My Ex-Wife Cut Me Off From Talking To My Daughter On The Phone

Can't talk to my daughter. It's a crime.

The last year and a half have been especially hard on my daughter and me. I got sick in late 2009 and had to be shipped from Las Vegas to Cleveland to be near my sister, so she could take care of me. Being a divorced father was hard enough, but then winding up 2,300 miles from my dream girl, who is going into fifth grade soon, has been really hard. Phone calls and Skype chats have kept our bond strong. Then, out of the blue, my ex-wife cut me off from talking to my daughter on the phone and told me to write letters to her.

This story has some history and I'm going to fly through it because I only have 18 minutes left on my time at the library computer (New computer coming next week. Yeah!)

My daughter has always been a bit rambunctious. She's curious, extremely bright, sensitive, has perfect pitch and loves animals. My moving away had affected her. But through calls and Skype, we've managed to do the best we can. I never call her, I leave it up to her. Never more than a few days goes by when she's calling, "Oh Daddy, I just had to talk to you, I haven't talked to you in so long."

When we get a chance to Skype, my sister sets it all up and my daughter is bouncing on her chair by the time I get to the web cam. She's literally ready to pee her pants, she's so excited.

All of our chats have the same format. She tells me about everything that is going on, while she's fiddling with some online computer game in the background. Or, sometimes she plays her keyboard or reads to me. But the computer games are the most popular activity.

When we were together, we spent a lot of time on the computer. I made her a little website full of cool games, she had a blog, we made movies and put them on YouTube. It was a blast.

Since my daughter started school, however, she's had isolated incidents where she got out of control in class or had dramatic emotional outbursts. I credit this behavior to the divorce. Whether it is spoken or unspoken, every child of divorce wants their parents back together. I didn't want a divorce. My ex did. So she left.

My ex is a very rude and disrespectful person. She doesn't return phone calls, blows off emails, never informs me when they go out of town - which is quite frequently. She makes all the decisions regarding my daughter and never tells me about any of it, until after the fact, via an email.

My daughter has seen a school counselor for two years because of her periodic outbursts. Suddenly, she asked her mom, "Can I see a counselor?" My ex set up a meeting with a family counselor. She had a meeting or two with the counselor, then my daughter went in. I'm not sure how many meetings there were, because I'm only the father and that's none of my goddamn busniess, I guess.

What came out of the meetings were that there were a few things that upset my daughter about me leaving, which I can't change. And there were a couple things that I said on the phone that bothered her when I first got here. I haven't spoken about then since.

Two recent incidents I told her about - my truck being vandalized with paint and my computer dying. She was very concerned.

Well, my genious ex-wife and this nimrod counselor decided that conversation with Dad was too upsetting and that we shouldn't talk on the phone anymore. We should write letters. WHAT?

I know my ex doesn't know dick about math and if I didn't work with my daughter on the phone on fractions, she would have flunked it. My daughter was so grateful for me helping her.

Do you see upsetting patterns here? A girl that is so exicted to talk to me on the phone, nearly pees herself when we Skype and can't tell me enough how much she loves me, and this is wrong?

So, now my ex-bitch has demonized phone calls with Daddy. If and when we ever talk again, she'll be nervous to talk, so that she doesn't upset mommy.

Time's up here.... tell me what you think.

My ex-wife cut me off from talking to my daughter on the phone.

Cleaning Up Flood Damage For White Trash

Do you know how heavy a waterlogged couch is?

Friday, a friend of mine called and asked me to come over to his girlfriend's house and clean up flood damage. I managed to get a ride from another friend, Jim, to make the cross-town trip. What we didn't realize until we got there was that we would be working on the next door tenant's basement. So, we spent several hours cleaning up flood damage for white trash.

Flood damage is horrific. Mud is intermingled with everything that is on the floor. I was told the water was two feet deep at its peak. So, everything that was lower than 24" from the floor had to go.

What surprised me is that these tenants let two strangers go in their house and just start throwing things out. They took off. Probably to get more tattoos. What really shocked me was what we found in that basement and what we were expected to throw out.

There must have been twenty or thirty empty plastic soda bottles laying around in all the different rooms. I don't think the flood waters pushed them up through the drain. We also found about fifteen tins of chewing tobacco laying around - bags of chips, boxes of crackers, pretzels and other garbage.

Without the tenants there to instruct us, Jim and I just started pitching everything. Lots of kids toys were hauled to the curb. I was a bit miffed at how lazy and indifferent these people were, so Jim and I played Rock Stars and smashed all the instruments and guitars. I kept singing The Who's My Generation and WHAM! - another guitar bites the dust.

