AEG To Sell Staples, KINGS (STANLEY CUP CHAMPIONS) ... Why Does That Not Surpise ME?

I don't call Tim Leiweke "Lies Weekly" and "Lies Weakly" for nothing! I also don't call Phillip Anschutz "An Shits" for nothing! I do find it noteworthy that after they bought the Kings franchise back when I was a seasoned season ticket holder at the Forum (before they even built Staples, and when I had six seats for every fucking game, which I went to religiously, especially during the Gretzky era), I was LIED to by Lies Weekly and Anshits on a regular basis, both personally and overall as a "ticket" holder. They lied through their teeth about how they were going to build a Stanley Cup contender team, how they were going to build the team around franchise rock, Rob Blake (drafted by the Kings), and honor the fans with the most fabulous arena possible IF ... if ... we only would keep our season tickets for another season so they could get the financing in place to build IT so WE WOULD COME.

Flash forward several years later, after Staples was built, after they traded Rob Blake the MINUTE he became a free agent (where he eventually landed with the Colorado Avalanche AND won a Stanley Cup), and the Kings went cupless (even after the FUCKING DUCKS WON A CUP before them). I turned my tickets in to Mr. Lies Weekly before the 2000-2001 season ended, and was told not to let the door hit me on the way out.

Now, after the Kings actually DO WIN The Cup, what do they do? Oh, and let's not forget that AEG (and the boys) got everyone on the L.A. City Council to take the bite at building a football stadium next to Staples in order to bring football back to Los Angeles ... well guess what Los Angeles? You just got screwed over!

Ha ha ha ha ha ... I knew L.A. was never going to get football back, and quite frankly, I really don't give a crap. I love football, but I've loved not having a team here, because I don't have to deal with blacked out games, AND get to see the Chargers more often on the Tube. But, to dump the current Stanley Cup champions? Well, in any other city, that would probably be unheard of. But here in La La land, it's par for the course.

According to the mayor:

"I have worked with both Phil Anschutz and Tim Leiweke for years to bring a football team to Los Angeles. I speak to both of them on a regular basis and I have known about this potential sale for some time," the mayor said in a statement Tuesday night. "I have the commitment from both of them that this won't affect plans for an NFL team to return to Los Angeles in the near future and so will not affect my support for moving ahead with Farmers Field."

(Still laughing). And you believe that? Well, I have a stadium I could sell you!

Why No 9/11 Post

Every year, I post something about 9/11. I purposely did not post yesterday, and there was a reason.

A number of bloggers, as well as some editorials I read during the weekend preceding 9/11, made a point that I found myself agreeing with. That was, why keep "peeling the scab off" every year? Is this for political gain? Is it really necessary? There have been some comments to the many posts and editorials comparing 9/11 to Pearl Harbor (12/7), with the caveat that with age, the dire memories of the event fade, and the emotional toll evaporates. Questions abound as to whether those who have actual painful memories of having lived through 12/7 are around such that EVERY 12/7 they relive that infamous day, and would we, as a generation, eventually feel more stoic and less emotional on 9/11. I don't know the answer, but this year, it sort of rolled by me. Yes, I did watch some more 9/11 footage on the television. Who would not, when aside from emotional reactions, we have 11 years of knowledge as to what occurred leading up to those tragic events. And, yes, I am still hungry for that knowledge, because as most of us now know, the Bush administration was lax in preparing for, let alone understanding the threat, as they were much more interested in linking Saddam Hussein and Iraq to these tragic terrorist attacks than they were to ascribing the true source to Saudi Arabian trained terrorists and Osama Bin Laden! Let us not forget the ties that bind Bush, et al. with Saudi Arabia.

Anyway ... of course, I will never forget, as the mantra goes. But, do I feel the need to join the cacophonous chorus of MSM/politicians that sound the drumbeat of war every year on this anniversary? No. I silently now observe the day, with my own personal memorial (and yes, I do have a 9/11 memorial shelf in my library), and grieve personally for the sadness of that day.

