse is wondering...what if I, too, am a horrible dresser? Am I in denial? Is it because of my childhood? Should I blame my mother? Good thing I have one more day with these mental health professionals, as they might be able to help me work through these issues.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Illustrious Narrative?
I have an amazing food story to tell, but figured I'd take advantage of our new agreement to tell you about my day. The craziest part of my day was that this stuff is becoming normal.
9:26am Finally make it out the door of my apartment and to the car. My first appointment wasn't scheduled until 10am, so I slept in a little as I was out to a wonderful dinner the night before (that's the amazing food story). I'm sure this is a grey area, as far as not really starting my work day until 9:26, but I figured that since I rarely take my union mandated 15 minute breaks (2 per day) and my hour lunch, whomever wants to kiss my ass regarding this is welcome to do so. I had left all my files in the car, so I took a few minutes to organize them and plan my morning. It's also a grey area to leave a whole lot of confidential files in my car, but I'm kind of sick of schlepping them up to the 3rd floor at night only to schlep that back down 12 hours later.
9:30am I call a phone number and am surprised that the person I am looking for actually answers the phone. This is rare. I make an appointment to meet this person on their lunch break from their job at the dry cleaners.
10:00am My first appointment, which I am not looking forward to at all. I have already visited this house about 4 times, spent about 2 hours sitting outside the house stake-out style, and had two angry phone calls with the home's occupant. Also, instead of a regular answering machine beep, her celly has a man's voice saying "hello". She has received several messages from me saying, "Hello? Is Leona there? Hello?" That's on her though, because how was I supposed to know?
Leona, name changed to protect confidentiality, is not yet 30 and has 8 kids and one who died as an infant. Most of them were taken away because she used to beat them up, and now she doesn't want to talk to me because it's not her fault I'm knocking on her door. Which is true. Her stepdad's girlfriend, we'll call her Madea, took one of her daughters to the fireworks on 4th of July, got trashed, and passed out at the bus stop. The two were found by police and taken to the ER at 1am. So now I have to investigate why this kid was with this drunk lady. I believe that Leona didn't know that Madea was a complete alcoholic. Madea, whom I interviewed at the hospital, insisted she only had one shot of tequila. "But how come your BAC was 0.24?", I ask. She doesn't know. Later I find out that she visits the ER for alcohol poisoning a couple times a year and her own kids were taken away because they set the house on fire when she was passed out on the couch. The fire fighters woke her up after they extinguished the flames.
Leona's house is a complete dump, but better than some I've seen. 4 of the kids live with her. They have food and she doesn't beat them up anymore because she's following the suggestions given in her mandated parenting class. I get to ask more questions than I thought I would. I hope I never have to see her again, mostly because she's kind of moody, but also because I hope she really has changed.
10:32am I head over to Joseph Avenue. Back in the day, it was the Polish section of Rochester and fake mom's grandmother lived on that street. Now it is one of the worst neighborhoods. I drove by the house I was visiting the day prior, but it totally looked like an abandoned warehouse. I didn't stop, because my line of thinking was, "I don't want to be murdered there and miss my dinner reservation." But I had to go back today, because allegedly a biodad of a kid lives there. We have this stupid policy that we have to locate and try to contact all the bio parents of kids in the home that's the focus of the investigation, even if the bio parents don't ever see their kids. It takes up a lot of time.
I knock on the door and when there's no answer, I chat to a couple people on the street. One is a fat latina woman with a thick accent. A man in a leather Yankees hat approaches me and offers to help. The lady confirms that it's an apartment building, she thinks she knows who I'm looking for but he's at work. I feel connected to my helpful 'hood brothers and sisters and feel bad that I assumed I'd get stabbed by visiting this address. Although I think somebody got stabbed here last week. I leave a note for the guy and head off, with the confidence to visit my next destination.
10:45am If Joseph Avenue is one of the worst, Avenue D is the worst. I think the most haunted place in Rochester is the intersection of Ave D and Conkey Avenue, because I bet about a trillion people have been shot there. Even if you didn't know that area's reputation, I bet you'd sense it in your bones. It's totally creepy and gives me chills to pass through that space. I am searching for another bio dad. I get to experience the whole length of Ave D and the haunted intersection. I don't even know if this dude lives a the address I have obtained, but I leave a note when there's no answer.