This flooding happened on Monday and here it was Friday. Let me tell you, a flooded basement takes on an aroma all to itself. And I didn't want to touch anything. My buddy's girlfriend gave me a pair of pink dish washing gloves. I looked very stylish.

Jim and I used a claw tool from the garage to dig clothing off the floor and dump them into garbage bags.

We put in several hours of work and then decided that we had volunteered enough.

What struck me about both sides of the house - tenant and the girlfriend - was the sheer amount of pure crap that they had piled up in every single room. I know the flood didn't cause that much shit to show up. They bought it and stashed it. Then bought some more. And more. And a little bit more.

When I lost everything, and I do mean practically everything, I found I could live life with a lot less stuff. All the things I thought were so important, didn't mean anything.

How much to do you need in your life? Are you being choked out by clutter?

Here's a basic rule of thumb. Excluding holiday decorations, if you haven't used it in six months, you probably don't need it. And if the stuff is in decent or good condition, I know there is someone out there that does need it.

Set a game plan. Locate the Goodwill, Big Brothers & Sisters or Catholic Charities near you and make a point to get some boxes of idle stuff over there. You will do yourself good and really help someone else out.

Otherwise, you might wind up with guys like Jim and me cleaning up flood damage for white trash. And we rock when we do it... "Talkin' bout my generation!"

Related article:
All My Donuts - 001 - Living In A Hoarder's House From Hell

See my main blog:
www.RogerBlazic.com
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All My Donuts - 002 - Sam Has A Jerry Springer Moment

Sam about to have a Jerry Springer moment.

Everyone has a story. Some are wonderful. Some are sad. Some are just plain weird. In this edition of All My Donuts (002), Sam, a busboy at Denny's shares a Jerry Springer Moment.

Sam works the all-night shift and he was actually the first person I met at this Denny's. I was driving around trying to find people with Internet access on their phone so I could do a tweet about my main blog. We chatted a minute that night. I was just getting ready to start composing my tweet when his ride showed up.

A few weeks later, I was back at Denny's and there was Sam.

He was good enough to share his Jerry Springer moment with me and helped with the editing of the movie. It's less than two minutes, but it came out great.





I hope you enjoyed Sam's Jerry Springer moment. There will be more real life coming on All My Donuts.

See my main blog http://www.rogerblazic.com/

All My Donuts - 001 - Living In A Hoarder's House From Hell

Welcome to the launch of my Internet Soap Opera - All My Donuts. I've been waiting to get this going for quite some time. Today seemed like a good day to start the ball rolling. And there is no better place to start than the place that gave me the motivation to get out and do something with my life, because I am Living in a hoarder's house from hell.

For those of you that have not been reading my main blog, www.RogerBlazic.com, I'll give you a little background on how I wound up where I am.

In 1996, I moved to Las Vegas to do stand-up comedy. I worked several of the comedy clubs on The Strip. My girlfriend, a graphic designer, who eventually became my wife owned an ad agency. I was tired of the road after nine years and went to work for her agency. We eventually broke away in 2000 and formed our own agency, Blazic Design, based out of our home.

We had a great home, a great business, a young daughter, a daughter from her first marriage, cars and all the amenities that come with being successful. In 2004, we were doing great. Then, in the first three months of 2005, my wife left me, my father died and my cousin died.

When my wife left, she was the Design part of Blazic Design. I kept the business and paid her a lot of money to keep MY name. But, I couldn't find freelance talent that was as good as her, and the business eventually went under in 2006.

From there, I fumbled around for a while before getting into trading stocks and options with my own money. I did extremely well for a short period, and bought a big house and life was looking great again. Then, I just couldn't make enough to pay the bills. Eventually, my house went into foreclosure, I lost all my money, I had to sell my possessions to keep the lights on and my health was getting worse and worse from all the stress.

In early 2010, my brother and sister in Ohio decided that they couldn't help me being 2,300 miles away. So a plan was worked out for me to return to Cleveland, OH and live in a "vacant" house an old high school buddy had.

On March 18, 2010, I arrived in Cleveland, but the house was not ready. It didn't have a toilet, sink or tub/shower in the bathroom. I had to stay in a hotel for a week, and the toilet was finally put in. I lived there for months without a shower or sink in the bathroom.

