The $10 in the Bank Account Day Before Payday Blues

I finally tallied up what Buzz Kill owes me, and it's over $15,000. No fucking wonder I don't have any money. At the moment, the cast of Corpus Christi hasn't confirmed for this weekend - so maybe I won't be hosting a cocktail party for 30 which could be for the best since I'm broke. I figured that I'd serve pastrami and turkey with rye and whole wheat rolls, cold slaw, potato chips, beer, wine and assorted Dr. Brown's sodas.

Very economical and very New York-y. I've had some vodka in the freezer for months that could round out the beverages. Now that I think about it, I don't believe anyone has drank vodka in this apartment since Cousin Rhonda Gayle, the Hillbilly Hustler, spent the week between Christmas and New Years either lounging on my sofa or completely passed out depending on where she was in the Bloody Mary Juice Fast.

All this is beside the point, however. The point is that I'm pissed off at Buzz Kill. Given that I feel like I'm literally boiling inside, we can safely come to the conclusion that I've been pissed off for months and months - I've just been distracting myself with Romantic Drama. I've been in tears over one boyfriend or another since Eighth Grade. Disappointment in Love is familiar territory. Taking my ex-husband to family court for back alimony and child support is decidely unfamiliar and definitey an annoying, expensive, frustrating, energy drain. We don't call him Buzz Kill for nothing.

I learned a lot from recent heartbreak - insight into my personal MO, etc. You could even say that I've evolved a bit since I now have a working knowledge of narcissism and my own tendency to bang my head against a brick wall in order to have an emotional impact on an emotionally impervious person. All this is very illuminating and the magnitude of the experience should not be pooh-poohed

BUT

Through it all, I've been ignoring just how infuriating Buzz Kill is when it comes to money. I would take him to family court if I thought it would get me anywhere. He is slippery enough to stay just at the edge of jail time. And besides, the last thing I need is him poor mouthing to some judge and talking his way out of paying me the full amount plus 12% interest which is what I'm due in NY State. He has a documented history of being a lying sack of shit about his finances, but it would take months to go through the process.

The only real solution I can see is selling this condo as soon as it makes sense and getting the hell back to Texas. I tell you what: That Buzz Kill is such a pain in my ass that all I can think of is busting him upside the head with the butt of my great-granddaddy's 1912 Remington. It's in my bedroom propped up against the bookshelves.

It's not as pristine as the one pictured, but you get the idea. My father carved his initials on the butt when he was around 10 years old. Somebody thought this gun would go to my brother, but I said bullshit to that because I'm the first-born. For the record, I have never fired a gun. Velvet calls my Great-Granddaddy's 1912 Remington a pea shooter since, according to him, the bullets for this particular weapon are so small that you couldn't kill more than a squirrel. He gets all his information from The History Channel, so he must know what he's talking about. They have a number of shows dedicated to guns.

I am allowed to have this firearm in New York City without a license because (1) it's old, (2) it's broken and (3) I have no ammunition. This gun is no more lethal than a baseball bat - but it would make a hell of an impression if I were standing out on my terrace aiming at the fellows with the jackhammer on Columbus Avenue. So far, I have resisted the temptation.

When it comes to Buzz Kill, though, I don't know how much longer I can keep my temper. There was a lot of shouting yesterday when I presented him with my calculations and said the Child Support Collection Unit could be in his future. In the past, threatening him usually got the money flowing in my direction - but I think it's going to be more difficult now that he shut his office. Without an office and employees, Buzz Kill will have an easier time hiding money. He has been working from the apartment he shares with his mother. He lived with her in that very same apartment when I moved to New York back in 1987, and as it happens, he lived there when he was a kid. It's rent stabilized with a dead on park view.

My mother told me not to marry Buzz Kill right after the invitations to our wedding had been put in the mail. He made some snarky comment that led her to believe his mother would always come first. I wouldn't believe it at the time, but of course, my mother was right. Buzz Kill and his mother always made a lovely couple. She even wore white to our wedding. It was awful, but I simply drank too much and didn't pay attention as I learned from the alcoholics on my father's side of the family.

Despite all the marital dysfunction, Velvet is an outstanding young man and Buzz Kill did have something to do with that. Last night we went to a "Tulane Comes to You" information session at a hotel in White Plains. Velvet likes the idea of Tulane, and if my baby has to grow up and move away, New Orleans is a great place for him to begin life's journey - especially if I am back home in Austin. The best part is that by then, we'll have sold this condo and I'll have not only made Buzz Kill pay me back - he'll also have to give me all the money due me until 2012 from his half of the proceeds.

By then, life should be good. If I can just manage to keep the lights on in the meantime - and have plenty of beans and rice for me and Velvet - every little thing will be all right.