***I originally lvl 0'd this, but I am REALLY REALLY happy that it was retasked.***

This week, well the last two weeks, have been the weeks from Hell with a capital H. I have lost not one, but TWO homes, found myself on the streets and at the mercy of distant relatives, and completely without the love of my life or anyone of my friends.

It all started when my Father in Law, Jay, decided that he was going to get piss drunk and put our computers out on the curb of our VERY public house to 'teach us a lesson about respecting other peoples property' when CartMasterChris forgot to lock the front door. After he ranted and raved at us for several hours, we decided that this wasn't a good place for us to live, and so we planned a double cross-country move - me to Los Angelos, him to Colorado. The ultimate goal was for both of us to be in Colorado, where our daughter could go to a good school system and we could be happy.

So I planned - in four days - the move to Los Angelos. I threw away most of my belongings, and only kept what would fit in the trunk of my car. These I stored at my mother's tattoo parlor, which she jointly owns with one Jason Greenfield. The tattoo parlor is 723 Tattoo in Fullerton, CA. It is located on 723 S Harbor Blvd. I was supposed to stay with my mother and her boyfriend for the 6 weeks for Chris to find a job and an apartment in CO with our daughter, Teagan. I arrived around 4 am on Friday, July 23rd, 2010. By Saturday, I had overstayed my welcome. My mothers VERY aggressive cat had been at her bedroom door, crying to be let in. This is a cat that is called BITCH more often than she is called Chloe. Nevertheless, even though I had been preparing a bottle for Teagan, I decided to help her out. I went to open the door for her, and she attacked me. At which point I laughed, for she is declawed (although her teeth still hurt something FIERCE) and said, 'stupid bitch, I am trying to help you!' Then I close the door, and went to feed my five month old daughter.

Apparently, sometime during this exchange, I punted the cat, according to my mother's current paramore, who came storming out of the room, calling me (and this is a direct quote) a stupid, uncouth, tactless little cunt.

I know very little about my mother's paramoure, but I do know that he has been arrested multiple times for assualt and battery, so when I see him charging at me, I was immediately frightened out of my mind. His arms where raised, his posture was aggressive, and if my mother hadnt grabbed him and dragged him out of the room I was in, I honestly belief he would have beaten the living daylights out of me. And he is NOT a small guy. Jason is quite large, burly, and covered with tattoos - as a man who owns and operates a tattoo parlor should be.

Immediately, I pack my bags. I dont know where I am going, but I am going there NOW. Unfortunately, the majority of my things are at his tattoo parlor, where I cant go without him. Obviously, that is not an option.

Luckily for me, I have a wonderful aunt about 50 miles from there named Denise. She is kind, caring, and understanding, and she lovingly invited me and my daughter in to her home. To make that Saturday worse, my engagement ring was stolen, but I had figured that things couldn't get any worse, so I tried very hard not to think about it, although I admitted it, sobbingly, to Chris later that evening. He reassured me it was fine, and that someday I would have an even nicer ring.

Things at my Aunt Denises house are wonderful. She is kind, and I have a loving support system... even if one of the beams is in the form of my constantly grumpy, but secretly kind old Uncle Chris, whom I adore. He is one of the four men in my life that I trust completely. Still, I needed the things that I had at the tattoo parlor. I called my mother to ask if she would be polite, or if I needed to call for a police escort, and she told me to stop being such a melodramatic bitch. Hunh. Thanks Tara.

I called for a police escort and waited outside of their downtown Fullerton apartment for about an hour. My daughter was being babysat - in no universe would I EVER have brought her back there - and I finally had a free moment to myself to wonder... where had it all gone wrong? What had I possibly done to deserve what I was getting? I hadn't ever wanted to be here, the kind of person who needed to get police involved just to see her mother, but thats what I had become. A piece of trash so unlovable that even her own mother had seen it fit to kick her out to the curb. Worse, I had not only let her do it once - this was the SECOND time that she had the sastisfaction of making me leave. She may have not told me to get the fuck out of her house, as she had the first time, when I was only 16 (read more in my post, The Callouses on your Hands) but by chosing yet another aggressive boyfriend - this was the third man of hers that, to my memory, assualted me in some sort of way (the first was Larry, who molested me, the second was Allen, who stole my underwear and crossdressed as me on the internet whilst high on crystal meth) she had forced my hand.

So I was sitting underneath the dim, fluorescent lights at the Pinnacle at Fullerton, chocking on my own snot while waiting for my police escort to arrive, when finally, for the first time in 2 weeks, someone showed me a random act of kindness. "Come in to our pizzeria," he said, even though it appeared to be closed - it was coming close to midnight, after all - "tell us why you are crying, and here, enjoy these six cheese cake cannolis, on the house. Would you like a beer with that? My treat!"

So I sat there and explained to them - Megan, Matt, and the third worker whose name escapes me - the ordeals that I had been through that night... those past weeks. They allowed me to blubber, cooed over pictures of my baby, and kept me sane with kind words and kinder actions. When Matt found out that I was currently (technically) homeless, he even did the unthinkable.

"If you find yourself in need," he said, entering his number in to my phone, "just give me a call. I will make sure you and your daughter get a hot meal, a hot shower, and a place to stay."

Matt had been through a similar situation with his mother, and had found himself in Fullerton, CA, for very similar reasons.

Never have I seen, for no reason at all, someone so uncommonly kind. I will never forget that random act of kindness, made even brighter by the darkness that I had been going through. Thank you, Matt, and the rest of the workers at the NYPD Pizzeria.

The rest of the night continued in the same fashion as the rest of the week had... my mothers had dumped all of my belongings out on the curb of the tattoo shop, she said hateful things to me and I retaliated in kind, but I refuse to think on that... instead, I shall try my hardest to remember this evening, Friday, July 30th, as the day when, for absolutely no reason at all, a stranger opened his home to me when I was in need... and a pizzeria fed me, when I was standing on a street corner, crying.