As I get back in my car, a man from Joseph Ave calls. He says he got my note but he's not the guy. He explains that I stuck the note in his door, but if go around to the back of the building there's another entrance into the rest of the building and the person I'm looking for probably lives in one of those apartments. Again grateful for help from a nice 'hood resident, I wonder if I can postone going back to that building to check out the scary back door entrance until after my NYC trip, because I don't want to be murdered and have my theater tickets go to waste.
11:00am Visit to a grandmother to pick up paperwork. Grandma wants to get custody of her 6 grandchildren who I put into foster care last week. That's a whole other story. I call to check in with my supervisor, and she lets me know I have a new case waiting back at the office. Super. I drive past Natalie Street. I didn't know this existed, so I drive around the block to take a photo of the street sign and this makes me happy. I contemplate how awesome it would be if every street was named Natalie St, but then redact the idea because it would be too confusing for people if streets didn't have different names.
11:15-12pm Wasting time, drinking latte, driving around, waiting for noon appointment because it's not enough time to bother going back to the office. I also organize my files again.
12pm I meet my appointment, another bio dad, at his job at the dry cleaners and we walk to a nearby Tim Hortons. I tell him about how his kids' mother's husband beat up some of the other kids in the house. He tells me about how he just got out of a 40 month prison sentence for stabbing a guy. He says it was an accident, and I believe him, but can't help but wonder why he did 40 months when the other guy "fell on his knife". He says he's going to petition for custody of his kids. Part of me is thinking, "go for it", part of me is thinking, "go for it but don't hold me up because I need to close this investigation", and part of me is thinking, "I'm hungry and I need to pee". We talk for about 30 minutes. He's a very likable guy. Meeting him is actually a bright spot in my day.
1:10pm Sitting at my desk, stuffing a turkey sub in my face, trying to do some typing and leg work on my new case. I am not trying very hard, because I am tired, and a lot of this is bullshit, and my new policy is apathy so that I hopefully can avoid having a stroke before I turn 40. I check voicemails, read donk emails, procrastinate with coworkers by talking shit about other coworkers.
2:15pm My attorney calls. I actually have several attorneys now, and I like referring to them. "I'll need to check with my attorney on that." It sounds so fancy. In fact, I do indeed have a team of attorneys at my disposal but approximately one of them knows my name. One of my attorneys is doing an afternoon of consultations in my building, and he has time for me to talk to him about a case I have legal questions about. In this case, the drunk mom lawyered up and is insisting that I get a warrant to talk to her son and all this bullshit. My attorney may not be able to do anything about that, but we talk about a couple things we can do to cover our asses. He really loves his job and I have a lot of respect for him, so I am thrilled that I can speak intelligently about the case and that he likes how I write my progress notes. Compliments somehow mean more when they come from my attorney.
2:55pm More emails, heavy sighs, trying to convince one of my favorite coworkers not to quit, and organizing some files. I get a hold of the dad on my new case and I arrange to meet him at 4pm. I spend a bunch of time trying to mapquest "Westbrook Circle" and get frustrated when I can't find it. At least 3 coworkers, also trying to waste time, jump in to help me find the street. It turns out the dude lives on "Resolute Circle" but his accent is so thick that "resolute" sounds like "westbrook".
3:38pm Finally leave my desk and head to Resolute Circle. I spend an hour with a frustrated and animated 34 year old Puerto Rican man. At the advice of his attorney, he called CPS his own baby mama, who drinks excessively and has diabetes and is BiPolar. I love this guy, because he's collected evidence already. He took photos on his phone of her passed out on the bathroom floor, which I text to my own phone so that my clerk can print them and I can add them to the file. We sit on his floor, because he doesn't have any seating in his studio apartment, and sift through pages of hospital records and other random crap as he explains to me in broken English about how he loves this crazy woman but can't take any more. I take a couple of things to photocopy at the office. He keeps telling me to take his baby to foster care and that he's very scared. I try to explain to him that after hours CPS visited last night, saw that the baby was safe, and I'll go visit tomorrow (hopefully, because I have a 4 hour training and have to be to Family Court at 3pm) but I probably won't be able to snatch the baby.
4:59pm I call my supervisor to let her know I finished my visit, I didn't get killed and am on my way home. I hate this part, because you're not free until after the phone call and she's anal and could make you go investigate more stuff. Thankfully, I quickly learned to express, "I'm not dead! I'm going home!" without leaving her time to ask questions.