My Diary Entry Before Going To The Psych Hospital, Part 2

“Well, in hospital now, am going to be placed on an involuntary 72 hour psych hold. So much for being able to take care of myself. Guess when I get out, hell, I’ll be homeless. Great. So much for the system. Zaire tried to make me promise not to kill myself, and I am unable to grant him his wish. I don’t want to keep any of this up anymore. No job, no friends, part time daughter, zero time grandson – NO MONEY!!!! I just can’t believe (name withheld) has been ignoring me for days and (name withheld) blew me off and didn’t stop by tonight to pay me. And still I worry about my clients. Now I can’t do the work for (name withheld) and they will not know what happened to me or why I don’t text or call back. And of course (name withheld) is off to El Salvador so he will be useless as usual. Three days locked up in hospital – how weird is that going to be? I didn’t give the doctors any emergency call numbers so it will be interesting if anyone will be able to find out where I am. My daughter said she had to go home to sleep because she had work tomorrow. Great. Threw my cell phone in the garbage at home. Disconnected my Vonage phone and threw it into the garbage. Don’t know if anyone will find them. Turned off the cell anyway. Pretty sure I will be all alone, as usual. Nothing is going to change for the better. It is only going to get worse. Man, the Tony Scott suicide really got me going. Of course, I am afraid of heights, so no chance of that happening. But what does one do when one finally becomes useless in life, family, work and society as a whole? If I don’t make a difference anymore, what is the point? Everything points to a nothing life at this stage. I miss Zaire so much every day. I hate (name withheld) for what he has done to my daughter, Zaire and me. He’s a crude piece of shit and I want my grandson back. How strange it feels to be alone even when I’m in a hospital for trying to kill myself. NO ONE HERE. You’d think at lease one person would care. Ya think? Why can’t I just be at peace and go? Even my daughter had a score of people with her at the hospital when she tried to OD!!! But me? No one. Figures. At least I made out my last will but since I gave everything to Zaire, pretty sure my daughter will just rip it up. Oh well." [at this point, the hospital staff took my pen away, indicating it could be used to harm myself].

I had not been transferred to the psychiatric hospital yet. There are a few more entries before I got there.

Since I have been out, and finally got through the Labor Day weekend, I was at the clinic I was directed to go to, by 6:45 a.m., and I ended up leaving the clinic around 3:15 p.m., almost nine hours. But -- I ended up with a psychiatrist, a therapist, prescriptions for proper medications, and appointments to come back next week with the therapist, and in three weeks, with the psychiatrist. And for those following this saga, my guilt ridden ex-boss donated the balance due on my rent so I was able to get that weight off my shoulders.

Tomorrow, I will attend my first real AA meeting. Not sure what to expect. I hope to find a sponsor, just in case there is some need in the future. I am detoxing extremely well off alcohol, only slight shaking of the hands, and that's it. Not bad for someone who drank as much as I did daily for as long as I did.

It's taken a few days to adjust to the medications. I have not needed to take any of the anxiety pills, just the depression medicine and the nightly sleeping pills, which, by the way, I have enjoyed my first full night of sleep in YEARS!!! For anyone interested in major depressive disorder, here is a nice explanation over at Wikipedia, where you can see, not everyone who is diagnosed with MDD drinks, but just about everyone with MDD will at some point in time, attempt suicide. It is interesting to note that my regular physician failed to catch any of my obvious symptoms (or anyone else for that matter), despite the fact that I was screaming out loud that I did not want to live, and fuck, I even told my grandson who is barely 10 years old! Can you say "oblivious?"

Now, on the bright side, I am eating, which is something that almost completely disappeared from my life. I practically had to force myself to just eat one meal in the evening, and that was only because I was concerned how my body would react to the alcohol if there was no food in my body. How's that for stupid?

I haven't been totally oblivious to the conventions. However, I was in the psych hospital during the RNC so no one was interested in THAT facility to watch. Since I have been out, I've been able to see the DNC on CNN, but I have been able to see the highlight speeches from the RNC based on You Tube videos and other various news outlets. I'll get back to my political posts soon. Gotta say though, and you all know I don't belong to any party, and as much as the guy sold the democrats out, I so enjoyed Bill Clinton's speech. "The DNC also surpassed the RNC in ratings; even competing with the opening night of NFL football, more people tuned in to Bill Clinton’s DNC speech than the second half of the Cowboys-Giants game." (Raising hand, yes, I too, did that)

My Diary Entry Before Going To The Psych Hospital, Part 1

“Now I find myself in a hospital. It is just too bad I sent that e-mail out too soon. I hope I can get out of here – but now the valium will not be a choice as I am sure my prescription will be void. How to just go to sleep? Must research other ways – maybe some booze and carbon monoxide. I hate pain so I can’t do this by slits, hangings or other shit. Regardless, no one is going to pay my rent. No one can take care of me. Why should it even matter? Why can’t we just have good ways to go instead of those horrible ways like guns, ropes and knives? When you are no longer useful, what is the point? When no one gives a shit, what is the point? When your family is not there, what is the point? I don’t hate life. I just hate my life. I want Zaire back. It is worth it if I can’t see him again. I blame (name not printed, but the father) mostly for my two years of pain. Taking Zaire away for no reason and not allowing me to be a part of his life, at 60, fuck you. I already told Zaire I would kill myself, so live with that. I certainly would rather be a spirit on Zaire’s shoulder then just a memory that fades in time. (Daughter’s name withheld), I know you will hurt the most. Your dad hates you and I will be successful at some point, and unfortunately you will be all alone. I am sorry but we are not that close so you will get over it. After the experience with (name withheld, short term roommate) in my home and then his leaving ... any thoughts of going homeless are not appealing. Sooner or later that is all I have left. Homelessness and hopelessness. (Name withheld) and (name withheld), thanks for not being there for me. Supposed to change from pj’s to hospital gown. Guess I’ll be under a psych hold. So much for working on (name withheld) cases!!! Ha ha. Should have stopped by and paid me instead of cruising off to El Salvador. I’ve waited too many times for you to come by.”