My buddy, Fred (Not his real name), who owns the house, hasn't lived there in about six or seven years. He has another house way out east of Cleveland. This house, though, has been a storage facility for him for more than ten or fifteen years. It was and is full of crap. And you don't dare try to throw anything out. Fred will go ballistic.

Being a person who was suffering from deep depression, stuffing me in a storage facility didn't do anything for my mental state. But I learned to accept my lowly lot in life - broke, living on food stamps and relying on charity from family to pay my bills.

After a brief stint in a psychiatric hospital in October of 2010, I went into a severe depression, which lasted for almost five months. I just sat in my La-Z-Boy chair and watched TV the entire time. I didn't do anything. I didn't go anywhere. I just sat.

Then, on March 7th, 2011, I decided that I HAD to get out of Hoarder Hell and do something. So I went to a nearby Dunkin' Donuts and started writing. In the last four months, I've pounded out over 300 blog posts and have taken my main blog from obscurity to levels I never dreamed possible.

My hatred for the Hoarder's House From Hell is what motivates me to get out and work, day and night. I'm on a mission to build an Internet based business. Blogging is just stage one.

Since most of what I write on my other blog is humor, I thought I'd have some fun on this site and start an Internet Soap Opera. Most of my time is spent at Dunkin' Donuts and there are plenty of interesting and strange characters that come through here, I thought I'd call the series - All My Donuts. It makes sense.

For this first installment, I thought I'd take you on a tour of my lovely accommodations.

I reside in a small bungalow in Cleveland, OH.

Fred's house in Cleveland. I live alone.

The house has a detached garage. Fred is a "car guy" and he owns about fifteen cars that are stored all over town. One car is in the garage and one is in the driveway. I don't get it - all these cars are just sitting and rotting. But he says he has a master plan.

That's a vintage Buick wagon. Whooo-hoooo.

About twenty years ago, Fred had a fancy deck put on the back of the house, which included a hot tub.

I don't think this hot tub has been used in 15 years. I'm afraid to look inside.

To the right of the hot tub are French doors that enter into an addition Fred put on the house about eighteen years ago. It used to be a nice room with a big sectional couch. We used to watch TV in there or listen to music. Here's what it looks like today.

This is what you see when you open the back door and enter the house.

Fred is really quirky about where things should be stored. Here are some pieces of drywall, a ladder, a lawn chair and some other crap that he felt was best stored in the kitchen. And I can't move it or he'll lose it.

The crap is next to the stove. The door goes to the basement. The scary place.

I do have a little space in the kitchen. However, I've never been able to unpack any of my stuff and put it in the cabinets, so I have no cooking utensils, pots or pans. I can only use the microwave. I cook a big pot of food once a week at my sister's house, who lives two streets away from Fred's Pleasure Palace. I live off of that one pot of food, some fruit, yogurts, and an occasional deli sandwich from the grocery store.

I know two of the burners work on the stove. However, the oven is dangerous.

If you stand at the stove and look at the "Family Room" it is quite a site.

Love the garbage can. It's a freakin' construction site.

If you do an about face and look into the dining/living room area, you'll see all of my boxes that I had shipped from Las Vegas. There is no place to put any of the stuff, if I tried to unpack them. So, I just do without my possessions.

Nothing has moved since March of 2010.

Of course, I had more boxes than just this pile and the only place to put them was in the bedroom.

There is a bed in there on the left. I don't sleep in it.

With all the boxes stacked around the bed, I suffer from claustrophobia. I feel like I'm suffocating every time I lay down in the bed. I've only slept about 30 nights in the bed in the last sixteen months.

In the winter the room is freezing and in the summer it is sweltering. There is a tiny closet, which has the handful of clothes I can wear. The rest of the stuff, there is no place to put any of it, so these boxes have been in the same spot for sixteen months.

There is a spare room that is full of Paul's crap.

The spare room would have been a great place to stash my boxes, but Fred has been working on this room the entire time I've been in Cleveland. As you can see, there is still a lot more to be done before you can even walk into the room.

Fred's idea of an ideal bathroom.

Probably the biggest joke in the house is the lone bathroom. It took Fred three months to get the tub and shower to work for me. Then, a few months later, he was so proud to tell me about the incredible pedestal sink he bought, which means there is no storage under the sink. He also got a great deal on a really cool mirror, again with no cabinet space behind it. Above the toilet he plans on putting some glass shelves.

Now, I'm no real estate expert, but when he plans on selling this house down the road, there won't be a woman in the world that will buy a house with a bathroom that has NO STORAGE. None. Zippo. I keep my toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and the rest of my toiletries in the hall linen closet.