So that's that. Don't tell anyone I didn't start until 9:26. And please don't let me be shot until after I see the 9 Tony Award Winning Musical "The Book of Mormon". Do people want to switch back to only writing about food now?
9:26am Finally make it out the door of my apartment and to the car. My first appointment wasn't scheduled until 10am, so I slept in a little as I was out to a wonderful dinner the night before (that's the amazing food story). I'm sure this is a grey area, as far as not really starting my work day until 9:26, but I figured that since I rarely take my union mandated 15 minute breaks (2 per day) and my hour lunch, whomever wants to kiss my ass regarding this is welcome to do so. I had left all my files in the car, so I took a few minutes to organize them and plan my morning. It's also a grey area to leave a whole lot of confidential files in my car, but I'm kind of sick of schlepping them up to the 3rd floor at night only to schlep that back down 12 hours later.
9:30am I call a phone number and am surprised that the person I am looking for actually answers the phone. This is rare. I make an appointment to meet this person on their lunch break from their job at the dry cleaners.
10:00am My first appointment, which I am not looking forward to at all. I have already visited this house about 4 times, spent about 2 hours sitting outside the house stake-out style, and had two angry phone calls with the home's occupant. Also, instead of a regular answering machine beep, her celly has a man's voice saying "hello". She has received several messages from me saying, "Hello? Is Leona there? Hello?" That's on her though, because how was I supposed to know?
Leona, name changed to protect confidentiality, is not yet 30 and has 8 kids and one who died as an infant. Most of them were taken away because she used to beat them up, and now she doesn't want to talk to me because it's not her fault I'm knocking on her door. Which is true. Her stepdad's girlfriend, we'll call her Madea, took one of her daughters to the fireworks on 4th of July, got trashed, and passed out at the bus stop. The two were found by police and taken to the ER at 1am. So now I have to investigate why this kid was with this drunk lady. I believe that Leona didn't know that Madea was a complete alcoholic. Madea, whom I interviewed at the hospital, insisted she only had one shot of tequila. "But how come your BAC was 0.24?", I ask. She doesn't know. Later I find out that she visits the ER for alcohol poisoning a couple times a year and her own kids were taken away because they set the house on fire when she was passed out on the couch. The fire fighters woke her up after they extinguished the flames.
Leona's house is a complete dump, but better than some I've seen. 4 of the kids live with her. They have food and she doesn't beat them up anymore because she's following the suggestions given in her mandated parenting class. I get to ask more questions than I thought I would. I hope I never have to see her again, mostly because she's kind of moody, but also because I hope she really has changed.
10:32am I head over to Joseph Avenue. Back in the day, it was the Polish section of Rochester and fake mom's grandmother lived on that street. Now it is one of the worst neighborhoods. I drove by the house I was visiting the day prior, but it totally looked like an abandoned warehouse. I didn't stop, because my line of thinking was, "I don't want to be murdered there and miss my dinner reservation." But I had to go back today, because allegedly a biodad of a kid lives there. We have this stupid policy that we have to locate and try to contact all the bio parents of kids in the home that's the focus of the investigation, even if the bio parents don't ever see their kids. It takes up a lot of time.
I knock on the door and when there's no answer, I chat to a couple people on the street. One is a fat latina woman with a thick accent. A man in a leather Yankees hat approaches me and offers to help. The lady confirms that it's an apartment building, she thinks she knows who I'm looking for but he's at work. I feel connected to my helpful 'hood brothers and sisters and feel bad that I assumed I'd get stabbed by visiting this address. Although I think somebody got stabbed here last week. I leave a note for the guy and head off, with the confidence to visit my next destination.
10:45am If Joseph Avenue is one of the worst, Avenue D is the worst. I think the most haunted place in Rochester is the intersection of Ave D and Conkey Avenue, because I bet about a trillion people have been shot there. Even if you didn't know that area's reputation, I bet you'd sense it in your bones. It's totally creepy and gives me chills to pass through that space. I am searching for another bio dad. I get to experience the whole length of Ave D and the haunted intersection. I don't even know if this dude lives a the address I have obtained, but I leave a note when there's no answer.
As I get back in my car, a man from Joseph Ave calls. He says he got my note but he's not the guy. He explains that I stuck the note in his door, but if go around to the back of the building there's another entrance into the rest of the building and the person I'm looking for probably lives in one of those apartments. Again grateful for help from a nice 'hood resident, I wonder if I can postone going back to that building to check out the scary back door entrance until after my NYC trip, because I don't want to be murdered and have my theater tickets go to waste.