That was the last entry after I was interrupted in my attempt at suicide, but before I was put on the 72 involuntary psychiatric hold. I guess one can see the despair in the writings. Now that I have had time to go over my actions, as well as the actions of those around me, it is clear that certain people (uh, family, you ALL know who you are) were so fixated on the fact that I drink, and completely either oblivious or just not caring about my depression, that they have no clue how I felt.

These past three days without medication brought me back to the same place I was before. Except, I don't feel, necessarily, hopeless. The depression came back with a vengeance, but I have been holding up because I am supposed to hit the clinic tomorrow (gotta go to bed early because I have to get up at 5 so I can be at the clinic by 7:30). It's a full service clinic, with psychiatrists, therapists, and a pharmacy to fill my prescriptions. Right now, all I have is the script for the sleeping pills and the anti-depressant, nothing for the anxiety. I was supposed to get one, but since I THOUGHT I still had the valium script, the psychiatrist at the hospital said it would be cheaper then the Ativan I was taking. But who knew my evil daughter would talk to my personal physician, steal my prescription (yeah, like everyone but those with experience with what is wrong with me are making personal diagnosis) and upon getting released, I went to my doctor who told me he talked to my daughter (ok, whatever happened to doctor/patient privilege?) and he would not give me a new script. Great. Hopefully, at the new clinic, besides what I got a script for, based on what I was taking at the hospital, I will get some Ativan. Between those three drugs, I was able to become stable and my mind did not fart all over me. I felt strong and in control to a certain extent. At least, I could figure out how to work and do stuff, instead of the last month of being in bed all day and pretending I was doing things. Suffice it to say, I will not be going back to THAT doctor again. Fuck him. That was so unprofessional, I could actually file a complaint against him, but I don't have the energy to seek revenge or anything.

Well, the only "revenge" I have taken is against my daughter. I threw away her complete file that I had for the past 18 months of the custody battle. Yup, I did that. I told her criminal attorney I did that. He was surprised, but then again, not surprised. Also, my daughter has been violating her probation, and I told him about it. He was pissed because he put his reputation on the line to get her the diversion on her four criminal counts of assault on a minor, PLUS he got the DA not to count the DUI she got six months after the criminal charges were filed not to count as a violation of any probation. I'm the drunk, supposedly, but she drinks mimosas in the morning, does beer in the afternoon, and hard alcohol at night! And let's not forget the pipe in her purse, the one hitter, and the weed. Last time I made her and I take a tox screen, she failed, but I passed, insofar as drugs were concerned.

I know I can't stand the father, but the more I think about my daughter and her relationship with me, and her inattention to her son (she does not call him every day, but if it was ME, I'd be calling him five times a day, damn it), I am coming to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, he's better off right now living with the father as opposed to living with the bitch troll from hell, as me and my friends have affectionately referred to her since she was 16 (see Absolutely Fabulous for reference as to BTFH).

Wish me luck. Hope I get accepted by the clinic and get my meds, especially since they took about a day and a half to kick in. I need to feel normal soon.

My Suicide Diary Notes, Before They Took Me Away

“Thinking a lot of Tony Scott. Why? Seems to be the question. Even Jr. Seau. Why? Life isn’t always meant to be fulfilled as it relates to what others think YOUR life should be lived. Sometimes – there just isn’t anymore to do. Me, I can’t do harm to myself the way Tony did. Can’t feel pain or I won’t be able to go through with it. But I have been contemplating suicide by just falling gently asleep. I find it funny I always joked that I would go out using morphine but I can’t keep it down. Valium is easier – I just – want to go to sleep and not wake up in this earthly state.”

That was the first entry in my suicide diary. I thought it would probably be my last, but then, as you all know, I was interrupted in the sleeping process by lots of banging on my door, LOUD fucking banging and things thrown at my windows and people screaming my name. I didn't want to open the door, but I also didn't want them to break it down. Sort of caught between done and not quite finished.

I'll follow up with more entries from my diary, as the next entry starts with me being in the hospital where the paramedics brought me right away, but before I was sent to the psychiatric hospital.