11/23/2011 Today is Wednesday, but let me backtrack to Tuesday night.

I’m a sucker. I won’t learn. I always trust, hope, and pray that things will be better.

We didn’t fight Tuesday morning when I drove her to work. There was little communication throughout the day. This deserves a mention—until this past week, she was conscientious about calling me each day and updating me and just sort of checking in. Now the secretiveness is back in spades.

When I got home from work—late—she had just finished bleaching  her hair again. She left my house in disarray, but I just asked her calmly to clean it up. Then she told me she was going to her friend’s house and, since she had the next day off, she’d be sleeping over. After she was dressed, it was pretty late so she asked if I could drive her. Once in the car, she asked if I could drop her at the restaurant where her boyfriend works so she could say hello, and then her friend’s mother would pick her up from there. I agreed, of course. We got to the place and her boyfriend was there to greet her and he was very pleasant to me. I don’t know him well, but he seems okay. He wouldn’t be my first choice for my daughter’s mate, but she doesn’t listen to me about anything. so I choose to zip it.

I left—we texted a little bit later in the evening and she was cheerful and seemed just fine. I went to sleep around 9:30 or 10:00 p.m.—something I was looking forward to since I haven’t been sleeping very well—only to be awakened by a restricted call at 1:11 a.m. It was a police officer.

“Hello, is this the mother of XX?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Officer XX from the XX police department. I have your daughter here in custody.”
“Oh, my god. What did she do?”
“I found her smoking pot in XX Park just a few minutes ago.”
“So shouldn’t you arrest her?”
“Um, I have to release her to you, ma’am.”
“Sighhhhhhhh, fine. I’ll wake up and come out there. Where is this place?”
“It’s on XX Avenue and XX Road, just off the freeway.”

So, again I threw on clothes and half asleep trekked out to retrieve my criminal daughter. It was in a not-great part of town that I’m not familiar with, but it was easy to follow the flashing cruiser lights. I found the location, where my daughter was handcuffed in the back of the squad car. The officer greeted me and got my daughter out of the back seat. He proceeded to unlock the cuffs and I said, “No, she should stay in them a little longer.”

He explained that she was found there alone after curfew, smoking weed, and carrying a fake ID. He excused himself to do his paperwork and I had to stand outside with my shameful daughter. I asked what the hell was going on and she started right out of the gate with excuses. “First of all, XX never texted me back, so they didn’t pick me up.” She was already blaming someone else! Then she went on to say she was just gong to wait in the park until her boyfriend got off work—that meant she had been in the park for, what, four hours? Hmmm.

I was so angry at the blatant bullshit, the illegal activities, the prostitute hair, that I yelled at her right in front of the police officer. My theme: When You Knew You Were Stranded, Why Didn’t You Call Me????

She wouldn’t answer, wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t do anything. She was so stoned. And she looked pathetic with the handcuffs and that freaking hair.

The details: She had 2 bags of pot and was smoking it in public—a class 6 felony, which can carry a 6 month to 1.5 year sentence in our state. I’m not sure if they’ll do that since she’s still not 18, but who knows? The court date will be after she’s turned 18. I lectured and the officer lectured, telling her that with this on her record, she will have trouble finding employment should anything happen to her great job that she has now. She is on the wrong path (if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that).

Why do they keep slapping her wrist??????? I even told him to arrest her and he wouldn’t.

I told her that as of the day she turns 18, she needs to find a new place to live because I’m done. I can’t handle this anymore. I’m not interested in this lifestyle.

So we’re back to zero in our relationship. Zero trust, zero respect, zero closeness. She spent today while I was at work looking for housing arrangements. As of one hour ago, her decision was made: she’s moving in with her boyfriend and another couple to an apartment across the street from where she works.

She has just bought a ticket straight to ruining her life for good and there’s not a goddamned thing I can do about it.

Oh, and the hair? Today when I returned home from work and she was on the computer looking for apartments, I offered to give her an early holiday gift of a salon visit to get it fixed professionally. She refused, said she’d get if fixed herself, and that she is fine with it the way it is so why should I give a shit? As I write this, she’s in that storefront shithole getting it fixed by the same incompetent moron who screwed it up in the first place.