11:00am Visit to a grandmother to pick up paperwork. Grandma wants to get custody of her 6 grandchildren who I put into foster care last week. That's a whole other story. I call to check in with my supervisor, and she lets me know I have a new case waiting back at the office. Super. I drive past Natalie Street. I didn't know this existed, so I drive around the block to take a photo of the street sign and this makes me happy. I contemplate how awesome it would be if every street was named Natalie St, but then redact the idea because it would be too confusing for people if streets didn't have different names.
11:15-12pm Wasting time, drinking latte, driving around, waiting for noon appointment because it's not enough time to bother going back to the office. I also organize my files again.
12pm I meet my appointment, another bio dad, at his job at the dry cleaners and we walk to a nearby Tim Hortons. I tell him about how his kids' mother's husband beat up some of the other kids in the house. He tells me about how he just got out of a 40 month prison sentence for stabbing a guy. He says it was an accident, and I believe him, but can't help but wonder why he did 40 months when the other guy "fell on his knife". He says he's going to petition for custody of his kids. Part of me is thinking, "go for it", part of me is thinking, "go for it but don't hold me up because I need to close this investigation", and part of me is thinking, "I'm hungry and I need to pee". We talk for about 30 minutes. He's a very likable guy. Meeting him is actually a bright spot in my day.
1:10pm Sitting at my desk, stuffing a turkey sub in my face, trying to do some typing and leg work on my new case. I am not trying very hard, because I am tired, and a lot of this is bullshit, and my new policy is apathy so that I hopefully can avoid having a stroke before I turn 40. I check voicemails, read donk emails, procrastinate with coworkers by talking shit about other coworkers.
2:15pm My attorney calls. I actually have several attorneys now, and I like referring to them. "I'll need to check with my attorney on that." It sounds so fancy. In fact, I do indeed have a team of attorneys at my disposal but approximately one of them knows my name. One of my attorneys is doing an afternoon of consultations in my building, and he has time for me to talk to him about a case I have legal questions about. In this case, the drunk mom lawyered up and is insisting that I get a warrant to talk to her son and all this bullshit. My attorney may not be able to do anything about that, but we talk about a couple things we can do to cover our asses. He really loves his job and I have a lot of respect for him, so I am thrilled that I can speak intelligently about the case and that he likes how I write my progress notes. Compliments somehow mean more when they come from my attorney.
2:55pm More emails, heavy sighs, trying to convince one of my favorite coworkers not to quit, and organizing some files. I get a hold of the dad on my new case and I arrange to meet him at 4pm. I spend a bunch of time trying to mapquest "Westbrook Circle" and get frustrated when I can't find it. At least 3 coworkers, also trying to waste time, jump in to help me find the street. It turns out the dude lives on "Resolute Circle" but his accent is so thick that "resolute" sounds like "westbrook".
3:38pm Finally leave my desk and head to Resolute Circle. I spend an hour with a frustrated and animated 34 year old Puerto Rican man. At the advice of his attorney, he called CPS his own baby mama, who drinks excessively and has diabetes and is BiPolar. I love this guy, because he's collected evidence already. He took photos on his phone of her passed out on the bathroom floor, which I text to my own phone so that my clerk can print them and I can add them to the file. We sit on his floor, because he doesn't have any seating in his studio apartment, and sift through pages of hospital records and other random crap as he explains to me in broken English about how he loves this crazy woman but can't take any more. I take a couple of things to photocopy at the office. He keeps telling me to take his baby to foster care and that he's very scared. I try to explain to him that after hours CPS visited last night, saw that the baby was safe, and I'll go visit tomorrow (hopefully, because I have a 4 hour training and have to be to Family Court at 3pm) but I probably won't be able to snatch the baby.
4:59pm I call my supervisor to let her know I finished my visit, I didn't get killed and am on my way home. I hate this part, because you're not free until after the phone call and she's anal and could make you go investigate more stuff. Thankfully, I quickly learned to express, "I'm not dead! I'm going home!" without leaving her time to ask questions.
So that's that. Don't tell anyone I didn't start until 9:26. And please don't let me be shot until after I see the 9 Tony Award Winning Musical "The Book of Mormon". Do people want to switch back to only writing about food now?
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