Last year, my brother was coming in to town from where he lives in central Ohio. Fred said to me, "We ought to get the guest room cleaned up so he can stay here." Ha! Take a look at the "guest room" - comfy.

This sheet of plywood is over the stairwell. You have to duck to get by it.

Then, of course, there is the master suite for the guest. It's the same bed Fred slept on in high school back in the 1970's.

I think my brother would have loved curling up with these boxes.

And if you want a real blast from the past. Fred still has all of his vintage 1970's stereo equipment. I don't think he's used any of this stuff in 30 years.

"More Than A Feeling."

Earlier in this post, I mentioned the door that went down to the basement. This is the scariest part of the house. I never go down there. I had to fight through cobwebs, just to take these pictures.

The view from the third step from the bottom, heading into Scary City.

Fred never throws anything away. He has stacks of Doonesbury cartoons that he clipped from the paper. They are yellowed and frail. I told him, "You know they have all those cartoons in books." He didn't get it.

Oddly, Fred knows where every freakin' thing is in this dump heap. If you move anything, he knows it.

There are model cars that have never been built on top of this pile.

One of my favorite sections of the basement is Fred's shirt collection. He 's picked up a commemorative T-Shirts throughout his life. There are about sixty shirts on hangers, covered in dust. The funny part is that Fred has blown up like a balloon and not one of these shirts fit him. My buddy Jim and I keep saying that we should tell Fred we sold all the shirts on eBay for 50¢ each.

The priceless shirt collection.

More dusty crap.

There is a washer and dryer in the basement, but I have no idea if they work. My sister does my laundry for me. There are too many cobwebs for me to want to mess around with trying to get the washer and dryer to work.

Maybe they work. Maybe they don't. I won't try to figure it out. 

Now that you've seen the house and how crammed full of shit it is, you have to be asking, "Roger, where do you stay?" I live in a 200 sq. ft. area in the living room. I eat, sleep, relax, read and write in my worn to hell La-Z-Boy chair.

 

My home. The blanket covers a huge hole in the top.

I have two creature comforts, a Bose Wave radio and a small flat screen TV with an antenna. I can only get about eleven channels on the TV - four of which are PBS, one is Hispanic, three are networks - ABC, NBC and the CW, another is a weather map, and there are two really horrible channels. So, I watch a lot of PBS.

My chair (home) is strategically placed in the living room. It faces a blank wall. It's the only place I can look and not see boxes or crap. It's the only thing that keeps me from going completely insane.

View from behind my chair.

It's been tough living in a place like this. When my computer died, I was literally going nuts. There is NOTHING to do. NOTHING. I have no crafts, hobbies, books or magazines. I used to love to cook every day. But I can't cook in this crazy house. So I live on my one-pot meal all week, fruit and some granola bars. It's meager, but I get by.

Fred's Pleasure Palace was the impetus behind me getting out and starting to blog again. I just couldn't take it, sitting in that house day after day. From great pain come good things.

I spend every waking hour I can at one of my WiFi hotspots, writing.

Now that you know where home base is, in a future installment, I'm going to take you on a tour of the PLACES - the places where I connect to the Internet and do my writing. After that, I'll start to introduce you to the FACES - the colorful people who are All My Donuts.

In the meantime, I'm still living in a hoarder's house from hell, but I spend as little time there as possible. 

Peace.

Mental Illness | My Psychatrist Is Retiring. He's Tired Of Listening.

The changes in me have been remarkable.

Today, I had my final visit with my psychiatrist. It was a good meeting. As usual, he took forever to write his notes, had to ask me over and over what medications I'm on, and ask me to give an analysis of myself. Who's working here? At the end of the meeting, I found out my psychiatrist is retiring. I think he's tired of listening.

I'm going to miss Dr. Cohen. When you look at him, you might wonder who should be on which side of the desk. Yes, he has a desk. No couch. I always wanted a couch. But no couch.

Dr. Cohen is a tiny man. If my stomach had a window in it, like one of those fancy washing machines, he could look at what I had for breakfast and what pills I had taken. He really is a shrink.

He has short gray hair and wears glasses that look too big for his face narrow face. The best part is his attire. I don't think he's purchased new clothes in a couple decades. His sport jackets are right out of the Polyester Hall of Fame. His ties are from the, "What Were You Thinking" signature collection at Wal-Mart. They're always colorful and have very bizarre prints and patterns. Over the last year, I've seen his Peanuts tie, the Moose Tie, Evergreen Trees, Elephants, Pumpkins, Turkeys, Kites and a few other patterns that might be stolen Rorschach Tests. It's been fun having a colorful elf for a psychiatrist.

