The 90s: That says it all.

Gather around, children. Paul has a few stories about the 90s and these are a little tough to take, except for the first one.
So there I was, married and with a house full of people on December 31, 1989, so drunk I couldn't even see straight with one eye closed. We were all there to scream "Happy New Decade", when the clock hit midnight. But what was I doing at that exact moment? Outside, killing the grass (old skool southern speak for "Drunken puke"). Maybe that was a sign of how the decade would go, but I'll never be able to say for a fact. What I do know is that the 90s were the best and some of the worst times of my life.
While this is going to be a downer of a post, realize that I'm only highlighting just a few of the bad times and will move on to better days in the next one. You don't have to believe what I'm going to say, but again...I don't have a reason to lie. There are a few people who know the whole truths behind what I'm telling and I'm not far from being quite centered with all the hindsight.
I had already begun messing around on my wife with a guy who my inner circle knew, but no one knew about he and I at the time. Do I regret it? Of course. Do I need to wish for turning the clock back? Of course not, because it taught me to focus on something other than anatomy. By the time we were able to actually move in together and give the relationship a go, the new had worn off and the real had begun to sink in. Little did either of us realize at the time that it was realllly NOT supposed to be he and I who attempted to be a couple. We tried to kill each other, literally. On October 30, 1993, I almost succeeded in killing him. Another bash of his head through the wall and he could've ended up hitting a stud that held the walls up. Considering that he had a steel plate in the back of his head, it already put him at a disadvantage. He's lucky, many times over. He now carries enough humility to apologize for what all stunts he pulled. Sorry: Not going there. Unfortunately, he will never change. Fortunately, I don't go back and eat where I had no choice but to take a shit and walk away.
Incase you're wondering where the story is about how and why I ended up living in my car, etc, that's an entirely different post within itself. You'll have to wait. So, onward....
My better half's name is Jack, incase I didn't mention it. I will quickly go over his ex (Ron): Rather than take up 15 seperate blog posts over that one, I'll try making it easy.
He threatened Jack's life once, then threatened mine and Jack's together on a different occasion, after we moved to San Jose. That's when I blew my stack and Ron's boyfriend called 911, then stayed crouched up in one of the recliners to watch everything unfold. After much banter and lies from Ron, I told a sheriff deputy, "If he comes back in this house, I'll kill him and I'm not kidding you one bit." The deputy informed me that if I said it again, he would have to cuff me and charge me to which I responded, "Then lock me up, because it's a crime to put up with that bullshit for another minute, let alone another night."
He was escorted back through the house, deputy on each side, and allowed to pack one box of belongings. From there, he left and made it back to Alabama in 2 days (You read that correctly-2 days). Within less than 1 month (June 13, 1995, to be exact), he was found dead in his car at a TVA Dam. It was determined he had been there for 3 days and no one noticed. It was further determined that he took appx 1 months supply of Lopressor (Blood pressure medication), 1 months supply of Amitriptylene (Tricyclic antidepressant), somehow administered 14 CCs of insulin to himself, and the 15th was still in the bottle, found in the floorboard. I'll leave the other visuals to your imagination because I would prefer not to go any further. Incase you're wondering, yes I do have the death certificate which clearly states the cause of death.
Jack: The beginning of Jack's medical hell began on the night of October 12, 1997 at 10:33 PM. I remember it that well. Prior to that, no indicator of bad health or anything bad on the horizon was known of or indicated by a physician. On that night, he suffered a heart attack and stroke, back to back. He had to have a triple bypass. 2 days after the bypass, he had to be rushed back to the O.R. to remove a blood clot that could have easily killed him, after everything that was already done to save his life. Because of the medical trauma, a sterile plastic box was placed over most of his body and I mean from above the head down to his ankles. The only holes in that box were for drainage tubes and the wiring for readouts. I couldn't offer any comfort. He couldn't hear me because he was so out of it. The first 2 times he tried to regain consciousness, no one was in the room to let him know that a tube was doing the breathing for him (2 nurses were assigned to be IN the room at all times, BTW). Both times, he suffered massive anxiety attacks and somehow had the ability to bang on that box until a nurse came in and put him right back out with a shot of Xanax. The 3rd time, however, I was in there and so was the surgeon who performed the bypass. Sure enough, out came the breathing tube and on came the healing process, which was sheer hell and beyond. Several people were fired over that, and all I will say is GOOD!
Then came a fate almost as nasty, about one year later. IBM found out (somehow) about Jack's medical troubles. They then took aim at the mainframe contract which we had in place with a trucking company in Sterling Heights, Michigan. IBM came in with what was probably a half million dollar digital mainframe (in those days), underbid mine and Jack's contract by more than 50% (ending dollar amount was less than forty thousand a year), and agreed to take our mainframe out then hook everything about theirs up for free. Why? Because Jack had several beefs with IBM from the 1970s, when he worked for Time-Life and was well within his rights to verbally smack them around for being cheap and stupid, along with having a few reps replaced for being mouthy when push came to shove.
Corporations such as IBM have memories that never end, accounts that are seemingly bottomless, and if they want to take away your business and clientele you can bet they will do it. Jack and I are living proof that it can and will happen. They took us down to where we could not get up, and had no choice but to move back to the southeast, where living was cheaper. We didn't want to do it, but by the time it was all said and done, the decision was made....that is, unless we really wanted to live in a trailer park and I'll say it quickly: LIKE HELL I'll live in a trailer park, let alone would he and I have done so. I would be safer at a Motel 6, in the middle of a ghetto. Been there.
OK-I think that's enough bad highlighting of the 90s, at least for now. If something bad from this decade gets mentioned beyond here, know that it's not because I want to bring everyone down with sad 'woe is me' stories. It's like I wrote on the very first post; I have a lot to say, and I have no reason to lie. I also said I hope this blog doesn't bore you. If a couple of postings of bad things bores you, I wouldn't recommend watching 50% of most comedy movies because even they contain bad things. If anything, it's to reiterate that I have been around and I'm not a fool. I know what I know, and it's mostly from experience. Rather than hide under a rock, I choose to speak of those experiences and see if anyone has been through anything similar. If not, it's ok. I'm not looking to outdo your situation. I'm simply wondering who can relate.