He may be retiring due to his advanced age. I think he did retire at one point, but he was dug up by archeologists and went into practice to sustain his tie collection.

The real reason I think he's retiring is, he doesn't want to listen to patients anymore.

Every time he asked me a question today, I'd get the first sentence out and then he'd stick up a frail, wrinkled hand protruding from his pale blue sport jacket and wave, "You don't have to go into any details." He did this about six times.

Is it just me or isn't a psychiatrist's job to listen to your issues? This meek, "Shut the fuck up," session was not very productive. In fact, none of our sessions are productive. I get more advice and information for Evelyn, the nurse.

Evelyn, a large, happy black woman with a big gap between her front teeth is a sweetheart. She's kind, knows her stuff and gives me great advice. She thinks I'm hilarious, and that helps, too.

I'll miss Dr. Cohen, only because he's the only Jew besides Jesus that makes me think of Christmas. I always wondered what Dr. Cohen was doing in his elf workshop after I left.

There is a downside to this. The doctor I'm being transferred to I had a five minute session with the last time we met. In five minutes, he whipped out what is called a Pink Slip and I was sent to a psychiatric hospital - where I was jailed for three weeks.

Boy, oh, boy - I can't wait for my next appointment.

Tiny little Dr. Cohen is going away. Yes, my psychiatrist is retiring. He just got tired of listening.

Related articles on this site:
Five Steps To Recovery From Mental Illness
Recovery From Mental Illness Should Include Groups
Mental Illness | My Psychiatrist Says My Mental Health Is Improving
The Stigma Of Mental Illness
Mental Illness | Mentally Ill Live Lives Of Quiet Shame, Anger Or Pain
Mental Illness | Catherine Zeta-Jones Treated For Bipolar II Disorder
How To Sleep Better By Using A Relaxation Technique
Mental Illness | Dealing With Symptoms of Panic Attacks And Anxiety Disorder

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All My Donuts - Internet Soap Opera - Slated For First Week Of August

All My Donuts is on its way in August.

There were several things that had to fall into place for my fun project to get in motion. Technical difficulties made it impossible to work on the project, but all of that is coming together and All My Donuts - an Internet Soap Opera - is slated to begin the first week of August.

All of the problems revolved around my laptop going on the fritz. It had a mind of its own and would work when it felt like it - which wasn't all the time.

It looks like I'm getting an upgrade to my gear and I'll have a computer that works when "I" want to.

All My Donuts will begin by showing all the Places involved in the world around E. 222nd St. and Lakeshore Blvd. Then, I'll introduce you to the Faces - the people that make this world tick and click.

You'll also get a look at what it takes to be a nomadic blogger - the tools, the tricks, etc.

It should all be fun.

For now, All My Donuts - my Internet Soap Opera - is slated to begin the first week of August. Grab a coffee.
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All My Donuts Delayed Due To Technical Difficulties

Technical problems delay AMD.

My much anticipated Internet Soap Opera, All My Donuts, is being delayed due to technical difficulties. At this time, I'm not sure if my computer will work, and if it does, I have two other blogs to tend to first.

The problem centers around my six-year-old Appble iBookG4. It's old. It's provided years of great gigabytes of fun. But it's processor has developed an attitude. It doesn't like to heat up. Some days, it doesn't like to get started. Lately, I've seen more black screens than a fly in Florida.

I start it up, before I get to load my browser, it goes out. Then, if it does run, I'm working on an invisible game clock. At any second, it could be game over. To remedy that problem, I have to wait a half hour to see if it will refuse to stay on or it will work for another hour or two and then die.

People have been asking. But, sorry, we have to wait.

Right now, my main blog is www.RogerBlazic.com - that has the most followers. My LasVegas Tips blog has suddenly gotten a lot of interest. Las Vegas being one of the most recognizable brands in the world, it's easy to do a little blog marketing and get traffic.

All My Donuts takes some work. So, I have to put it aside for a few days or weeks. I'll have to stick with simple stories about what's been going on.

I apologize to all of the eager fans that have been waiting for All My Donuts. But for now, All My Donuts is delayed due to technical difficulties.

For a preview of All My Donuts see:

Internet Soap Opera - All My Donuts - Coming This Week
Visit:
www.RogerBlazic.com
Las Vegas Tips
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